text
stringlengths 4.78k
9.2M
|
|---|
A/N: Hello, people!
I don't own Good Omens.
I have no beta.
ENJOY!
CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. HELLY-WATERMELONSMELLINFELLON.
He'd never been particularly fond of France. Had only been there a couple of times before to perform a few small temptations to keep Hell off his bloody back and out of his damn business. And yet, just in passing through, he'd felt his angel's presence hit him out of nowhere!
It wasn't really out of nowhere, he'd just been too drunk to properly register the familiar warmth as being something outside of the effects of the alcohol. Wine. Damn good invention that was. Truly spectacular. Deserved a standing ovation even. His greatest vice, it was! Pure weakness. If ever there way a day he didn't drink wine, then it wasn't truly him!
Anyway, once he was sober enough to notice Aziraphael's presence, he'd forced himself to get sober so he could find his angel faster. And where should the demon locate his other half? Chained up in the bloody Bastille, dressed like a wealthy member of the English aristocracy! The absolute worst way to appear in Paris considering what was going on at the time!
Even Crowley, who absolutely hated the current fashion and it did nothing for his hair or arse or hair for that matter, had miracled himself to fit in with the culture. So long as he didn't speak, as conversational French wasn't something he was skilled enough in faking convincingly yet, he fit in just fine. If one excluded his eye-wear which he'd been using for nearly 1,800 years and wouldn't give up ever.
And why should his angel be in danger of getting his head chopped off by way of guillotine like so many others were that day? Because he'd been hungry. For crepes of all things. So many wonders the French could offer, like very fine wines for example, and Aziraphael wanted some bloody crepes! And Brioche. And where could he only get the best of the best French food? Bloody buggering France! He'd popped on over to France for food!
In the last few centuries they'd struck up an Agreement of sorts. Flip a coin if both had to go in the same direction because of a small job they'd been set to do. Aziraphael always ended up choosing Heads, leaving Crowley to take Tails. And in the end, whichever faced upward once the coin landed, would determine which person would go that way alone to do the Blessing and the Tempting. This was to save time and energy. And effort. And also made it seem less like Crowley was following his other half around all the time.
His angel hadn't even been in France risking discoporation for a job. That part would have been understandable as those above and below could be utter twats about deadlines. No, he just wanted something to nibble.
And he could have saved himself at any time! 'Frivolous miracles' his arse! Saving himself and Heaven from putting in the extra work to create another body to inhabit would surely have been acceptable! It took time and effort to do such things and no one really wanted to sit there making humanoid bodies for immortal beings to inhabit.
Crowley was weak to his better half's pouting though, and did the miracle for him instead. Aziraphael had that adorable thing about him that made Crowley want to keep him happy. And his blush was quite fetching too, spreading all the way to his ears. Even though the red clashed with his pale hair, it was lovely.
It was perhaps in this moment, that Crowley realised just how stone-cold his angel could be. Crowley didn't automatically accept his invitation for lunch so he swapped outfits with his captor and then let the man's guards haul him from the prison to get his head chopped off in Aziraphael's place. And the angel didn't even blink as he claimed such an action shouldn't be counted as a miracle, using that sly little tone of voice of his in the process.
The Holy being. The good one. The one who was on the side of goodness and greatness and niceness and that those sappy words that made Crowley's skin crawl. He had been the one to be so callous as to not care that a man was about to die in his place. Sure, he wasn't a very nice man and had done some pretty terrible things, but how many times had he heard the 'must be a good person deep down, surely' spiel from his angel? How many times did Aziraphael want to give some mortal the benefit of the doubt despite how horrible they were?
Crowley was a cross between impressed, worried, and perhaps a bit enamoured?
Could he even be enamoured by his other half? They'd once been the same person after all.
One thing that truly bothered him though… was how Aziraphael, as usual, was the only angel to ever be on Earth full-time. He did all the miracles despite the fact that there were other Principalities with similar duties. Why was Aziraphael always the one doing the work? Why did the Almighty allow only him to be doing all the work? Where was the fairness to it?
How could he get scolded for performing 'too many frivolous miracles' when most of what he did was to help his charges? Humanity was quite literally his charge. He was guiding them and doing his job as a Principality!
Gabriel was still an arsehole nearly six thousand years later it seemed. It wasn't as if he was out there doing anything to help the humans. The archangel could fuck off good and proper as far as Crowley was concerned.
Thankfully, his angel was very good at distracting him over lunch. The crepes had indeed been delicious though he'd only had a few, preferring to watch as Aziraphael took to them like… like something taking to another thing. Whatever.
The point was that he found himself very much enjoying watching his better half enjoy food. Crowley's vices were thus far wine and sleep. And his ego. So his greatest sins would be Pride, Sloth, and Gluttony probably to the end of time. Aziraphael was Gluttony all the way. He made food, which hadn't ever been too terribly interesting for Crowley, look like something worth the effort.
The sounds and facial expressions that came from the angel simply added to the ambiance of it all.
Aziraphael took to food the way most mortals took to Lust and erotica! That was such a comparison he had been searching for moments ago!
His angel made food out to be more interesting than sex. Crowley, as a being who had tried both a few times just to get a feel for them and know what he was dealing with when tempting mortals with Lust, could honestly say sex was more fun in his opinion even if he typically wasn't interested in doing the work for either for the most part. Sleep required no physical exertion and was the best out of everything. Even sex.
But Aziraphael's moaning might just change his mind.
Maybe.
A/N: Another is done!
How was it? Let me know!
See ya! :D
|
Before school, the Glee Club met and began to learn the new choreography for “Somebody to Love”. After school, they focused on learning the choral part of “What is this Feeling?” After a few detailed run-throughs, the group had their parts down and could begin practicing it at the correct tempo.
While the rest of the group worked on the song, Kurt took Rachel to the costume room and they started on the task of organizing everything. They started the process by moving all of the guys' and girls' stuff to separate areas in the room. They quit when Kurt got a text from Dave telling him to come back.
Once they were back in the choir room, Kurt and Rachel started the song. The rest of the group came in when they were supposed to.
“Not bad, not bad at all. We’ll work on it more. One final announcement. Meet in the auditorium during lunch tomorrow. Eat in ten minutes, if at all possible. We’re hosting the girls from Jane Addams School for an informal presentation tomorrow. Their school doesn’t have an auditorium. We’re going to give them a chance to practice here. You all are free to leave.”
After they left, Kurt and Dave drove to Kurt’s, left the Navigator there, and headed to the movie theater to finally watch the Michael Jackson movie that Kurt had been dying to see.
The Glee Club continued to rehearse before school. They met after school again on Thursday. Mr. Schue had brought a group of wigs from the prop room for the guys to wear and they worked on a song from Hair.
After a few run-throughs, Rachel stepped down and talked to Mr. Schue. A few minutes later, she returned to her spot in the group.
Mr. Schue admitted, “I need to not let myself get distracted by the gimmicks other groups might have. Rachel is right. We don’t need them. We have the talent to win.”
After that, the guys took the wigs off and worked on “Somebody to Love”.
“Good job, guys. We just need to keep practicing. We’ll work on the choreography again tomorrow morning. Next Monday, we’re hosting the choir from the Haverbrook School for the Deaf.”
Friday night was the last regular season football game. The team was psyched up and they knew that several scouts were coming to watch the seniors play. They warmed up and were ready when the game started. It was their best game of the year. They won 42-18. There was a big party after the game, but Puck, Kurt, and Dave didn’t go.
The following Monday, the New Directions performed their Hair song for the Haverbrook Deaf School choir, who honestly didn’t seem to enjoy their presentation at all. Afterwards, they got up and performed “Imagine”, and one by one the New Directions members got up and joined in, singing along and imitating the sign language that the choir members were using.
After the Haverbrook students left, Rachel told everyone about the opportunity she had for them to perform in a commercial. The football players spoke up and let Rachel know that their practices would be continuing after school since they had made it into the playoffs, they decided to meet up Tuesday evening after football practice.
Kurt wasn’t able to go to the rehearsal, but Dave set up his phone to record their final time singing the song so he could practice on his own.
At the Tuesday rehearsal, they worked on the vocals, and afterwards, they all went to Dollar General and bought matching pajama sets to wear during the filming. Dave grabbed a pair for Kurt. Rachel arranged for them to film on Sunday starting at 7:00 in the morning since the store was closed and it was one of the few times that she could get everyone together at the same time.
By Friday morning, they were ready to combine the vocals and the choreography together. They worked on their group number and the duet.
That evening the football team pulled out another win. 35-32. Instead of going to the after party, Kurt had invited all of the New Directions over for a pizza party/sleepover/tailoring party. Tina had brought her sewing machine and the girls took all of the clothes to Kurt’s after school and set up in the dining room. Kurt used a tension rod and hung a sheet over the doorway to the kitchen when they got back from the game.
The girls sat around the dining room table eating and taking turns getting their dresses altered to fit right while the guys hung out in Kurt’s room sitting on the floor eating pizza waiting for Kurt to alter their slacks.
“Hey, Kurt, how’d you learn to sew?” Azimio asked.
“Well, my mom was really good at it and she made a lot of costumes for me when I was young. After she died, I really wanted to be able to do it, so my dad said that if I still wanted to learn when I was ten, he’d get me lessons. He took me to the fabric store and asked about where to get me lessons, and one of the ladies there showed him a sewing-for-beginners book. She told him that if I stuck it out and learned to make something in the book on my own that she’d give me lessons for free once a month. So, I made an apron from the book and took it in to show it to her, and she started giving me lessons. Once I learned all of the basics, I got more books. And I used to record a sewing show on PBS and watch it. Now there’s a lot of tutorials on YouTube if there’s something specific I want to do that I don’t know how to do.”
“That’s cool. I bet it saves a lot of money later, like, if you have a professional job because you won’t have to pay someone else to take your clothes up.”
“That and I can fix my own vehicle.”
“What?” Artie asked.
“Dude, his dad owns Hummel Tires and Lube,” Puck said.
“Yeah, and Dave’s dad’s a lawyer—doesn’t mean Dave knows anything about the law.”
Puck said, “Yeah, whatever, but Kurt’s like one of the best mechanics in Burt’s shop. Maybe sewing is a puzzle like fixing cars. It’s just like being able to see how all the pieces fit together. They shouldn’t have taken Home Ec out of the required courses for middle school. I know it seemed cool when they told us we didn’t have to take it, but now that I’m older I see that it was dumb. I don’t want to have to pay someone else to do something I could have learned to do myself. That just wastes money. Buying take-out or ready-made food at the store is expensive. They should keep teaching kids how to cook. It’s dumb for all of us to grow up only knowing how to put stuff in a microwave or make sandwiches. We have to eat our whole lives. We’d be better off knowing how to cook plants so they taste good than knowing how to identify all of their various parts on some damn biology diagram of a cell.”
Artie agreed with him, “True that.”
“Maybe we should shock everyone at school and enroll in Home Ec next semester,” Azimio said. “The only thing I know how to make is macaroni and cheese from a box—the kind with the cheese sauce in a pouch.”
“I’ll do it if more guys do it. Sitting around eating sounds fun,” Finn said.
Azimio reconsidered, “Maybe we should just get Hummel to start a cookin' club after school and get him to teach us ‘cause damn his stuff is good. Better than the bakery or the grocery store.”
Kurt laughed. “I take it that all of the stuff was a hit at the Halloween party?”
“Hell, yeah. The moms were all like, ‘This was totally worth the $5 I donated.’ I don’t think there were even any crumbs left.”
“Go put these slacks on, Mike.” He handed him a pair. Kurt marked them when he came out of the closet.
“Okay, some of you guys need to help Artie into his slacks. I think they’re ready. I’ve worked on them this week, but I need to be certain.”
Mike and Matt took Artie into the closet and helped him. They carried him back out and sat him in his wheelchair.
“How do they feel?”
“Good. They fit right. How does the length look? There’s no mirror I can see in.”
Kurt answered, “They come down over your shoes like ours do when we’re standing. I think they look good. I took the legs in a bit since I basically took a pair apart and put them back together to get the length needed while making them fit your waist.”
“Well, they fit good as far as I can tell.”
“Good. Matt’s next.”
Once Kurt had finished with all of the slacks, he went upstairs to see how Tina was doing. He knocked on the doorframe and waited to be called in.
Azimio carried Artie upstairs and Puck took his wheelchair back up. The guys set the Wii up and started playing Mario Kart with the two extra controllers that Brittany had brought with her.
Tina had only managed to get through two dresses.
“One of you, bring your dress and come downstairs so we can get done sooner. I already finished all of the guys' slacks because they are way easier to alter.”
Santana grabbed her dress and followed Kurt downstairs.
“The closet is over there. You can change in there.”
“No need. You aren’t going to perv on me.”
Kurt sat down at his sewing machine and waited for Santana to change and turned back around. Kurt texted Tina quickly to verify where to hem the dresses. He took a few straight pins and marked the bottom of Santana’s dress. “How does the top feel? It looks a little loose.”
“It is.”
“I’m going to take it in a little. I’ll do that first, so you can go back upstairs for a while if you want.” Kurt marked where to take it in. “I’d sit in the closet if you don’t want to put clothes on while you wait. I can’t prevent one of the other guys from just walking down the stairs and seeing you half-dressed.”
“Whatever. I like your room.”
“Thanks. I suppose you expected pink everywhere and a stuffed animal collection.”
“Actually, no. You dress like a weird runway model sometimes, but you’re gay—not a middle school girl.”
“Thank you.”
“Your room actually suits you. Very magazine-ish and super organized.”
Santana wandered around looking through Kurt’s books, magazines, and CDs.
“Here, try it on again to see if I have the top tight enough.” She put it on and he examined it and she took it back off. “I have to do the hem now. That will take a while. You can go back upstairs and come back in like 30 minutes if you want.”
“How about if I just read one of your magazines?”
“Sure. Help yourself.”
She chose a magazine and started flipping through it until she found something that interested her.
Once he had finished the hem, she tried it back on again.
“That’s it. Yours is done. You can get dressed and take the dress upstairs with you. Send someone else down, please.”
Kurt finally gave up around 2:00 am and lay down on his futon and went to sleep, leaving Mercedes’ dress to continue the work the next morning. He woke up with Dave snuggled up behind him, Artie on an air mattress, and the rest of the guys spread out around his room on the floor in sleeping bags. He quietly took Mercedes' dress upstairs and used Tina’s machine to get busy on the hemming.
About an hour later, Rachel followed the sound of the sewing machine and found Kurt. “Is it okay if I go ahead and start breakfast?”
“Sure. I bought the pancake mix that you just add milk to like you asked. And I got the almond milk you wanted. Just try to clean up a little as you go.”
“Of course.”
“And eat in here. Dad isn’t going to want food dumped on the sofa. All of the dresses are out of the way, except this one.”
“Got it. Before I start, I wanted to talk to you. I want to win. I want us to be winners. I’m tired of being on the bottom of the bottom. I know Glee Club is considered to be a terrible thing to be in. But now that popular kids have joined, if we start winning, maybe our image will change. I let that get in the way of doing what was right. When you said you wanted a chance to sing ‘Defying Gravity’, I shouldn’t have acted like I did. If we want to win, we have to let whoever is the best sing in competitions. I want that to be me more than anything. I want to be on Broadway. I want to be a star. But you reminded me that I can be a star WITH other people. I don’t have to alienate everyone to be a star.”
“That’s true. There aren’t really a lot of one-woman Broadway shows. You have to learn to work with other people and be personable.”
“I know, and I’m going to work on it. Anyway, I appreciate you being willing to give me the chance to sing the lead on the duet with you. I think we sound fantastic together. And while I agree with Mr. Schue’s assessment that you are not a suitable male lead for the group, you are definitely a suitable male lead for the Broadway songs. You can sing songs that Finn could never sing. And he has that boy-next-door, aw-shucks quality that you don’t, which makes him good as the lead for other types of songs.”
“Puck and Artie are really good too, Rachel. I think you need to get over your stereotyping of a male lead that is based solely on looks. Makeup and wigs can transform people into looking like whatever character they’re supposed to be portraying. Just look at actors like Jason Isaacs. How he looked and acted in Hook was nothing like how he looked in the Harry Potter movies. You and Mr. Schue are judging my masculinity and suitability as a male lead based on my preferred style of dressing. Don’t be so limiting. I can sing as low as Finn, maybe lower. You’ve just never heard me. But just because you’ve not heard me doesn’t mean that I can’t.”
“I guess I never really thought about it. It’s just that everyone likes Finn. And him being the male lead gives the group a chance to stop being the lowest of the low at school.”
“I get that. And I am fully aware that I don’t have the social clout that Finn does. But you also need to realize that for the most part, the people who put Finn at the top of the social ladder don’t actually attend choir competitions. Finding a good song for him to sing lead on is a good idea. Just don’t always assume that it should be you singing with him. You can sing things that the other girls in our group can’t, just like I can sing things that the other guys in our group can’t. We really need to figure out how to best use each of the unique skills the people in our group have. I mean honestly, can you see Tina singing what Mercedes is singing for Sectionals? But at the same time, Tina is perfect for ‘True Colors’. Different songs, different styles, different lead singers. If you always want to be the lead, start a band. Be the lead singer in your own band. Sing in local places.”
“I get it. Glee Club isn’t my own personal band. I can’t just dictate that I get every solo.”
“Think of being in New Directions the way you’d think about being a violin in an orchestra. Sure there are lots of orchestra pieces with violin solos, but it would sound terrible to play the lead saxophone part in a jazz piece on a violin. And there are lots of instruments in an orchestra that get featured parts, like flutes, oboes, and trumpets, but there are also other instruments that rarely get featured, but the orchestra would sound terrible without them. We’re not going to only perform pieces with violin solos.”
“That’s an interesting analogy.”
“You need to think of unusual pairs. Dave and Tina could totally pull off that ‘You’ll Never Find’ duet that Michael Bublé and Laura Pausini did recently.”
“Hmm. I never really thought about it.”
“Other than Puck’s mohawk making him stand out from the rest of us, once you put us all in matching clothes, you lose those stereotypes that you tack onto us when we’re in our regular clothes. If Puck grew his hair out and all of us styled our hair similarly, those preconceived ideas of what songs are suited to our personalities are suddenly just gone. Just seeing the seven of us, not counting Puck, standing on stage in these outfits, there’s no way for anyone to guess which one of us is a rocker or a crooner. People who don’t know us, won’t know that I’m a loser and Finn is popular.”
“I disagree. I’m betting that people CAN actually tell that Finn is popular and you're not because you would act self-conscious and he would not. He’s used to being the center of attention and being praised. You aren’t. You would shy back and look at your feet or avoid making eye contact. I’m coming across as cocky, and Tina is too timid. You’re like Tina.”
“I’ll think about that, but you’re wrong about me. I may come across as socially shy, but I’m not on stage. I’ll show you something later. I don’t want to wake the guys up right now to get it. But your idea is still important. Maybe we need to video ourselves and figure out what we might be doing to undermine ourselves.”
“That’s an interesting idea. I have found that I’ve learned a lot from watching the recordings of myself that I post to MySpace.”
“We need to find ways to improve individually and as a group. Like an orchestra. The violinist needs to be as good as they can get, while the bassoonist also needs to be the best they can be. The point isn’t to just give the bassoon solo to a violinist. I have a great idea for something for us to do as a group after Sectionals.”
“I’m going to think about what you’ve said. I’ll let you finish hemming that dress. I should learn to sew. Maybe Tina would give me lessons in trade for some lessons on poise and self-confidence.” Rachel went back to the living room to get the girls up.
After the girls had eaten breakfast, they went downstairs and kicked the boys upstairs so they could take quick showers. While the girls were all downstairs, the guys ate. Once they finished, they sat around the table talking.
“Do all of you own plain black belts?” Kurt asked. “If you don’t, you need to get one. Also, I personally hated my tie flying around while we performed at the Invitationals. Is anyone opposed to me finding cheap tie tacks to keep our ties in place while we perform?”
“I have no idea what a tie tack is, but I'm in favor of our ties not flapping around,” Puck said.
“Alright. I’ll get eight, somewhere cheap, and paint them black if I have to. That way they don’t even have to match exactly.”
“Works for me. Anything blocking my view of my feet at any point in time is a dancing hazard,” Finn said.
“You all can go back to playing games or watching a movie, or whatever. When the girls come up, I need to see all of them in their dresses at the same time to make sure we’ve got them all the way they need to be. After that, I think Rachel wants us to practice ‘Jump’ a few times before everyone leaves. Oh, and anyone who needs a belt that doesn’t have one can get one at Goodwill for 99 cents usually.”
Dave stayed after everyone else left. He went down and showered while Kurt straightened up upstairs. Dave swept and cleaned up the trash in Kurt’s room while Kurt showered. They plopped on the futon once Kurt came out of the bathroom.
“I’m so tired. How late did you all stay up? I crashed around 2:00, and you were all still upstairs.”
“I think we came down around 4:00. Everyone was so tired they just went to sleep. So, I managed to sneak into bed with you.”
“I wondered. I figured they’d act weird about you sleeping in my bed, but then you were in bed with me. At least all of our slacks fit and the dresses fit right. Tina and I still have to make the sashes. I think we’re going out after the commercial shoot tomorrow to get the fabric.”
“I need to get busy on my homework since we’re doing that commercial thing tomorrow. Who knows how long that will take.”
“I can’t read right now. I’ll just fall asleep. How about we take a nap? I’ll set my phone alarm.”
“Okay.”
Kurt set his alarm and turned on his side and Dave snuggled up behind him.
Sunday morning, everyone arrived at the mattress store on time. The New Directions showed the director their ideas, and he went with them. Dave and Azimio didn’t have a lot of luck learning to do any of the flips, so they opted to stay with Artie and just sang. It took a lot of takes before the director was satisfied, but they were done by noon. They all changed back into their clothes and decided to go out to Taco Bell together for lunch. Afterwards, they all split and went their separate ways with the half that could drive giving rides to the rest of the group.
Tina went with Kurt to the fabric store to get the fabric for the sashes. She had left her sewing machine behind the day before, so they headed to Kurt’s. Kurt brought his sewing machine up to the dining room. The two of them worked all afternoon and finished all of the sashes and got them fastened to the dresses. They loaded all of the dresses and slacks into the back of the Navigator. Kurt put all of his schoolbooks and an outfit to wear to school Monday in a duffel and put it in the backseat. Tina packed up her sewing stuff, and Kurt helped her load it into the backseat and then took her home.
Kurt went to Dave’s after he dropped Tina off. After they ate dinner, they spent the evening lying around on Dave’s sofa in the den watching old movies.
Due to the football team moving ahead in the playoffs, the Glee Club still held before-school rehearsals. They had just five days of practice left before Sectionals. Once their half-hour was up they all headed off to class.
They met back up in the auditorium after school to run through their whole set a few times. They left when they finished without going back to the choir room.
They met up again Tuesday morning before school and found a stack of mattresses in the choir room. At lunch, they found out that Sue had informed Mr. Schue that if he attended Sectionals as their director, the New Directions would be forced to forfeit because, by opening one of the mattresses, he had inadvertently broken a show choir by-law that prevents any show choir from making money by performing. He promised that he would find a way for them to still compete.
Wednesday evening when Kurt got home from work around 7:15, he was surprised to find Dave sitting in the living room.
“Hey, handsome. Whatcha doin’?” Kurt asked with a fake Western accent.
Dave laughed. “I’m sitting here waiting for you to get home.”
“Clearly.” Kurt plopped down on the sofa. “I’m in need of a shower. You can watch something until I come back up, or you can come down and wait for me in my room. You’re all dressed up?”
“I am. Go ahead and shower and get redressed.”
“Okay.” Kurt headed downstairs.
Dave took a folding table and two chairs down to Kurt’s room, then went back up and grabbed the tablecloth, placemats, and place settings. Once he heard Kurt rummaging through his closet, he brought the food down that he had in the oven and plated it. He brought the candles and lighter back down and lit the candles and pocketed the lighter. He started one of Kurt’s jazz CDs, letting it play quietly in the background. He turned the lights in the room off and waited for Kurt.
Kurt came out a few minutes later. “What’s all this? It’s beautiful.”
“Come eat with me.”
They sat down and Kurt had a huge smile on his face. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Kurt took a bite. “Did you cook this for me?”
“I did.”
“It’s really good.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
Kurt hadn’t put any shoes on when he came out. He slipped his foot up under Dave’s pant leg.
“That tickles.”
“Should I stop?”
“Definitely not.”
Kurt laughed. “You know you really don’t have to spoil me. I was just teasing. I’m not expecting you to do things like this.”
“I didn’t do it because I thought you expected me to. I did it because I wanted to.”
“Well, it’s really sweet.”
They finished eating without a lot of talking. Kurt was recuperating from a three-hour shift that had involved two tire rotations after football practice. When they were done, Dave moved the table to the bottom of the stairwell to get it out of the way. He turned back and walked to where Kurt was sitting.
“Care to dance with me?”
“Sure. Just give me a minute.” He went into his closet and put his cowboy boots on because they were the quickest thing he could think of with the highest heel. He was back out in a flash and he noticed that Dave had turned the volume up a bit and had changed the CD or hooked up his phone.
He stepped forward and took Dave’s hand. They slow-danced around the room for a couple of songs. When the third song started, Dave began to sing along. He sang “Unforgettable” in Kurt’s ear as he held him close. Kurt could hardly believe that someone felt that way about him. He knew that Dave had said he had liked him for a long time, but he was overwhelmed to hear Dave sing to him like that. When the song ended Kurt wrapped his arms around Dave’s neck and kissed him.
“That was beautiful. Thank you.”
After they danced to one more song, Dave said, “I was going to take you out for dessert, but I want to make sure you actually want to go out. We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
“I’m a little confused by the way you phrased that. Are you concerned that I don’t want to be seen with you? Or are you just not sure whether I want to leave the house and go somewhere else?”
“Both, I guess.”
“Come sit down.”
Dave followed him over to the futon and they sat down next to each other. Kurt took Dave’s hand and interlaced their fingers.
“First off, I’m not ashamed to be seen with you.” He squeezed Dave’s hand. “I don’t initiate any PDA because we’ve never actually talked about it, so I don’t know what you’re comfortable with. When we first went out, we acted more like we were just friends. And that was fine. I told you that I would never push you to come out in any setting. And I won’t. But you came out at school and you rarely do anything couple-ish, except sitting close to me in Glee and putting your arm across the back of my chair. Keep in mind, this is not a complaint, just a statement. I’ve just followed what you did so I wouldn’t inadvertently out you or make you feel uncomfortable. So, maybe now is a good time to define what you are comfortable with in public.”
“I never really thought I’d be comfortable with any of it. Like I told you, originally I wanted to be straight and I was disappointed when I found out the conversion therapy wouldn’t work.”
“I remember.”
“And then I met the most gorgeous, amazing, and sassy guy who happens to also be gay. And I came to terms with the fact that I like guys, and, specifically, I really like you. And over the last few months, I guess I’ve just realized how much less stock I put in what other people think. I mean, my mother walked out on us, but as much as I miss her, I don’t miss always being on edge at home.”
“I understand. I stood in my basement back in September and told my dad that Tina was my girlfriend, but we weren’t exclusive yet.”
Dave laughed.
“And my dad is pretty open-minded. I can only imagine the stress of living with someone who was vocally homophobic.”
“Yeah. But now I’m through caring about what people that I don’t even know and I’m not friends with think about my personal life. And I came to the conclusion that having my dad on my side is enough. I’m not interested in one-sided friendships. If someone can’t accept me for who I am, then I’m just letting the person go. At the same time, this isn’t exactly San Francisco or some other gay-friendly place, and I don’t want to endanger you, so I hold back. When we’re at school, it takes a lot of focused effort not to just reach out and take your hand when we walk through the halls. I have to stop myself from putting my arm around you or on your leg when we’re sitting at lunch eating together. I think that we spend so much time together just doing our own thing in the same space that I’m used to constantly brushing up against you or kissing you on the back of the neck when I walk by or holding hands with you while we read or playing footsie while we do math problems.”
“I stop myself too, in case you’ve wondered. When you sit next to me in class, I struggle not to put my left hand on your leg just to touch you somewhere. When you walk next to me in the hallway, I try to put my hand on something I’m holding or carrying so that I don’t accidentally grab your hand because it’s near mine.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really. Why?”
“I guess I’ve just noticed you focusing on holding onto your bag intentionally or shifting your books into the arm closest to me or sitting on your hand in class—so it seems like you're putting a lot of effort into keeping me from holding your hand. I didn’t know how to interpret your actions.”
“I’m putting a lot of effort into not reaching out for you because you never said what you were comfortable with, so I didn’t do anything that I thought would make you uncomfortable. So, I guess it comes back to you again. What are you comfortable with?”
“That’s so hard to answer because whenever you’re within my reach, I just like touching you.”
“I already said that I feel the same way. I’m all the way out. My closet was see-through anyway. So, there’s little point in trying to hide who I am. But I do my best not to stand out too much when we go out. But as far as I’m concerned, I’m open to PDA. We can go out to wherever you had planned, and I’ll hold your hand. You can wrap your arm around my shoulders or around my waist. You can hug or kiss me if you want. I’m not big on seeing other people do much more than chaste kissing in public, so that’s where I’d feel comfortable stopping.”
“So, if we went to the Lima Bean, and you went to get us a table while I waited in line, then I sat down next to you and slid your coffee to you and then kissed you, you’d be okay with that.”
“Sure, but I don’t want you to feel like you SHOULD do that just because I’d be fine with it. I’d want you to do it because you actually WANT to do it. Does that make sense?”
“Yeah. So, you’d do all of those couple-ish things like split a dessert or a drink?”
“Of course. We kiss all the time. It’s not like you have cooties or something.” He leaned toward Dave and kissed him.
“I know I don’t have cooties.” Dave laughed.
“But it’s entirely up to you. Not everyone enjoys PDA, gay or straight or otherwise inclined. I’m not going to break up with you at some point because you’re not comfortable with PDA. I don’t want you to feel like you have to do something you’re uncomfortable with to keep me happy. But I definitely don’t want you to think that I’m intentionally withholding PDA from you because I’m embarrassed to be seen with you.”
“So, how about for the next week, you reciprocate any PDA that I initiate? I won’t go past the point of simple kisses, if I even get that far. We’ll talk about it again in a week and see what we both feel comfortable with.”
“Seems reasonable to me. Are we having Thanksgiving at your house or here?”
“Here I think. You guys have a bigger TV to watch sports on.”
Kurt laughed. “That makes sense.” He leaned over and kissed Dave on the cheek. “How about for tonight, I help you put the stuff from dinner back upstairs and we come back down and get ready for bed? I didn’t actually fix my hair before I came out, so it’s product free. You can shower if you want and we can get in bed and snuggle. Not because I don’t want to go out with you, but because I’d rather stay in this evening. Everything you did was very sweet and very romantic. You’re a big sweetie. Cooking for me, candles, dancing, and a serenade. Puts my measly effort to shame.”
“I happened to love the origami flower in my locker this morning. It’s at home on my dresser where I can look at it whenever I want and think about the beautiful guy who took the time to fold a beautiful flower for me.”
“You’re a sap for sure. Who’d've thunk?”
“Thunk? Your hick is showing.”
“You’re the one that line-danced for me.”
“You’re the one who wanted me to teach you so you could watch my ass the whole time.”
Kurt laughed. “Come on. Let’s get that stuff upstairs. When’s my dad coming back?”
“I think around 10:00.”
“It’s got to be close to 9:30. I didn’t get any homework done tonight. I need to either do the Algebra problem set tonight or I have to get up extra early to do it in the morning, and we already have to be at school early.”
“I did all of mine while you were at work. How about you get started on yours and I’ll take this stuff up myself. I’ll take a shower when I’m done. Maybe you’ll have finished the math problems by then.”
“Good plan. I’ll get started.”
Glee Club still met before school to rehearse, but since Mr. Schue could no longer do anything to help them, he didn’t attend their rehearsals. Thursday after school, Miss Pillsbury showed up in his place and said that she would be the one chaperoning the trip as the club’s faculty advisor. She knew nothing about directing them, but she was there, which is what mattered the most.
Friday night was an away game, which made it tough on the New Directions members. They won, and as soon as they got back to school, they went straight home to sleep because they had to be back at the school early the next morning.
Miss Pillsbury was there waiting for everyone Saturday morning. They loaded their costumes and boarded the bus. When they arrived at the auditorium where they were competing, they headed to the green room to get ready.
Miss Pillsbury picked up a program as she headed to the auditorium to watch. She called Mr. Schuester and confirmed his suspicions. The Haverbrook Deaf Choir sang one of the songs from the fake set list that he had given to Coach Sue and the Jane Addams Girls School choir sang two of the songs. When it was time for the New Directions to perform, she called him back and let him listen to them sing.
Kurt and Rachel stepped onto the stage and started the spoken parts of “What is this Feeling?” They transitioned into the song and did a fantastic job with their acting. The rest of the New Directions came in on time and sang their parts well. Their choreography looked good.
They reset quickly for “Somebody to Love”, which looked a lot better than it had at the Invitationals when Rachel mostly wandered around the stage with Finn. Santana did a great job on lead with Finn, and the group managed to balance the sound despite having more guys than girls.
The members of the group reset with four guys on the top row, the four girls on the second riser, and the other four guys on the first with Mercedes front and center belting out “And I’m Telling You”. The crowd was on their feet, cheering when she finished. Her performance brought the house down. The applause didn’t die down for quite some time. She stepped back and the curtain closed. They all hugged and congratulated each other.
During the intermission, while the judges made their decision, Kurt and Rachel went to retrieve the video camera they had asked one of the Haverbrook students to use to record them and thanked him. They went back to their seats and waited for the results. Once all of the groups were on stage, the emcee announced that the New Directions came in first and were advancing to the Regionals competition.
Miss Pillsbury took a few photos of them on the stage with their trophy before they went back to the green room to change. After they were redressed and their costumes were packed up, they took everything back out to the bus and went back to McKinley.
Monday morning was the first time they hadn’t rehearsed before school in nearly a month, but Kurt had gotten accustomed to getting up earlier, so he picked Dave up at the same time he had been to get to school early. Dave hopped in the passenger seat and leaned forward to kiss Kurt when he got in.
“Good morning. How about we go to the Lima Bean before school? My treat.”
“Sure.” Kurt drove to the coffee shop and pulled into the crowded lot. “It looks like we’ll need to get it to go.”
“That’s fine. Come get in line with me.”
They got out of the Navigator and headed inside. Dave stood behind him in line and put his hands on Kurt’s waist. Kurt smiled and left Dave’s hands there. Dave had been publicly affectionate with him since they had talked the week before. He had started holding Kurt’s hand in the hallways. He wrapped his arm around Kurt’s waist at lunch sometimes. When they were out in public, sometimes he held Kurt’s hand, and other times, he wrapped his arm around Kurt’s waist.
They waited for their drinks and decided to go ahead to school. They walked in together, holding hands, and headed to the choir room to enjoy their drinks in peace. They opened the door and stepped inside to find Mercedes and Azimio kissing. When the two of them heard the door close, they stopped and looked up.
“You made me jump,” Mercedes said.
“Is there something you two would like to share?” Kurt teased.
“I asked this beautiful lady to be my girlfriend after dinner Saturday night, and she agreed.”
“Congratulations!” Kurt said and walked over to Mercedes and hugged her.
“My parents know and everything. He’s been a real gentleman, and my mom really likes him.”
“Her dad didn’t even threaten me … much.” He laughed.
“We’ll leave you two and go drink our coffee somewhere else,” Kurt said. He winked at Mercedes and took Dave’s hand and led them out to the courtyard to a table as far away from everyone else as he could find.
“What was wrong with all of the empty places we walked past?” Dave asked.
“I guess it’s probably just leftover from my hyper-vigilant days. Being able to see everyone rather than being in the center of the action. But you’re right. There’s no reason not to sit in one of those other places. We can move if you want.”
“Not now. We’re already sitting here. But maybe next time.”
“Sure.”
“That’s part of what you were trying to explain last week, wasn’t it?”
“Sitting in places like this and my behavior, in general, makes you think that I’m ashamed to be seen with you or at least makes you wonder about it.”
“I hadn’t thought about what's specifically making me feel that way except that I did notice how much effort you were putting into not holding my hand. But now that I think about it, I’m sure you’re right. You always choose the booth or table in a back corner, if we’re given an option. You didn’t start to sit with me in the classes we share. You still sat in the back, and I was the one that went to sit with you. And you sit in the back row in Glee.”
Kurt scooted closer to Dave. “I’m sorry. You’re always so sweet to me, and I never even considered how you would interpret my behavior. Last year, it didn’t take long for everyone who didn’t already know me to figure out that I was the lowest of the low socially. And that associating with me greatly increased someone’s odds of being on the receiving end of slushie facials. Initially, I tried sitting with people, in an attempt to turn over a new leaf and be more social. But after a few people I sat down near got slushied, I just gave up trying. I’d just walk past everyone and sit as far away from people as I could. It gave me a good vantage point, and it was just better for everyone. Sitting in the back of a classroom prevents me from being hit with as many spit wads. A lot of my behavior is protecting myself, and it’s just my default setting now.” He sat thinking for a few minutes. “This reminds me of something Rachel said. I told her that except for Puck because of his mohawk, all of us guys could stand on a stage in our costumes and no one would be able to tell which ones of us were popular and which ones were the losers. She said I was wrong. She said that my behavior would give it away to the people looking at us. I think she might be more right than I had originally given her credit for.”
“Don’t tell her that. She already has a big head.”
Kurt laughed. “She and I had a long talk. She’s trying. I need to think about some stuff, though. I’m making you less confident by being so socially isolating. I don’t want to do that to you. If you want to hang out and do things with the other jocks, I’m okay with that. I know we’ve been spending most of our time together, but I don’t want you to feel like I’m limiting your life. I want you to be happy being yourself and doing what you enjoy. I won’t like you less because you want to go play a game of football or basketball without me.”
“I think it’s just a combination. I no longer feel like that confident jock because it was really just an act. I never worried about where I sat or who I sat with as far as having my choice of companions or seating. But I’m not who all of those people thought I was. I feel better knowing that you’re not choosing to sit way over here because you don’t want people to see us together. How about we work on it until we find some solution that we both can be okay with? Maybe we could sit with the Glee Club at lunch some days and the football team other days.”
“Okay. The honest truth is that I don’t know how to have friends. Mercedes and I had just started to hang out after we both joined Glee, but that was mostly just going shopping and me giving her makeovers and watching TV shows that my dad hates. I had a sleepover for her, Tina, and Rachel. That was before Santana, Quinn, and Brittany joined Glee. Mercedes doesn’t really know anything personal about me. We hadn’t really made it to the confide-in-each-other stage of friendship. I mean, it had only been a week and a half or so before we started dating when she threw a huge rock through my windshield because I turned her down when she asked me out on a date. Later that week, I came out to her. She was the first person I had ever actually spoken the words, ‘I’m gay.’ to. So, it’s not like I have much experience with having friends. You asked me out, and my dad just let me spend as much time with you as I wanted to. And we just fell into being ourselves together. I like being with you. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had. I know you already have a best friend, and that’s okay. I don’t want you to feel like I’m trying to monopolize your life. It’s okay to want to spend time with Azimio and the jocks if you want.”
“The bell’s going to ring soon. We can talk more later. I feel better already. I was starting to feel like our relationship was lopsided. Like I really like you, a lot, but you only sort of, kind of, liked me since you kept your distance from me and then had us stay away from everyone else. I understand better now.”
“I have no way of comparing how much you like me versus how much I like you, but if I just wanted you to be some kind of trophy jock boyfriend, I wouldn’t spend all of my free time with you. I’d just go out once a week on a public date with you and I would most certainly hold your hand in the hallway and sit right next to you at the jock table to assert our relationship to the people at school. Those would all be selfish things to do because I would be doing them for myself. It would have been a way of inserting myself at the top and using you to get there. But like I said, I didn’t consider how my reticence to seem like a couple would make you feel insecure about our relationship. We just have very different social experiences. It’s because I care and because I didn’t want to push you to be more demonstrative than you wanted to be that I’ve been hands-off and more reserved.”
“We have to go to class. We’ll keep talking. I’m understanding more the more we talk.” He leaned toward Kurt. “Can I kiss you here?”
“If you want to.”
“I do want to, but I want you to want me to.”
“Go ahead, then.” He smiled and leaned toward Dave.
They kissed quickly and chastely. They both stood up. Once Kurt had his satchel up on his shoulder, Dave took Kurt’s hand and didn’t let go until they split apart to go in different directions for their first period class.
Kurt put his hand on Dave’s leg in the morning class they shared. Before lunch, they met at the Navigator, carried in the containers of cookies, and took them to the jock table. They sat together at lunch with the jocks and Dave put his arm around Kurt’s waist while they ate. They discussed the upcoming game. After they finished eating, Kurt collected his cookie earnings and quickly returned the containers to his SUV. In the afternoon class they shared, they switched sides and Dave put his hand on Kurt’s leg during class. In Glee, Dave pushed his chair closer and put his arm around Kurt’s shoulders. Kurt leaned into him and relaxed.
Mr. Schue came in a few minutes later. “I want to congratulate all of you on your fantastic performance at Sectionals. We will be moving on to compete at Regionals, which I have found out is in early March, which gives us 12 weeks to prepare, not counting winter break and this week since we’re only meeting today because Thursday is Thanksgiving. We are moving into a new era, as winners. I want all of you to think of a song containing ‘Hello’. As in ‘Hello to a new era.’”
Kurt raised his hand.
“Yes, Kurt?”
“While everyone was at my house when Tina and I did the costume alterations, Rachel and I had a long conversation. We both brought up a lot of valid points about our group. The two of you have certain ideas about who makes an appropriate male lead, and I countered with the fact that, while your assessment may be true for certain genres of music, it isn’t true across the board.”
“Get to your point Twinkletoes,” Santana said.
Kurt took a deep breath and ignored her. “I’d like to suggest that each Thursday we each choose a genre of music and a style of dress and we demonstrate our acting and singing abilities across styles of music on the following Monday. We can’t pick the best representation of a song when we really don’t know what our skills are. Plus, Rachel pointed out that, while some of us have an overabundance of self-confidence to the point of bordering on ridiculous, others of us lack confidence, which holds us back from performing at our best.”
“I can see your point, Kurt. But give us at least one example before I agree to this.”
“For example, you just assigned us to find a song with ‘hello’ in it. Rather than choosing an open-ended assignment, which will more than likely end with each of us choosing a song in our preferred style or a lot of us not participating at all because we can’t find a song in our style that meets your requirements, I suggest we choose something like dressing up in an elegant, suave style and singing a song from the '30s or '40s for the following Monday. Another example would be for us to dress in a goth style and sing in hard rock, metal, or heavy metal style. Obviously, not all of us are going to be good at singing in that style, but there might come a time when choosing one of us who is good at it to sing lead on a song in that style, while the rest of us would need to be able to act and sing back up with the appropriate look and attitude. We could even vote each week for the best act, and then have a show at the year where the winners perform their song.”
“What do the rest of you think?”
Puck spoke up, “I admit I think I zoned out at some point, but I think he’s saying that we’ll dress up and sing in different styles, pick who’s the best each week, and then have a big show like a concert at the end of the year?”
“Yep,” Santana said. “I like the idea. I mean it’s really unlikely that we’ll win at Regionals our very first year and we can keep working on a big concert-like setlist we can perform, like, in May or something. And Kurt’s right. We need to figure out what our strengths are. I’ve never tried singing anything from the '30s or '40s. I don’t know that I’ve ever even heard any music that old. But I might kick butt at it. And we’ve got all those costumes we’re going to work on straightening up. There might be stuff in there from old performances and shows that we can use without spending a bunch of money to do it. It could be fun.”
“I agree,” Rachel said. “Kurt said that he can sing as low as Finn, but I’ve never heard him. Until he sang ‘Defying Gravity’, I don’t think I had ever heard him sing by himself. And that’s true for at least half of the group. Kurt also pointed out that I need to remember that if I want to sing lead all the time I should start my own band.”
“Hear, hear,” Artie said. “We don’t hate your voice, Rachel. You’re a good singer. But all of us want a chance to shine. This time you, Mercedes, Finn, Santana, and Kurt were in the spotlight. At Regionals, the rest of us need a chance to be in the spotlight, if we want it. There may be some people in the group that like being in the background. We won’t push them into the spotlight against their will or anything. But I think Kurt’s idea is pretty cool.”
“Alright, then. We’ll stick with my ‘hello’ assignment for the Monday after break, and the following week we’ll do '30s and '40s songs and costumes. Work more on the hair and makeup and use what you can find in the costume room rather than buying stuff. The first Tuesday and Wednesday that the football team doesn’t practice after school, we’ll be working to organize the costumes. That will help a lot with these weekly assignments. My only rule with the costumes is that you put them back organized once we get the room cleaned up. One last thing before I get to my lesson is that I wanted to congratulate those of you on the football team for making it to the Regional Finals this Friday.”
Everyone clapped and whooped.
Mr. Schue went on to start his lesson.
Tuesday at football practice, the team was completely shocked by Miss Pillsbury announcing that Coach Tanaka had quit.
“I didn’t want all of you to lose out on your chance at advancing in the playoffs, so I offered to take over when I found out today that Coach Tanaka quit over the weekend. I know absolutely NOTHING about football, though.”
“That’s okay Miss P,” Azimio said. “Me and Puck been runnin' the team ever since Hummel joined and we got ourselves a good kicker. Coach Tanaka’s been sittin' on the bench ever since like two months ago. We’re cool. We got this.”
“Everybody up and run laps,” Puck said. He jogged out to the head of the group to pace them around the stadium.
Kurt moved and sat next to Miss Pillsbury. “Thanks for stepping in. It means a lot to the seniors who are being scouted. A couple of them got offers already.”
“I know. That’s what made me realize that I had to do this despite being 100% unqualified.”
“Azimio’s got this. He’s been coming up with good plays for the last couple of months. Puck trains them.”
“And you?”
“I kick footballs. The freshmen second-stringers will be back after the laps and they’ll take turns holding and retrieving the balls I kick. I don’t have to run laps or train. Puck took me into the weight room one day and had me show him what I can do. I do a lot of yoga and resistance work at home. He said I don’t need to put on muscle mass or bulk up and for me to keep doing what I do at home since I’m really strong without the bulk. He’s in charge, and I hate running laps, so who am I to argue.”
Miss Pillsbury laughed. “Makes sense to me.”
“What’s going to happen to the basketball team?”
“Without a coach, there won’t be one this year.”
“That stinks for the seniors who had been hoping to get scouted, if there are any.”
“It does, but I don’t think the school would be okay with me being a substitute coach for an entire season when I am clueless. This is just for a few weeks at most. They may find someone to hire part-time just to coach basketball. We’ll just have to wait and see. For the rest of the semester, Sue is overseeing both the boys' and girls' PE classes. For the next three weeks, they’ll be doing aerobics and regular exercises like sit-ups and push-ups. There’s not much else we can do. We’re bringing in a substitute of course, but you know what will happen to a PE substitute.”
“Yeah. Apathy or chaos.”
“Exactly. So, everyone will be in the gym together with Sue and the substitute.”
All the guys came back from running. They grabbed drinks and sat down.
“Hummel’s got an announcement before we go run plays,” Azimio said.
Kurt got up, “Thursday is Thanksgiving and we’re having a big three-day sports spectacular at my house. We have a 55-inch TV, and you’re all invited to come starting at noon on Thursday. There are three big games on Thursday, and more on Friday and Saturday. Obviously, we have to be here to play Friday night and possibly Saturday in Dayton if we win Friday. It’s a come-and-go-whenever-you-want event. Bring drinks and snacks to share and a sleeping bag if you want to stay over. I do need to know how many people are coming for Thanksgiving dinner so I know how much food to cook.”
“You mean you’re inviting us to eat a real Thanksgiving dinner, like a turkey?” Puck asked.
“Yeah. But I need to know who’s coming so I can buy enough to feed everybody. I have a notebook. You can sign up on your way out to the field if you want to come at noon for the Thanksgiving meal itself. The only rule is no alcohol. Dave’s dad and my dad will be there. So, there’ll be turkey, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, cornbread stuffing, pumpkin pie, and carrot cake. We’ll make sandwiches out of the leftover turkey for dinner before the third game starts. You can come and go as you want. I don’t have the game times with me, but you all probably already know when they are.”
“If we pay you, will you make brownies or something chocolate?” Azimio asked.
“I can make brownies too. Anyone who wants to just come for the games can do that too.”
Azimio stood up again. “Defensive line to the weight room. You know what to do. Offensive line to the field. Go!”
Kurt sat on the bench until everyone had walked past. A few guys signed up. He handed the notebook to Miss Pillsbury. “I’m going to go kick footballs.”
She nodded. When he came to pick the notebook up before he left for the locker room, five guys had signed up to come for the big meal, and quite a few said that they’d be over for some of the games.
Wednesday evening after football practice, Kurt hurried home to start baking one of the turkeys. As soon as the turkey was in the oven, he went to the shop to work his shift.
When he got off, he picked Dave up. They went to Sam’s Club and the grocery store, then took everything back to the Hummels'. Kurt had made a schedule of when to start each dish during a boring movie the math substitute had shown that morning. He put Dave to work peeling potatoes while he took a shower. He came back up and the two of them worked together to follow Kurt’s plans and get everything prepped.
When Kurt pulled the turkey out, he put two pumpkin pies in the oven. He let the turkey cool to the point of being able to slice it up. He had Dave use an electric knife to carve it up. He stored the slices in a chicken roaster. Kurt prepped two more pumpkin pies.
They continued to work until 10:30, then headed downstairs. They changed into pajamas. Kurt turned some soft music on and then lay down with Dave.
“We did good. I’ll get up in the morning and put the second turkey in. Later, we can make breakfast, and then get started on the rest.”
“Okay. You’re going to a lot of trouble making all of this stuff.”
“You’re helping. If you weren’t helping me, I couldn’t do it. Do you wish we weren’t doing it? Did I rope you into too much?”
“No, it’s fine. It’s just that most of the guys who will be in and out to watch the games and stuff were never nice to you.”
“I know. But we were talking, and I thought about how I shut everyone out across the board. I just shut out everyone. It’s no wonder everyone thought I was a stuck-up weirdo. I didn’t let anyone close to me. All they ever saw was me being quiet and wearing fancy clothes. If I want to make more friends, I’m going to have to try harder. I guess I just want to give them a chance to see that I’m just a normal guy. I live in a normal house, with a normal dad, who does normal things. I cook, but without a mom, someone has to cook. I don’t have to get the sewing machine out and demonstrate my ability to do ruching. Or show them how good I am at yoga.”
“Mmm. I like your yoga lessons.”
“Of course you do.” Kurt rolled his eyes.
“You’re rolling your eyes. I can hear you.”
Kurt laughed. “Of course, you can.” He leaned forward and kissed Dave. “I guess I’m just stepping out of my comfort zone and trying new things. Guys like to eat, and football players generally like to watch football games. I know the girls in Glee will take me in, but I’m not a girl. Even if I have better insight into society’s general misogynistic treatment of women because as an effeminate gay man, I get lumped in with them in the way men treat me. I don’t want to be a girl.”
“I think I get it. Gay men aren’t girls, and you don’t dislike or disrespect women, but you want to be seen as a man.”
“I do. Changing the topic. We said we’d talk in a week. How do you feel about the changes you made? Has your opinion on PDA changed?”
“It has. I didn’t realize how tense I was feeling about our relationship when you were purposefully not showing any PDA and I thought you weren’t secure enough in how you felt to be willing to do simple things like hold my hand. We had our wires crossed, which was no one’s fault, but we were both suffering because of it. I learned that I should share when something is bothering me sooner rather than keeping it to myself. And I learned that I really like the freedom of being able to touch you in public. Just the small things. What about you?”
“I’m fine with how we changed things in the last week. All I ever wanted was for you to feel comfortable. You were the one risking everything. You were the one the jocks attacked. And you’re the one that ended up in the ER. I will just continue to follow your lead. I’ll just assume that you are comfortable with me doing whatever you do. So, if you hug me in front of my locker, I will assume that you’re okay with me hugging you in front of yours. And we’ll keep communicating. If you try something and then afterwards, you change your mind, just tell me.”
“Sounds reasonable.”
“I am sorry that you felt like I was embarrassed in any way. You’ve been nothing but sweet and kind. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Kurt ran his hand down Dave’s cheek. “All of this is new for both of us. We just have to not make assumptions.” He leaned forward and kissed Dave.
“And I’m sorry I didn’t just ask sooner. I didn’t think about you still trying to protect me once those guys weren’t at school anymore.”
“I’ll go ahead and ask this since we’re talking about not making assumptions. Are you still actually okay with the fact that I’m not ready to move past where we are? I know that a lot of guys break up with their girlfriends because they won’t ‘put out’ as the guys say. You’re not just saying you’re okay when you’re not, are you?”
“I’m not going to break up with you because you’re not ready. I mean, I’d rather you be honest and tell me if you don’t find me attractive in that way at all.”
“I do think you’re attractive and sexy, so it’s not personal in that I can think of some other guy that I WOULD be willing to have sex with if he just walked up and said, ‘Let’s do it’. I’ve heard people refer to their ‘exception’ or ‘freebie’ in movies and stuff. Like there’s a person that the character would just automatically agree to have sex with if given the opportunity. I don’t have anyone like that. There aren’t any celebrities or people I know that I would just automatically agree to have sex with. But it’s not that my body doesn’t work or something. So, don’t think that. I can’t say when I’ll be ready because I just don’t know. I guess there’s always the chance that I won’t ever feel ready, but I think that would be a separate issue. I guess I can get my dad to take me to a doctor to make sure there’s nothing wrong with me. But I can understand if you really want that and I can’t give it to you that you wouldn’t want to stay with me. I could understand why you would want to look for someone who could give you what I can’t right now.”
“We’ve been together for a little over two months, which I have completely enjoyed. I’m not incapable of taking care of things myself. I’m not going to lie and say that I haven’t imagined what it would be like with you—touching you and other stuff. But I like you way too much to go looking for someone else just because you’re not ready yet. I’m not sure that I’m ready to go all the way. As long as you’re not just waiting around for someone else—”
“No." Kurt interrupted. " Please don’t think that. I’m not just biding my time and using you. I’m not waiting for some gay Prince Charming to waltz into my life and sweep me off my feet into his bed.” Kurt kissed Dave. “It’s not like that. We’ve talked a lot. I’m just getting the hang of being your best friend. Well, I mean I know that Azimio’s your best friend, but—”
“Stop right there. You said that the other day, and we had to go to class. You are my best friend. Friendships change. And Azimio and I are great … what’s the right word? I mean we are friends, but we’re like activity friends. I like to play basketball with him. I like to play video games with him. I like to do things with him. But If I had to pick someone to spend the day with in a room, it would be you, no contest. You and I talk. We don’t have to do something interactive to enjoy being together. You can read a book while I read a book, and we both enjoy that. We have similar GPAs, but you know so much more about everything than I do, but that makes it more interesting for me to learn more so we have more to talk about. It’s not like that with me and Z. He’s got my back and he’s my friend. But you’re my best friend.”
“Really?”
“Really. I’ve told you things I’ve never told anyone. I know we’re learning to trust each other, but I think we’re doing pretty good at it.”
“I think we are. I’ve told you things that no one else knows about me as well. I’ve never trusted anyone except my mom and dad and I think I actually lost that ability when she died. Part of him died too, so I lost her completely and him partially. I learned that I could only trust myself, but I didn’t trust myself either because I was too little. I didn’t know enough. You say that I know so much more about everything than you. That was my only recourse I think. I was left to figure out so much on my own that trying to learn everything just became part of me. I’m glad you don’t hate that part of me. A lot of people do. I’ve been called a know-it-all or similar even more derogatory things for a long time.”
“Well, you should know that I think that smart is sexy.”
Kurt laughed.
Dave ran his hand down Kurt’s arm. “I’m going to ask you something, and you can say ‘no’. Will you let me hold you? Can I wrap my arms around you and pull you close?”
“Okay.”
Dave rearranged a bit and opened his arms and Kurt moved and lay in Dave’s arms and let him hold him.
“I’m getting it more and more. You don’t trust. It’s not that you don’t trust me because I’m me. You just don’t trust in general. I know you’ve said it before, but I’m really starting to get it.”
“I trust you more than anyone but my dad. I’m trying.”
“I believe you. I can see it. I’m starting to get it. I’m not going to give up on you. I’m not going to pressure you. I’ll do everything in my power to be worthy of your trust.”
“I know I’m hard to deal with. I know I have a lot of issues. I can’t just wish them away, but thank you for not just giving up on me.” Kurt was struggling to stay awake.
“Sleep, Fancy.” Dave lay still and held Kurt until he was sound asleep. “I won’t give up on you. I love you too much to give up. One day, I hope you’ll love me too.” He kissed him gently on the top of the head and relaxed his hold a bit and Kurt stayed asleep. Dave got comfortable and fell asleep too.
The alarm went off early. Kurt went up to put the second turkey in the oven, then went back downstairs and got back in bed with Dave. He scooted up close and laid his head on Dave’s chest. Dave roused a bit and smiled. He kissed Kurt on top of the head, and Kurt squished closer.
Dave laughed. “Close enough yet?”
“Not quite.” Kurt wiggled a little more. “There.” He ran his hand down Dave’s arm and interlaced their fingers. “The turkey is in. We can sleep for another hour and a half.”
“Mmm. Or if you’d let me, I could give you a massage.” He felt Kurt tense. “You can keep your clothes on. I just thought maybe you’re feeling a little nervous with so many people you don’t really know coming over today.”
Kurt didn’t say anything.
“Oh, I’m guessing you’ve never had a massage, right? I’ve had them from PTs and trainers.”
“I’ve never let anyone touch me. My dad gives me hugs occasionally, but they’re just quick. You’re the first person I’ve ever let touch me. Everyone else who has ever touched me hurt me.”
“How about I start with your feet then?”
“Can we try it later? I’ll give it a fair trial, but I’m happy here in your arms.”
“Sure.” He smiled. A few minutes later, he felt Kurt’s breathing become regular and he knew he had fallen back asleep. He was beginning to realize just how much trust Kurt had already extended to him. How much he had willingly stepped out of his protective shell to let Dave close.
At noon, everything was ready. Nine people were sitting around the dining room table. Kurt started slicing up the turkey and putting it on a serving platter. Burt picked up the green beans and took some and started passing the bowl to his left. The other guys caught on and picked up whatever was in front of them, took some, then passed the bowl to the left. After the turkey platter got passed around and everyone had taken whatever they wanted, they started to eat.
Once everyone had eaten a plateful, Burt spoke up.
“It’s a Hummel tradition to state one thing you’re thankful for. I’ll go first. I’m thankful that Kurt kept nagging me to go to the doctor until I finally gave in. The medicine I’m on should keep my ticker ticking right for a good long time to come.”
Kurt smiled.
Paul was sitting next to Burt, so he went next. “I’m thankful that I’ve made a new good friend this year.”
Dave was next, “Hey, you took mine.” He elbowed Paul gently. “Burt didn’t say we had to come up with something completely different, so I’m still going with—I’m thankful for the new friends I’ve made this year.”
Kurt was next, “I’m thankful that the people who were harassing me at school aren’t there anymore.”
Puck said, “I’m thankful I got invited today because Kurt’s cooking rocks.”
The other guys laughed and several of them said the same thing.
Burt said, “I’m glad everyone likes everything. I should have added that to what I said. I’m thankful my kid can cook because otherwise, we’d be eating Chinese or pizza today.”
Everyone laughed.
“There’s plenty more food. Help yourselves. You can take your plates into the living room because the game’s about to start, but please don’t eat sitting on the sofa. Once you finish eating, put your plate in the sink, then you can sit on the sofa.”
Kurt added, “There’s pumpkin pie, brownies, carrot cake with cream cheese icing, and snickerdoodles for later. Grab whatever you all want for now. I’m going to put the leftovers in the fridge.”
The guys all refilled their plates and headed into the living room. Kurt put the leftovers away, washed the serving bowls, put them in the dish drain to dry, loaded up the dishes that had been left behind into the dishwasher, and turned it on.
Puck brought his plate in. Kurt took it from him and rinsed it. He started a stack since the dishwasher was already running.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Yeah, sure. What?”
Puck walked into the dining room and Kurt followed him.
“Why did you do this?”
“The truth?”
“The truth.”
“I was hoping that some of the guys would see that I’m just a regular person like them. I don’t live in a big, fancy house with a pool or anything. It’s just a house. And I thought about what you said, how you thought I was stuck up. I’ve been thinking about how that affected the way I was treated. Before Glee, I had no friends. I didn’t even have acquaintances. I was invisible. I told you that. But I’m not a girl and I don’t want to be a girl. My dad told me that I had to try to make friends this year. And I’m trying. I thought maybe if some of the guys at least liked my cooking and enjoyed my hospitality that I’d stop being invisible. I don’t have any crazy idea that I’m going to become popular and a bunch of people will want to hang out with me. But I’d just like to feel like I fit in just a little tiny bit. I’m a good kicker. Maybe I can just be part of the team. I don’t need to be the center of attention. But having people acknowledge my existence in a non-hurtful way would be nice for a chance. I may be going about it all wrong. I just thought my dad is going to sit and watch all of those games whether he is alone or there are a bunch of people. We have a huge TV. I thought maybe some of the guys would enjoy watching the games here if they didn’t have any place else to watch them.”
“Actually, you’re pretty cool. Dinner was great. I don’t think you’re going about it all wrong. Guys love to eat. I’m going to go watch the game.”
“I’m not trying to buy their friendship if that’s what they think. I just wanted to do something nice. And yeah, go watch the game.”
Puck left the room. Kurt grabbed more dishes off the table. He moved the brownies and cookies from the kitchen counter to the table. He finished washing the serving dishes and dried his hands before heading back into the living room. |
Sans
It’s February before I know it. With everything that’s happened recently, the changing of the months kinda snuck up on me. In preparation for some romance-related holiday, the humans have taken to putting little red and pink souls on things, which is a little embarrassing to me, along with most other monsters. Putting that most private of things casually on display just seems so wrong. But since humans don’t soulbond, giving your partner something with a soul on it is probably just a gesture of love and devotion without all the more, ahem, intimate connotations.
I still gotta look away when I pass the more wildly-decorated storefronts, though. Understanding cultural differences is all well and good, but you can’t expect a guy to look at a bunch of souls all touching each other and not feel either embarrassed or turned on, or even a little of both, which is really confusing and one of the most effective set-ups for long-term humiliation I’ve ever experienced.
Hopefully I can get past this soul holiday without making an ass of myself. In one way or another.
Speaking of asses, the trial’s next month. Movin’ right along, there. The arraignment went pretty well, I guess. GaRobage is being charged with three counts of sexual harassment and one of sexual assault, another of aggravated assault, and Checkers’s boss has added a final charge of breaking and entering. I’m helping Rob remember his part of our deal by occasionally letting him spot me outside his little jail window late at night. I swear he pisses himself again every time he sees me. He may end up being the first criminal in history to fight against a lighter sentence. Heh. As if prison could protect him from me. He’ll prob’ly never know that what actually protects him from me is Checkers, and my pathetic need to be one of the good guys for her.
God, Checkers. She saw me at my absolute worst that night, and she just accepted it. I know she didn’t like it, could see the fear in her face at the time, but she knows that part of me now, and she’s still my friend. She still smiles at me whenever I come into the room, still sits beside me and leans against me. She acts like nothing’s changed. She just took that new information and integrated it into the whole, and she’s still here with me.
She’s the only non-enemy in the whole world who’s seen me like that. Feels pretty good, like I’ve gotten something heavy off my chest. I wish I could tell her what her acceptance means to me. But I’d probably end up saying more than I meant to, and I’m not opening up that can of worms. Nope. No way. Nuh-uh.
That’s a no.
Her therapist told her yesterday that she’s doing great. She says she gave me and Paps the credit for that. That’s a bunch of bull, if you ask me. It was all Checkers. She’s amazing. She took the kinda blow that knocks other folks clear off their feet, and she just rocked a little and kept on fighting.
God damn.
Who wouldn’t fall for her?
Well, that’s the thing, isn’t it? She could have anyone she wants. And I’ll be first in line to tell ya I’m a bottom-of-the-barrel kinda guy. Between my outcast race and my fucked-up psyche, and, uh, and my violent tendencies and, and messy lazy life, and cringe-worthy sense of humor (though that’s what makes it funny) and total lack of ambition and weird compulsions about clocks and calendars and my recent obsession with Checkers’s pulse to the point where yesterday I was so lost in the memory of it that I walked into a wall and…
You know what?
The biggest problem is right fucking here.
I squint at the computer screen, struggling to overcome the urge to fling the thing to the floor. Social media has always been something I’ve enjoyed, if only because it provides so many opportunities for playful trolling. But just look at this shit. I sigh and rest my chin on the tabletop. Checkers deserves better than this.
*Evil faces, evil souls
*Stranger danger
*Protect your family!
*Monster by name, monster by nature
*#DieDevilDie
Oh, Christ, lookit this one.
*Justice for Rob!
Shit, they know about that, huh? Not that many people will get behind that one… probably. I mean, it’s public knowledge that the guy’s a douche. Right? Yeaaaah, maybe I oughta prepare for the worst. You know. Just in case.
My hands twitch agitatedly. Better give ‘em something to do. I push away from the table and head for the basement stairs.
My workshop is less of a mess than usual. Paps must’ve cleaned it. Hope I can still find stuff. I reach the workbench and pull a box of small electronic parts towards myself. Know I had a couple blank circuitboards in here somewhere. I don’t have a project in mind yet, but I’m agitated and I need to think, and fidgeting with stuff like this has always helped get the ol’ gears turning.
I start laying chips and capacitors and transistors on the board in various formations, letting my mind wander as I do.
This Rob thing is gonna bite me in the metaphorical ass, probably sooner rather than later. With Paps’s and Checkers’s lives tangled up with mine, this could turn into one hell of a mess. How do I protect the people I care about from the backlash?
Hey, Paps ’n’ Checkers aren’t the last of the possible casualties, or even necessarily the worst part of this thing. The whole monster race is in trouble because I beat the piss outta that fucker instead of using my words like a goddamn grown-up.
No, that’s wrong. Sort of. I’ve fucked up a lotta shit in my day, but the monster-human relations fiasco? That happened without me. That shit’s on someone else.
…
………
Who?
Well, that’s the big question, isn’t it? It’s probably a politician, or more likely a group of them, or somebody else close to the political goings-on. It would have to be someone with influence, somebody able to make the news stations dance to their tune. Or someone who had something to offer them.
Like ratings.
I groan and rub my face as I realize that, since fear and anger and threat of disaster are a news company’s bread and butter, they might jump at the chance to incite conflict.
Or, hell, our invisible villain could just be somebody really persuasive who’s been able to convince them that monsters are wicked and scary. It wouldn’t take much to do that, I gotta admit. A lot of us already look scary to humans. That’s true no matter what Checkers says about my eyes and my smile and my body and her pulse was throbbing under my fingertips like a butterfly’s wingbeats and…
The circuitboard clatters to the ground, bits and pieces scattering as my suddenly numb fingers fumble it right off the edge of the workbench. And just like that, I’m lost. I have no idea what I was thinking previously, what I was doing. I lean against the bench, trying to pull myself back together. An entirely too-pleasant tension twists inside me, followed by a wave of vibrant heat that originates from my soul and sweeps through my bones from my center to the ends of me, pulling a shudder in its wake. My knees go weak and I grip the edge of the workbench to keep myself upright. Then I curse myself for being an idiot. Sans, you asshole, what the hell are you doing? Get it together, man! She’s your friend. Your friend. You can’t feel like this about her! It’s not right!
The memory of the pulse in her neck is so strong I can feel it even now, a phantom sensation against my fingers. I can smell her, too, warm and sweet, feel her weight settled on my legs, her knees resting against the sides of my pelvis, her breath barely brushing my radius as my hand lies on her throat. Another hot, trembling wave rolls over me, and I grip the bench harder, gritting my teeth, fighting with myself. I wasn’t so hot-and-bothered when this was actually happening. Maybe it was the calming effect Checkers has on me, or the strange sacred feeling that kept me grounded at the time, but even with her heartbeat at my fingertips, I was okay. How is it that now, just the memory of those moments is enough to flip all my switches?
A second later, I lose the fight. With a burst of cyan light, my soul solidifies. The glow of it through my shirt is so strong this time that it illuminates the basement. I feel the weight of it pressing outward from its place in my ribcage, a sensation kinda like two magnets trying to repel each other, combined with a spike in that hot, twisting tension that’s currently making me extremely uncomfortable and not a little bit guilty.
Pale blue light dances on the walls, rippling like sunlight shining through water.
Goddammit.
So now I’m stuck here until that goes away.
This shit never happens to Paps. So unfair.
I get my legs back under me with a little effort, and stoop to pick up the stuff I dropped.
You
You deliver a tray full of dirty dishes to the sink in the kitchen, and this time, you don’t even shiver. It’s your third day back at work, and initially, the kitchen brought back an alarming number of feelings you’d hoped to put behind you. But you’re getting used to it now. A little extra effort on your part, and the kitchen at the café is starting to feel more like it used to, before… before the thing.
Everyone’s been extra-nice to you, like they’re afraid of breaking you. They keep offering to let you go home if you need to, or work for you, or take care of the bussing so you don’t have to leave the dining area as often.
It’s getting a bit annoying.
You’re starting to wonder if they think you can’t take care of yourself.
Then they look at you dubiously when you politely refuse, and that makes you wonder if maybe they think you don’t know what you want.
You’ve been doing a lot of fake smiling today.
You never thought you’d have that in common with Sans.
Louann’s on dishes duty this afternoon, and her face is grave as you place the dirties on the “dirty” side of the sink. You look at her, curious and a little alarmed. “What’s up?”
“Uh, Harriet’s got something you should maybe oughta see. ‘Cause, y’know, those friends of yours…”
The last traces of smile drop from your face, dislodged by a shiver of apprehension. You turn towards the back of the kitchen, where Harriet, Jesse, and Brian are clustered in a small group, watching the screen of Harriet’s cell phone. The apprehension worsens. You bite your lip and make your way to them.
They’re streaming a newscast, as you suspected. Harriet is addicted to the news, and often watches it on her phone during downtime at work.
“… serious but stable condition. Details of her injuries have not been released, but the fear in her parents’ eyes speaks for itself. Back to you, Jane.”
“What’s going on?” you ask as you pull up beside Brian. He scoots over to make room for you, or tries to. Cell phones generally have a three-person viewing limit. Harriet pushes the phone closer to you to help you see.
“A little girl got hurt by some monster kids,” Jesse offers.
“Oh, shit.” Your coworkers gasp dramatically. You don’t swear out loud very often. You grimace at them. “I mean shoot. Is she okay?”
Harriet shrugs. “We don’t know, really. I guess she’s gonna be all right, but they haven’t given us any details yet. That’s not the biggest thing, though.”
On the screen, a second anchor, this one seated in the studio, continues the report. “…principal has stated that bullying is not tolerated at Owens Elementary and there is a strictly-enforced policy requiring teachers to report any incidents of it. However, there has been concern expressed that such a system may break down if the teachers are under the influence of fear or threat themselves. It is possible that, if bullying was occurring, witnesses may have been reluctant to report it.”
“Bitch,” you grit out, glaring at the anchor. Brian gasps again. You elbow him in the ribs and he desists.
You bet the news companies are the main source of those “expressed concerns.” You know monsters. With malice such a potent poison to them, it’s extremely unlikely those kids could be bullies. It’s neither in their natures nor in their culture: you doubt the word “bullying” was even needed in the Underground.
The anchor continues, “…integration talks have turned to the subject of temporary segregation pending reevaluation of the needs and expectations of monsters and humans.”
The film cuts to a white-haired older man in a sharp suit: this is clearly a segment from a previous interview. The caption on the bottom of the screen reads, “Theodore Strauss, Representative, Province 17.”
“There’s an understandable stigma associated with the word ‘segregation,’” Strauss says calmly. “But we need to be firm on this: we have to lay a solid foundation under the relationship between our two races before we can start to build on it. And to do that, we all need to take a step back.”
“What does that even mean?” you grumble. It seems like all you need to be a leader is a flair for spinning bullshit. “It’s a relationship,” you add with a scoff. “You can’t build a foundation for it if you separate the participants.”
“Nuance,” Jesse says vaguely, still watching the screen. “What really matters is they want to take the monster kids out of all the schools.”
“I can’t tell whether you’re for or against the idea,” you complain.
“Neither can I,” Jesse answers, not looking at you.
You could argue your case, but the news report is ongoing and you need to hear this.
“While no firm decisions have been reached, the pressure is on to create a safer environment for both species.” The anchor is on-screen again. The film quickly flips back to the interview with Strauss as he comments, “A bill requiring registration of all monsters residing on human land is in the works. If it passes into law, it will be of great use to us in keeping an up-to-date monster census, which will in turn help us to more easily discover trends and statistics that might otherwise be overlooked. We’re going to get to the bottom of these problems, and we’re going to do it together, for the good of all.”
Registration? Your body goes numb in shock. That will allow the government, or at least whoever’s in charge of the registers, to track and monitor any monster in their system. It’s an appalling invasion of privacy rights, but more than that, registration of anything is traditionally a precursor to legislation that would otherwise be difficult to enforce. Leaving aside the fact that registering a person is not equivalent to registering a vehicle (your mouth twists at the thought, as if you’ve bitten into a lemon), the implication of this proposed registration is that your friends can expect more laws aimed at them, and soon.
The report has segued into “man on the street” interviews. You watch a thirty-something man in a Walking Dead t-shirt state that his son is afraid of monsters and segregation will make it easier for him to pay attention in school. An older woman with gray streaks in her hair comments, “Well, we just let them waltz into the country without knowing anything about them! Seems a little reckless, don’t you think?”
The outside world intrudes in the form of Louann shouting, “The natives are getting restless!” You shoot a glance toward the doors to the dining area, and Harriet, bless her heart, says, “I’ll get it,” and hands you her phone before hurrying away. Your eyes stay glued to the screen in a sort of sick, resentful alarm.
The only interviewed person who’s against the proposed laws is clearly a bit of a ditz, and the few lines from her they’ve included in the segment sound ridiculous and naive.
They don’t interview any monsters.
The rest of your shift passes in a haze of cold dread.
* * * * *
It’s dark when you get off of work, and the lights of the little house are a welcoming beacon in the chill February night. You hurry to the door and pull it open, your first real smile in hours tugging at your lips. Papyrus is in the kitchen, simmering spaghetti sauce. The smell of browned sausage and herbs and tomato paste warms your heart, but not as much as the smile Papyrus gives you as he drops his spoon into the pot and charges up to give you a “welcome home” hug. You hug him back and then he places you on your feet again.
“WELCOME HOME, SISTER!” Papyrus gushes happily, and gestures grandly towards the kitchen and the simmering sauce. “WE ARE HAVING FRIENDSHIP SPAGHETTI FOR DINNER BECAUSE SANS HAS BEEN IN THE BASEMENT ALL DAY AND I WISH TO LURE HIM OUT. IT IS IMPOSSIBLE THAT HE WILL NOT BE DRAWN TO THE TABLE BY MY GREATEST PIECE OF NOODLY ART! NO ONE CAN RESIST IT!”
You laugh and admit, “I guess that’s true.” You think a moment before asking, “Is there a reason he’s been down there all day?”
“THERE IS NO POSSIBLE REASON FOR ANYONE TO SPEND AN ENTIRE DAY IN AN UNCOMFORTABLE CLUTTERED BASEMENT.”
“And yet…” you prompt, eyebrows raised.
Papyrus sighs. “SOMETIMES I THINK OUR BROTHER LIKES BEING UNCOMFORTABLE.” After a moment’s contemplation, he adds, “OR PERHAPS HE FOUND OUT I WANTED HIM TO VACUUM THE FLOORS.”
You shrug and fail to suppress a chuckle. “I’ll go get him,” you offer, and head for the door to Sans’s basement workshop.
You proceed down the steps cautiously, wary of startling Sans in case he’s in the middle of a delicate operation. He’s at the workbench, diagramming something. “Sans?” you say softly, trying to announce your presence as gently as possible.
Sans twitches and drops his pencil. You pick it up for him, and when you straighten he’s blushing, which brings a grin to your face. “Honestly, you are the jumpiest person I’ve ever met,” you tell him, amused.
“‘cause you keep gettin’ the jump on me,” he says, and grins back at you.
“Papyrus is making friendship spaghetti.”
“yeah?” Sans grins more widely and takes a step past you, towards the stairs. You reach out and grab his sleeve, halting him and forcing him to turn back towards you a little. He looks at you in mild concern. “what’s up?”
You bite your thumbnail nervously. If Sans has been in his workshop all day, he may not have heard the most recent news. You’re not sure how to broach the subject, but you know you need to, so you awkwardly blurt out, “They want to segregate the monsters from the humans.” Sans’s pupils shrink in surprise.
“oh, yeah?” he asks. His tone of voice is still casual, but his body has tensed a little, and you can tell he’s mentally listing possible repercussions of this. He opens his mouth as if to say something, and then reconsiders and closes it again.
“What?” you ask him.
“nothin’,” he replies. You narrow your eyes at him, but he gives you an artfully guileless look and you know he has no intention of sharing, so you don’t pry.
“They’re talking about registration, too,” you add instead, and are dismayed to hear your voice wobble a little. Sans hears it as well, and takes your hand from his sleeve, using it to draw you into a hug.
“don’t worry,” he murmurs by your ear. “nothing’s happened yet, right?”
“I guess not,” you admit, sighing and relaxing into the hug, bringing your arms up to grip his back gently. “But it will,” you continue stubbornly, and bury your nose in his hoodie, drawing comfort from his familiar scent.
“so we’ll deal with that when it happens,” Sans tells you, and gives you a squeeze. “right now, things are still going segre-great.”
“Augh!” You pull away and punch him lightly in the humerus. “Why?”
Sans shrugs, grinning. “i saw an opportunity, and i seized it.” You roll your eyes and follow him up the stairs, feeling a little better. While the future is full of uncertainty, the present is full of spaghetti, so you know which one you prefer to live in for the moment.
* * * * *
Dinner’s a cheerful affair and the good food and comfortable chatter help to ground you in the present. You’re still worried about the future, of course, but you’re able to push those worries to the back of your mind for a while and just enjoy spending time with your friends. One persistent doubt keeps intruding, however: does Papyrus know what’s happening? Someone should tell him. You glance at Sans several times over the course of the meal, but he keeps shooting you suppressive looks, wordlessly warning you not to involve his brother in this. When Papyrus gets up to take his plate to the sink, you lean over and hiss at Sans, “He’ll find out eventually! Shouldn’t we be the ones to tell him?”
“you tell him about this and he’ll fret himself into knots,” Sans whispers back. “he’ll know soon enough. why ruin his night?”
Papyrus comes back in then, humming the Ode to Joy, and pats you fondly on the shoulder on his way back to his place at the table. Sans pushes his own chair out and stands. Papyrus grabs him by the sleeve of his hoodie and forcibly sits him back down.
“NOT SO FAST, BROTHER.” You and Sans share a puzzled look. Papyrus continues as if he hasn’t noticed. “I AM CALLING A FAMILY MEETING. LITTLE DID YOU KNOW MY DELICIOUS SPAGHETTI DINNER WAS ALSO A CLEVER TRAP! YOU ARE NOW SO PARALYZED BY OVERWHELMING GRATITUDE THAT YOU HAVE NO CHOICE BUT TO SIT HERE AND LISTEN TO WHAT I HAVE TO SAY! NYEH-HEH-HEH!” The lanky skeleton attempts to strike a dramatic pose while sitting at the table. It’s not quite as dramatic as he’d likely prefer, but the effort he puts into it makes you smile.
“IT WAS BROUGHT TO MY ATTENTION TODAY THAT WE ARE SOON TO BE SEPARATED.”
Surprised, Sans looks toward you again. You hope you’re not giving him a smug look. From the resigned cast his face takes on, you suspect you probably are.
“Papyrus,” you start, “They can’t separate the humans from the monsters completely. That’s not really what segregation means.”
“YOU ARE WISE AND CLEVER, SISTER, AND WHAT YOU SAY IS TRUE. HOWEVER, THAT IS NOT WHAT I MEANT.” He leans over and places a bony hand on your shoulder, looking at you with uncharacteristic solemnity. “THIS IS NOT A GOOD TIME FOR YOU TO BE LIVING HERE.”
Shock rockets through you. “… What?” you manage after a moment.
“THIS IS NOT A GOOD TIME FOR YOU TO BE LIVING HERE,” Papyrus repeats obligingly. He continues as if he hasn’t just shot you through the heart: “I KNOW THIS IS VERY BAD NEWS, BUT IT IS ONLY UNTIL ALL THE FUSS DIES DOWN, AND THEN YOU CAN COME BACK HERE AND WE CAN ALL LIVE TOGETHER AND THINGS WILL BE NORMAL AND GOOD AGAIN.” You’re barely listening. You look towards Sans once again. His face is a mask of shock, mouth slack and eye sockets dark, probably similar to your own expression if you’re being honest. You don’t know what you’re hoping for from him: disagreement, maybe? A little help? But he looks from you towards Papyrus and nods slowly.
“checkers, you always planned to move out…” he starts, and you can’t bear to let him finish.
“You want me to leave?” Your voice trembles.
“uh…” Sans says, clearly at a loss in the face of your imminent tears.
“SISTER, WE DO NOT WANT YOU TO LEAVE!” Papyrus waves his hands frantically as if he can shoo away your dismay. “WE WISH ONLY FOR YOU TO BE SAFE! I HAVE ALREADY DEVISED SEVERAL CUNNING PLANS FOR US TO STAY IN CONSTANT CONTACT WHILE WE ARE APART, MANY OF THEM INVOLVING THE INTERNET. I AM QUITE POPULAR THERE,” he adds in a tone that suggests this piece of information should cheer you up.
“I…” One of the threatening tears escapes your eye and trickles down your cheek. You wipe it away as surreptitiously as possible. “I did plan to move out eventually,” you admit in a small voice. “But…” You’re confused. Moving out was the plan, right? So why does this hurt so much? You can feel a thoughtful frown pulling at your mouth. This feels wrong. What are the boys really saying? What do you really want? As you ask yourself the questions, you find the answers, and your voice grows strong again in protest. “But not now!” You’ve startled them. You hurry to explain before their surprise makes you anxious, makes you falter. “I can’t leave now! When all this is going on? It would be the same as running away!” Another tear gets away from you, sliding down your face. This time you ignore it. “I love you guys,” you say quietly, and you blush at the earnestness of the words. You look from Papyrus to Sans. The small skeleton looks like he’s just been shot with a bullet. “This is a time for solidarity,” you plead to him, appealing to his sense of rationality in the same way you just appealed to Papyrus’s soft heart. Is that manipulative? You’re not sure, but at this moment, you don’t really care. You mean everything you said. You can’t stay here if they insist, though, and you know that you need to stay with them. It’s time to choose sides, and you’ve chosen yours.
Papyrus looks from you to Sans, who seems paralyzed. To you, it looks like Sans is fighting with himself, and since he’s the more likely of the two to insist on pushing you out of their lives, you count that as a win.
Realizing no help will come from his brother (likely for either of you), Papyrus tries one final time to protect you from the coming trouble. “(Y/N), WE CANNOT ALLOW YOU TO BE HURT BECAUSE OF US. THAT WOULD NOT BE AT ALL GENTLEMANLY.”
“If you don’t want me hurt, then don’t send me away,” you respond quietly. Then you add, “If we were really a family, we’d all be in this together.” As the words leave your mouth, you feel a great weight of guilt for using “family” against Papyrus. One look at his face shows his eyes full of tears, expression stricken. Your eyes tear up more in response. You’re ashamed of yourself. But you can’t take it back, if that means losing the fight, if taking it back means leaving your friends, your family, to face whatever’s coming without you. That, you refuse to do.
“IF… BUT… WE ARE A FAMILY! I MADE SPAGHETTI…” Papyrus’s voice trails off. He clicks his finger bones together, fidgeting in distress.
The final word comes, unexpectedly, from Sans. “if that’s your decision, we gotta respect that.” In your anxiety, it takes longer than it should to register that his voice is as devoid of emotion as his eyes are of light. Before you can respond, he adds, “don’t say we didn’t warn you.” With that, he pushes away from the table, stands, and walks out somewhat stiffly.
His eyes were still dark.
His voice was so empty.
He’s mad at you. He knows you took advantage of Papyrus’s sweetness to get what you wanted, that you played his brother against him, and he’s angry.
Then why didn’t he call you out on it?
You get up as well and give Papyrus a hug. He’s still seated, but between his almost ridiculous height and your own lack thereof, you make it work. Your “brother” sighs and squeezes you, and then says, “MY BRILLIANT PLAN DID NOT GO AS I EXPECTED.”
“I’m sorry,” you tell him, and you mean it more than he knows.
“DO NOT BE SORRY, SISTER. I AM SORRY! FOR A MOMENT THERE, I ALMOST FAILED TO RESPECT YOUR RIGHT TO MAKE YOUR OWN DECISIONS. BUT NOW THAT I AM LETTING YOU CHOOSE FOR YOURSELF, I CANNOT PROTECT YOU! I DO NOT KNOW WHAT TO DO.”
“I’ll do my best to keep myself safe,” you tell him, and give him a return squeeze. “I accept the consequences of my decision, okay? If I’m not yours to command, then I’m not yours to protect, either.”
“THAT IS PERHAPS TRUE, BUT I SHALL ENDEAVOR TO PROTECT YOU AS WELL AS I CAN REGARDLESS. THE GREAT PAPYRUS SHALL ALLOW NO HARM TO COME TO YOU!” This last is shouted at full volume, and you pull away, putting a hand to your ear and grimacing. “SORRY!” Papyrus shouts, and, though you’re still wincing, you give him a smile and a thumbs-up. Then you leave the kitchen, take the stairs, and follow the hall to Sans’s room. It occurs to you that it might be a good idea to let him stew for a while, but you just can’t bring yourself to leave things as they are.
You knock on the door, adding, “Knock knock,” a bit timidly.
You hold your breath until you hear, “who’s there?” Then you let it out in a relieved rush. If he’s playing along, he can’t be that mad. Right?
“Lena,” you offer, trying to keep your voice from sounding too hopeful.
“lena who?”
“Lena little closer and I’ll tell you another joke.”
The door clicks open and you let yourself in. Sans walks from the door to the edge of the bed and sits down. “hey,” he ventures. There’s a note of caution in his voice.
“Hey,” you respond, and sit next to him. His eye lights are back, but they’re dim. They brighten a bit as they look at you, though. Strangely enough, he doesn’t seem angry anymore. You wish you knew what he was thinking. You cross your arms and nervously tap one forearm with the opposite set of fingers. You open your mouth to apologize.
“sorry,” Sans blurts out. Your mouth snaps shut. You blink at him, shocked.
“What are you sorry for?” You honestly have no idea what he’s talking about.
“i’m… look, i shouldn’t have… just, sorry.”
“Sans, I… I don’t know what you’re apologizing for. I’m sorry,” you say in a rush. “I tried to manipulate you guys! Papyrus… I used family against him!” You grip your forearms tightly, hunching over your knees. “I didn’t know what else to do,” you tell him in a small voice.
“that’s it. that’s what i’m sorry for,” Sans says, gesturing at you. His pupils are growing steadily brighter, and you can feel yourself start to relax. “paps an’ i, we forced you into a corner. i, uh, i shouldn’ta let that happen. then when you did what you had to to get out of it, i got mad.” He shrugs, not looking at you. You notice he’s sitting in a position similar to yours, hunched in on himself. “couldn’t help it. you went for paps’s heart and i took it personally.”
“Of course you did. It was a dick move.” You turn to Sans, meeting his eyes. “I’m really sorry, okay?”
Sans smiles. “me too.” He stands and offers you a bony hand. You take it, and he pulls you to your feet.
“I think that might be the first time you’ve been angry with me,” you mention as Sans walks you the few steps to his bedroom door. You give him a small smile. “There wasn’t much to it.”
Sans shrugs and grins. “being angry takes too much energy. i’m not real good at it.”
“Thank god you’re not, or that argument would have gone a lot differently.” You lower your eyes for a moment, sorting through your emotions, and then look back up to meet his gaze. “I don’t care what’s coming. I’m not leaving you guys to face it alone.”
Sans’s stare intensifies, and he places a hand gently on your cheek. “(Y/N), you’re a blessing,” he says, voice low. You’ve heard it before, Sans has said this to you before, and hearing it now strikes your heart like an arrow. You close your eyes and lean forward, resting your forehead against Sans’s. You can feel his breath against your face, and your heart throbs in your chest. You open your eyes and catch his own with them. Sans is staring at you from only an inch away, eyes heavy-lidded. When your eyes meet his, he squeezes his sockets shut tightly, an expression very like pain crossing his features. The back of his bony cheek flexes as if he’s gritting his teeth, and slowly he eases away from you, leaving you a little unsteady. The click of the door latch brings you back to yourself. Sans opens his door and gestures for you to pass through, giving you a grin and a little bow like an old-fashioned gentleman. You huff a laugh, trying not to feel disappointed, and take a step outside.
“wait,” Sans says suddenly. You turn, hope springing. “… i was promised another joke,” the small skeleton says, standing in the doorway with his hands in his pockets.
“Oh,” you say, struggling to sound normal and very aware that you suddenly don’t know how “normal” sounds. “Um, how does the Man in the Moon cut his hair?”
Sans shrugs, smiling.
“Eclipse it!”
Sans bursts out laughing. “good one!” he snickers, and you flush with pleasure. You love his laugh. You wish he’d let you hear it more often. His final snickers fade and he straightens, looking at you fondly. You might be imagining it, but you think he leans forward slightly, as if he’s being drawn to you, as he says quietly, “‘night, checkers.”
You smile back at him. “Goodnight, Sans.” |
“Missing?” Bucky repeats.
“We’ve tried everything to find them short of hooking Gene up to Cerebro.” Storm tells them.
“For how long has he been gone?” Steve asks.
“Five hours now.” Storm answers. “We don’t have tabs on Magneto normally but Charles updates us on his whereabouts constantly. He has to incase we need him to take care of the school.”
“Not to mention.” Logan says as he shifts the cigar in his mouth. “Chuck’s eighty three years old and not doin’ so well health wise. If he went missing for ten minutes we’d get worried.”
The group of Avengers looks amongst themselves. Tony lands down next to them.
“Wait, how bad is it?” He asks. Apparently the suit was listening in on the conversation. Storm stands with her back straight and her face schooled into neutrality while Logan shifts uncomfortably.
“Charles’ health has declined rapidly in the last six months. He hasn’t told us the cause but he has been on bed rest for nine weeks now with an IV giving him daily medicine.”
“So he’s dying.” Bucky says simply. Peter cringes. He never got to know Charles all that well but he knows the man by reputation and knows what his death will do to the world. He had an enormous impact for a lot of people, mutants and humans alike.
“We’re preparing for that eventuality.” Storm says. The group stays quiet. Nick Fury clears his throat.
“Our priority right now is trying to work out what happened here. If Professor Xavier and Magneto did do this is begs the question why. Doesn’t seem like Magneto’s usual MO and The Professor would never do something like this intentionally. Sound about right to you?” Nick asks Storm and Logan.
“Yup.”
“Of course Charles wouldn’t. Magneto doesn’t use his powers to this scale unless he has good reason and I can’t think of anything that could drive him to act this way here.” Storm says.
“Unless Charles was hurt.” Peter pipes up. The group looks at him. That had crossed their minds but no one else had yet verbalized it. “That would explain why all those people got ‘shorted out’ and why Magneto acted so violently.”
“Anybody got anything else?” Nick asks. Some of them stay quiet, some shakes their heads. “Alright then, let’s work on the assumption that we have a missing, very powerful, eight three year old psychic in a state of declining health who might possibly be injured somewhere in this area. SHEILD is prepared to give The X Men any resource you need to find him. Once The Avengers are done here I suggest you go home, get some rest and then come tag out these guys so they can do the same.” Nick tells them.
“Sounds like a good plan.” Steve agrees.
“Alright then, all those interested report to SHEILD headquarters at 20:00 hours to get caught up on any new information we have.”
.oOo.
An hour later Peter’s been worn thin by the day’s work. Physically he’s okay, just full body aches down to the bone for no reason like usual. About this time of afternoon he crashes. He can’t stop thinking about Wade and Bruce and that stupid medication. He squeezes his eyes shut and sits down on a curb. He doesn’t have this in him. If he slips away nobody’s going to notice. He kind of wants to go see Sue. She’s felt the way he does before so she normally understands. He disappears to head over to Baxter Tower.
.oOo.
Sue, Reed, and their teenage son sit on a couch in the living room of their house. Reed has his arms crossed and refuses to look at his son. Sue has had her lips perpetually pursed since Franklin came home with guests.
On the opposite side of the couch two men in their mid-twenties to mid-thirties sit in near opposite emotional states. One seems to think this day is going very well and could not be any more pleased to be where he is now. The other feels very strongly that this is the worst day of his life. Which when you consider the life experiences of this man, that really is saying something.
“I had you give me your word you would never do this again.” The younger of the two men says. “You deliberately and apparently premeditatedly did exactly what you swore you would never do.” He scolds. Franklin looks up to meet the blue eyes of the disappointed man.
“I didn’t have a choice!” Franklin snaps. “You were dying! You were going to die within the week if someone didn’t do something!”
The more pleased of the two men looks at the one next to him and scowls. “Within the week? That might have been nice to have shared.” He says sternly. “He saved your life, we should be thanking him.”
“I can’t thank him in good conscience.” The younger shakes his brunet head. “Where did you get these bodies from Franklin?”
“A reality where the world was about to be destroyed. The alternate versions of you wouldn’t have even had time to realize they were no longer in their own bodies before they were killed. It was perfect! This way you were saved and no one got hurt.”
"Sounds like a good deal to me."
“Erik that is not-!”
The front door opens and all conversation stops. Peter walks in.
“Susie? Are you home?” Peter calls. Sue smacks herself in the face. She points at Franklin and crosses her neck.
“This is not over!” She hisses in fury as she stands up. “Peter we’re in the living room.” She yells back. She goes out and meets him half way and gives the younger omega a hug. “We have some guests over, just so you know.” She tells him.
“Oh sorry! Do you want me to head out, I should have called.” Peter feels terrible for interrupting and sad that he can’t talk to his friend all at once.
“No, it’s okay. Hang around.” She leads him to the living room where the gathering is still sitting in uncomfortable silence. Sue isn’t quite sure how to introduce her guests. The younger man takes care of it.
“It’s nice to meet you, I’m Charles and this is Erik.” He says in his posh British accent.
“Nice to meet you too, I’m Peter.” It completely does not occur to Peter that the men on the couch are actually Erik Lehnsherr and Charles Francis Xavier. |
"Where did you all learn to do that?" Gideon asked as Lupin and Evans escorted them outside. There were people waiting to get an autograph, screaming at them and trying to go through the barriers while the group was walking to the black car waiting for them to get them all home safely.
"We can talk later," replied Lily, her face serious.
James, Gideon and Fabian went to the car where Peter was waiting, and Sirius was heading towards his motorbike when he felt a large hand on his shoulder. He turned around and was met with fierce looking hazel eyes.
"You're not taking your bike tonight," said Lupin, his hand still on Sirius's shoulder, his voice firm.
"You're not telling me what do to!" Sirius said furiously, brushing him off. He began walking again, but Lupin was faster as he put himself between Sirius and his beloved Elvendork.
"And you're not putting yourself in danger under my watch. Tonight isn't safe, there were only two inside but there might be more waiting out there. On a bike, you're vulnerable. I can ask for my guys to pick it up for you tomorrow." Lupin looked dangerous, his face dark. But as James would say, Sirius was a legendary hard-headed man.
He walked up to Lupin until their chests were almost touching. He had to crane his neck slightly to look into his eyes as he spoke. "I'm going to take my bike, because I'm paying you to do what I want."
"I'm not your fucking whore!" Lupin almost seemed to grow centimeters as he spoke. "You're paying me to keep you safe, and that's what I intend to do."
Hearing Lupin swear was jarring enough to make Sirius take a step back and stifle a surprised laugh, although the situation was not remotely funny. He just hadn't expected that from Mr 'I'm Always Polite and Proper'. At all.
Perhaps I've been misjudging, he thought.
"Oi, you dickhead! Come on and get here, I need my human cane!" James yelled from inside the car, his messy hair barely out of one of the back windows.
Sirius looked back at Lupin, who hadn't moved an inch. Sirius didn't say a word, turned on his heels and went inside the car. He had to admit, the crowd was crazier than usual tonight.
"We're going to escort you to each of your houses for tonight, since there has been a breach of security," said Evans as she entered the car behind Sirius. Lupin entered last, his dog following him. Luckily, the car was big enough to accomodate all of them without feeling crowded. Sirius's eyes were still shooting daggers at an unknowing Lupin, who was saying something to Peter.
"How did you get convinced so easily? It usually never works... Does it have anything to do with a certain someone?" James whispered in his ear, laughing quietly.
"Bugger off, Potter," replied Sirius angrily as the car rumbled.
"Hey, we always have a little celebration after a successful gig, you guys should join us! That Kingsley fellow can come too!" Gideon said to Evans and Lupin.
"I think my brother has new heroes," said Fabian in a staged whisper. The air seemed to relax a bit as they laughed.
Lupin shook his head. "We appreciate the offer, but we should—"
"Ah come on, the best way to protect us is by being close to us, right?" cut in Gideon.
"That's not really—"
"Remus, it's true it might not hurt to make sure they're safe inside for a couple of hours, it would follow our protocole..."
Remus turned to Lily, his eyebrows raised in surprised. She looked innocent, a little smile on her lips, but Remus knew her enough to know she was up to something. They indeed had that protocole of close up security for a minimum of two hours when there was a breach like tonight, but he somehow had expected Lily to never bring that up and let it slide for that band. He obviously had been mistaken.
"Alright," he agreed finally as Gideon whooped.
~~~
"Do all of you can take down a guy just like that?" James asked once they were all at his and Sirius's apartment. Everybody had a beer in their hand, even Evans and Lupin.
"Remus is actually the best for that," put in Lily, her eyes lit with excitement. "He is trained in krav-maga combined with boxing. Seeing him in action is always an honor."
Lupin shook his head, taking a sip, his cheeks a bit rosy from embarrassment. He always felt awkward when people praised him.
"Kra-what? Never heard of that." James said.
"It's close combat training, very useful," said Kingsley, who was sitting at the kitchen table, playing poker with Gideon, Fabian and Peter.
"You mean like street fight?" asked Fabian with interest.
Remus smiled gently. "Something like that."
"What about you, Miss Evans? Any special skills?" James said, somehow managing to say this without sounding lewd, which was a first for him.
"Lily is the strongest black belt in judo in the entire team. You'll never meet someone with a more vicious grip," Remus said, smiling widely.
"Stop it Rem," Lily smacked his arm, chuckling.
"Are you two... you know? You seem awfully close." James asked gingerly.
Remus and Lily looked at each other, and began laughing.
"Well, there was a time when I've tried, but without success," said Lily evasively.
"What does that mean?" James turned to Lupin. Sirius, who curiously hadn't said a word for the entire exchange and was standing in a corner near the fridge, found himself listening in closely.
"She means I'm gay," Remus said easily. "Lily and I met in high school—"
"Where I had a crush on him, until I realised he scored for the other team," she supplied, her eyes twinkling. "We've been best mates ever since."
James smiled as he wordlessly gave his empty bottle to Sirius, who opened the fridge and gave him another one. James thanked him by putting one arm around his shoulders, leaning.
"What about you, Mr Potter?" Lupin asked, his eyes curious. "You and Mr Black seem awfully close."
Sirius was just taking a sip, which transformed into a big gulp that made him cough. James clapped him on the back, laughing.
"That trollop? Nah, he's just my best friend, my brother from another mother. We met when we were eleven years old in boarding school, never parted since." James said, smiling. "Oh, and please call me James."
Sirius felt like he needed to add something. "And call me Sirius, otherwise I feel like I'm my father. And I have never had a crush on James, although I'm also gay."
"Yeah, Sirius prefers his men to be blond—"
Sirius elbowed James in the stomach, stopping his best mate from embarrassing him in front of company.
"Don't mind him, it's getting late for our little Jamesie, who's usually in bed at nine," said Sirius.
"Being gay in the music industry and in the public eye must be a challenge," said Lupin amiably, surprising Sirius.
"Not really. I mean, it used to be difficult when I was younger. But not anymore. I haven't had to hide ever since." Sirius didn't explained since what, or since when. "What about you? Did you have to hide it when you got the company?" he asked Lupin.
"I actually started the company. And no, I was well surrounded." He looked at Lily fondly.
"You are the founder of Cerberus Security?" Gideon asked curiously.
"I am."
"Impressive!" Gideon supplied as Lupin thanked him. Sirius saw Padfoot pawing at Lupin's legs, and then Lupin excused himself to the bathroom, the dog still by his side.
"His dog follows him even to the loo," said James, puzzled.
Lily changed the subject swiftly. "How did you all meet then?"
Peter answered, "James and Sirius were already a band. I really liked their sound, so I became their manager, and recruited these two brothers here." He pointed to Fabian and Gideon.
"Do you have family, Miss Evans?" Gideon asked.
"I have a sister, and both my parents are still together." She smiled. "I must say I'm not really on good terms with my sister. It's a long story." She toyed with the label of the beer.
"I'm sorry to hear that," replied James.
"What about you all?" Lily asked.
Sirius felt uneasiness take over.
"Non identical twins here, obviously!" Fabian said, pointing to him and Gideon.
"I have a younger sister, she's unbearable," sighed Peter.
Lily turned to Sirius and James. Uneasiness became a nauseous feeling.
"Err... well, um, my parents died four years ago in a car accident." James said tentatively. "Sorry, this is a mood killer."
"I'm so sorry," Lily had put a hand over her mouth, her eyes round.
"It's okay, we had each other," James put an arm back around Sirius's shoulders. "Always have. Even through the worst times..."
"Excuse me..." Sirius got out of James's embrace and left the room, feeling lightheaded. He needed to be alone.
~~~
Remus looked at himself in the mirror, feeling a little out of it. He saw his floppy curls, his huge scar that disfigured him, his dull eyes, his crooked nose, his unassuming lips. Something was repeating at the edge of his mind. 'Although I'm also gay...'
He splashed fresh water on his face, trying to take out images of a sharp jaw and long black wavy hair from his mind. It mostly didn't work.
He opened the bathroom door forcefully, and saw light coming from another room he passed in front of on his way back to the kitchen. Inside, Black was sitting with a guitar on a bed, humming something Remus had never heard before, something with a note of melancholy. Unable to keep walking, Remus listened for a time, the object of his attention remaining oblivious to his presence. Padfoot flopped down at his feet, patiently waiting.
When Black seemed to have finished the song, Remus couldn't help himself.
"That was beautiful."
Black jumped a little, his eyes wide, but didn't answer.
"New single?"
"It will never go out," Sirius said, looking down at his guitar. "It's not meant to be heard."
"What a shame," Remus replied gently as he leaned a shoulder on the doorframe.
"It's for my baby brother," said Sirius suddenly, unable to stop himself. "He's dead. Died four years ago."
Silence stretched for a while.
"I'm sorry," finally replied Remus quietly. "My mother passed away six years ago. Cancer."
"I'm sorry," Sirius said, mirroring Remus's sentiment. "It sucks," he added after a thought.
"It does. But they never truly leave us... We can always find them."¹
Remus's calm voice did something to Sirius, like a soothing balm on a bad burn. Sirius palmed at his lighter in the leather jacket he was still wearing.
"What did she do in life?" he asked, curious to know what kind of parents would brought up such an intriguing person like Remus Lupin.
"She was a wood worker," he smiled. "She did beautiful and detailed pieces for her own customers."
Something clicked in the back of Sirius's head. "Did she make your desk by any chance? The one in your office."
Lupin's eyes widened slightly. "Yeah, she did. It's the last piece she ever made, before she got sick. It was a grand opening gift after I started the company."
"It's beautiful. The wolf and moon pattern is quite unique, I'd never seen anything like it. She had real talent."
Remus didn't answer right away, but instead looked at Sirius for a moment with something in his gaze that Sirius couldn't quite identify. "Yes, I agree... She was really gifted. I'm surprised you noticed that."
"Why? Because you think I'm an empty headed rock singer who doesn't care about anything?"
"I never said that," replied Remus, crossing his arms.
"You didn't have to," Sirius said, standing up to put his guitar back in its case. "Look, I think we started on the wrong foot. We clearly know nothing about each other, and I admit I shouldn't have went off on you on the phone like that the first time we talked." Sirius turned around fully to Lupin. "I appreciate what you did for me tonight, on that stage. I don't know what would've happened if you hadn't been there." He put a strand of hair behind his ear, seeing Lupin's eyes follow the movement. "So, thank you."
Remus looked back into Sirius's silver eyes. "It was nothing. I was only doing my job." His small upper lip scar moved when he spoke, quite mesmerizing.
Sirius wanted to ask so many things, his tongue burning with unanswered questions. How did he get these scars? Why was his nose slightly crooked, like it's been broken many times? Why did he decide to start a security company? How and why did he learn close combat training and boxing? What music did he like? Did he play any instruments? What did he do in his free time? Why did he have exotic plants and various books in his office? Could he speak French? And what happened in the bathroom just minutes ago?
Sirius said nothing. Somehow, it didn't feel like the right time to ask any of these.
"I WON!"
Sirius and Remus both jumped at the cry of victory coming from Peter back in the kitchen, probably winning a good amount of cash from their poker game. Peter always won at poker.
"I'm sorry for the disturbance, Mr Black. Lily and I should probably get back now, I think everything is secured." Remus talked in a distant voice, avoiding Sirius's eyes by turning around.
"I told you to call me Sirius. Getting reminded of my father is the last thing I want." Sirius said quietly.
Remus didn't look back, just barely turning his head to the side. Sirius had the perfect view of his back and shoulders taking a large part of the doorframe of his bedroom. He felt his stomach tightened. "Goodnight, Sirius." Remus said before leaving. |
It had been almost twenty years since the last time John Winchester sat in Bobby Singer’s kitchen, back when he had two small children to try to keep alive and too much pride to accept there might be someone out there who could do a better job at it than him. He’d stopped by to drop Dean off after the whole mess at the academy but he hadn’t gone inside. He figured at the time it would be easier for both him and Dean if he didn’t get his scent inside the house. With Dean having presented as an omega things like that were going to matter to him much more. Alphas might scent each other and bristle for a few minutes, but unless a mate was involved they settled down pretty quickly and just ignored the foreign smells. But while alphas smelled scents as fixed, for omegas they were mutable and entirely dependent on how the omega felt towards whoever it was. An omega who smelled like casseroles and summer breezes would smell like casseroles and summer breezes to every alpha who caught their scent. An alpha who smelled of cinnamon and musk to one omega might smell like swamp gas to another. The last thing any omega wanted was to have the odor of an unwanted alpha stinking up their home.
That was then and this was now. Now his boy was pregnant, unclaimed, and apparently recalling repressed memories of being raped by at least two alphas. Thank god it wasn’t the baby’s sire. John was having enough trouble processing this as it was. He didn’t think he could take it if Dean had to deal with a baby that was forced on him. Still, whoever the alpha was that had knocked up his boy was nowhere to be seen, and Dean wouldn’t even say who the guy was. If the baby’s sire wasn’t going to step up and provide Dean with the sense of safety and protection his omega instinctively needed, John sure as hell would. The rest of the psychological damage they could figure out how to deal with later.
Bobby sat across from John with the bottle of rotgut and the pregnancy tests and supplements between them, clenching and unclenching the hand around his glass as he fought the urge to go upstairs and check on Dean. They’d gotten home an hour ago and between the two of them managed to get him up and into bed. By that time the young man was so spent from the events in the pharmacy parking lot that he could barely walk. John left his flannel and jacket in with Dean so he’d have something to scent while the two of them went downstairs, and they hadn’t heard a peep since. Bobby wished to god now that he hadn’t insisted John keep Dean with him after he presented. He didn’t know if other hunters had done this for sure, but there were an awful lot of alphas in the community with very blurry lines between right and wrong and no respect for anyone that wasn’t an alpha as well. At the time it had seemed so clear that it would be more damaging for Dean to feel like his dad thought he suddenly wasn’t good enough to hunt with anymore. Obviously, Bobby had misjudged what would be more damaging. He took a long drink from his glass as John picked up the Clear Blue Om box and regarded it absently.
“I take it you know who it is,” he said, tossing the box onto the table. He had never felt as much shame as he did about his behavior at the pharmacy that had started all of this.
“I have a pretty good idea,” Bobby replied.
“You know how to contact him?”
“Got him in my book.”
“Has Dean told him?”
“Dean hadn’t even really told me until today.”
“Then we won’t tell him either. Not until Dean wants him to know.”
John reached forward to grab the whiskey and refill his glass. How had today gone so wrong? It had started out simply enough - a plan to swing by Bobby’s to see if he had an idea of where Dean was, since Dean didn’t answer his calls anymore, and then stopping at that little pharmacy to pick up some aspirin because he was getting a headache and he was out. Before he’d even entered he saw Dean at the counter and then when he opened the door he’d immediately smelled the change to his scent and just reacted. He took a long drink and set his glass down, looking to Bobby’s wall of telephones with various agency names written by them.
“One of those have a speakerphone?” he asked.
“The FBI one,” Bobby replied and went to pull it down off the wall to set it on the table between them. He grabbed his address book from the telephone stand by the back door and flipped to the “C”s. Sam’s name and number were on the first page. He hit the speaker button, filling the kitchen with the long droning of a dial tone, and then punched in the digits. Both men worried for a minute that they were going to have to leave a voicemail, but then the line picked up.
“Hello?”
Sam sounded drunk. In the middle of the day. Bobby didn’t like the implications of that.
“Hey Sam, it’s Bobby Singer,” the old hunter said. John’s eyebrows shot up at “Sam” and Bobby didn’t need to be an alpha to see Dean’s dad was pretty unhappy that Sam Campbell was his grandchild’s sire. “How’re you doin’ son?”
“Couldn’t be better Bobby.” He burped. Definitely not like Sam. “You callin’ cuz you need your books back or is this social?”
“Kinda neither,” Bobby replied. “You been drinkin’ Sam?”
“Yeah? So? Stupid.”
Bobby gave John a small shrug to express his doubt that Sam was going to be particularly helpful in his current state. John opened his mouth to enter the conversation, but Bobby held up a hand to quiet him. He didn’t like the look in John’s eye and wasn’t sure the call would go well if he jumped in right now.
“Sam, I got some things I wanted to ask you about Dean.”
The young alpha laughed mirthlessly and to the surprise of both men, it sounded like he pretty immediately started to cry. Now they were really stumped. Sam just blubbered on the other end of the phone for a minute or so before he drew in a shaky breath and seemed to struggle to get himself together.
“Not sure I can help you with anything there Bobby. I don’t know where he lives and he won’t answer my calls, so...yeah. Might wanna try someone like Benny who he’s willing to talk to.”
“I don’t think Benny’s gonna be able to help us with this, Sam,” Bobby said, and John had officially run out of patience.
“Sam, this is Dean’s father,” John said sternly, which elicited wild laughter from the other end of the line.
“That’s great! That’s just fuckin’ great. You calling cuz you want your letters back?”
The conversation had just swung off course like a compass that lost its magnetic north. Bobby raised an eyebrow at John, who looked genuinely shaken.
“What are you talking about, Sam?” he asked.
“Your letters! The ones you wrote to my mom. Got ‘em from my father. Oops - I mean my sire . He made it pretty clear he doesn’t think of me as his son.”
“Sam,” Bobby started, uncertain of how to proceed. “Your father died when you were a baby.”
“No, he didn’t!” Sam sounded triumphant to know something they didn’t. “No, see, my grandfather just paid him to stay away and he did, because they’re both dicks.”
“Sam…” John felt the desperate need to get control over the conversation again before Sam spun off on a tangent of apparently justifiable self-pity. “Something happened to Dean and we need your help understanding what it was.”
There was a brief silence on the other end of the call. When Sam spoke again his voice was filled with fear.
“Is he okay? Is he hurt?”
“If bein’ curled up in a parking lot havin’ a panic attack constitutes ‘okay,’ then he’s just ducky,” Bobby replied.
“God.” The word was said so softly they almost didn’t catch it. “Can I talk to him?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Sam.”
“Bobby, please…”
“We’re callin’ you,” John interjected, “because Dean seems to think you know who raped him.”
The silence this time was prolonged, and when he finally came back on the line he sounded stricken.
“He remembered?” he asked quietly. “Everything or just some stuff?”
John gripped the table so tightly Bobby was afraid for a minute he was going to split the wood.
“Well, we don’t know,” John snarled. “Why don’t you tell us everything that happened and we’ll see what lines up with the flashback we just sat through with my son?”
“I don’t know what happened. I wasn’t there until after.”
John’s eyes flashed red, and Bobby tried to raise a hand to warn him to calm down but it didn’t work.
“Bull. Shit.”
“I wasn’t.” Sam clearly didn’t appreciate the tone or feel even slightly threatened by the alpha sitting in Bobby’s kitchen. “I wish to god I had been, but I wasn’t. If you don’t believe me, ask your fucking son.”
“I’m asking you!” John roared, standing and slamming his hand down on the table. A long crack extended up the center but it didn’t break. Bobby flinched in spite of himself. That table was solid oak. “Dean isn’t exactly in any condition to carry on a conversation right now!”
“Not Dean, you asshole. Your other son. You have two, remember?”
John looked up at Bobby and blinked, immediately snapped out of his rage. He obviously wasn’t going to find his voice anytime soon, so Bobby asked, “You mean Adam was there?”
“Yes, Adam was fucking there, and he knows everything that happened because he watched the fucking tape.”
“There’s a…” John felt sick. “There’s a tape?”
“Yeah, see, I come from this great big rich family, and when you’re great big and rich sometimes you grow up without a conscience. Some of my cousins think they can do whatever the fuck they want and that it’s fun to make home movies while they’re at it, so yeah, there’s a fucking tape. Adam took it in case we needed leverage against them. Great big rich families understand blackmail. I’ve never seen it. But Adam...well at some point he decided to break out the popcorn.”
“Son,” Bobby said as calmly as he could, “you’d better start explainin’ real fast.”
“Not much to explain Bobby. I threw Adam’s graduation party. Dean got really drunk. Adam got really really drunk. My cousins showed up unexpected and I couldn’t be in two places at once.” His voice broke, as hard as he was trying to keep this story matter-of-fact. “And we couldn’t get to Dean in time. The end.”
John remembered Adam’s graduation party two years ago. Dean had made a really big stink about the kid getting out of school and how they ought to do something for him, but by that point, John barely even knew the boy anymore. He was too embarrassed to admit that though, so he made up something about not being able to get out of a hunt. Then one of Adam’s friends (he now knew it was Sam) had sprung for one anyway, and Dean didn’t care what John said, he was going. He’d stayed at Bobby’s for about a week afterward, but when he’d come back to hunting he hadn’t seemed that different. Angry, maybe a little sad, but nothing to indicate anything like having been raped.
Bobby was remembering the same thing. Dean hadn’t acted like he’d been assaulted when he’d shown up on Bobby’s doorstep with the Chevelle and cried and drank for a week. Not that everyone he’d ever known that something like that happened to - and in this life he knew far too many - reacted the same way, but he was sure then and was still sure now that Dean hadn’t been traumatized. If anything he acted more lovesick; kind of like he had when he showed up a month ago. His behavior back then struck Bobby as just like what had happened after Shreveport, and that had obviously been because of Sam so maybe two years ago it was as well. But whatever had happened between him and Sam then was clearly not the same thing that had caused the episode in the parking lot.
Bobby’s head hurt. Heart did, too, because Sam was back to crying on the other end of the phone.
“Why didn’t you tell Dean?” he asked and listened as Sam drew in a really shaky breath.
“Look,” he choked, “I can’t help you. I really can’t. I wanted to tell Dean. You wanna know what happened and why we didn’t tell him, you’re gonna have to talk to Adam.” His tone was laced with ice when he said the youngest Winchester’s name. “And when you do talk to him, make sure to let him know I can’t even get Dean to answer the phone. It should make him real happy.”
“Sam…”
“Bobby, I just need to forget about Dean, okay?”
Sam sounded like a lonely, lost little kid. The call clicked off, leaving Bobby and John staring at each other as they listened to the dial tone droning again. Bobby hit the button to take it off speakerphone and drained his glass. Despite everything he’d dealt with in his life he was starting to feel very out of his depth. Dean he knew; had known him for eight years before his dad stopped bringing him around. And then he’d gotten to know him again as a teenager and young man. Adam he’d only really seen when he was a baby and then gotten to know over the phone in the eight years he was alone at school. He doubted he even had a recent snapshot of John’s youngest son. Trying to figure out why Sam Campbell was insisting they call Adam had him feeling very uneasy.
He could tell by the look on John’s face that he wasn’t faring much better. John’s relationship with Adam had always been strained, and John had never blamed Adam for it after he really straight-up stole him from his mother, but he couldn’t imagine a scenario where something so violent would have happened to Dean and Adam would have not only known about it but kept it from his brother. Dean had basically raised Adam. They were very close. How bad was this exactly?
John definitely wasn’t in the right frame of mind to call his younger son, so he announced, “I need to take a walk,” and Bobby nodded. He wanted to check on Dean anyway. John grabbed one of Bobby’s jackets, not wanting to take his back from his son just yet, and headed out the back door.
Left alone in his house with a bottle of whiskey and his surrogate son, it took Bobby a bit to gather the willpower necessary to leave the former and check in on the latter. He was worried that as a beta he wouldn’t be able to provide the sense of safety he knew the omega needed right now, but he was more worried about leaving Dean upstairs to wallow in his thoughts for too long. And he was still troubled by the phone call with Sam. Dean was always so cautious, and such a strong fighter, and Sam was not the sort of alpha who would leave a “really drunk” omega on his own. Something must have gone terribly wrong at the party if Sam and Adam got separated from Dean and if Adam, apparently, had convinced Sam not to tell him what went on.
He could hear the shower running as he climbed the stairs, which made him slightly uneasy, though he couldn’t really pinpoint why. Maybe it was all the television shows and movies he’d seen where a running shower equated with slit wrists. Or maybe it was because it signaled a degree of vulnerability for the person on the other side of the door, and the last thing he wanted to do was make Dean feel vulnerable. He hesitated in case the shower stopped before he had to knock, and finally bit the bullet to rap his knuckles against the wood.
“Dean?” he called gently. “Are you okay in there?”
There was a pause from within and then the shower stopped. Bobby heard Dean moving inside, padding quietly around the room and then eventually across the floor until the footsteps came to rest on the other side of the door. Bobby waited patiently, practically holding his breath, until at last the door cracked open and he could see Dean’s pale face and red-rimmed eyes.
“Hey Bobby,” he said quietly. He seemed unusually calm. Bobby thought he was probably in shock. “Sorry if I used all the hot water.”
It seemed a ridiculous thing to say, but Bobby sure as hell wasn’t going to point that out. For some reason Dean was worried about how much water he used, so Bobby would let him.
“I take morning showers anyway.” He tried to size up how Dean was faring, but there wasn’t a lot to glean from how numb he currently appeared. “You feelin’ like you might be up for having’ somethin’ to eat? I can make you a sandwich or some soup, maybe?”
“Soup would be good, I think.”
He didn’t sound very certain about that. In fact, he sounded kind of dazed. And he was having a hard time looking Bobby in the eye. But at least he moved to come out of the bathroom, having pulled on a pair of jeans and several layers of shirts. That didn’t go unnoticed by the older hunter. Typically Dean’s wardrobe consisted of a tee shirt with maybe a flannel if it was chilly. Now he could see the shoulder line of an undershirt, the tee-shirt, a Henley, and John’s flannel. It was like he was attempting to bury himself beneath fabric or create some kind of armor out of everyday clothing. He moved quietly past Bobby and towards the stairs, shrugging his shoulders down and inward as if trying to make himself small.
Dean wanted so badly to act like things were normal, that he hadn’t sort of remembered what he had sort of remembered in the pharmacy parking lot, but he’d spent forty-five minutes in the shower trying to scrub the alpha smell off his skin before accepting that it was all in his head and he might never be able to smell anything else. Every atom in his body was vibrating with tension, alert for the possibility of an attack. Rationally he understood this to be ridiculous. He was at Bobby’s house. Bobby and his dad were there. Nothing was going to happen to him. He could relax.
Except that he’d figured out whatever had happened must have happened at Adam’s graduation party, because the feeling in the parking lot was like what happened at the diner hyped up on steroids, and what happened at the diner had definitely been a memory from the party. And both Sam and Adam had been at the party, had been specifically watching out for him at the party, but something very bad had still occurred. He couldn’t rely on anyone else to protect him, and he sure as hell didn’t feel like he could rely on himself right now. How could he possibly think he was ever going to be safe anywhere ever again?
He could feel his heart starting to race and his breath starting to come in short gasps, and he wasn’t even halfway down the stairs. He needed to lock this shit down. He wasn’t going to be any good to anyone like this, and he certainly wouldn’t be able to hunt if he was constantly paranoid that someone was going to jump out and drag him off into the bushes. He was Dean Winchester. Dean Winchester did not hyperventilate at the thought of going downstairs to eat some soup.
He wasn’t aware that he had stopped until he felt Bobby’s hand on his shoulder, which gave him such a scare that he wondered for a second if he was going to collapse against the railing. Bobby didn’t move any farther forward, but let Dean set the pace down the stairs. Dean counted to fifteen and by the time he was done he was feeling like he could make it to the kitchen without pissing himself. So maybe that’s what he would just have to do from now on. If something startled him he’d just count until he could move. It would be terribly impractical out in the field, but hey, if it could get him downstairs in Bobby’s house that was at least a start.
The sight of the pregnancy tests on the kitchen table froze him in his tracks. Right. That’s why they’d gone to the pharmacy in the first place. Which reminded him that Sam had called him earlier. Which reminded him that Sam had been keeping a big fucking secret from him about whatever had happened (and god, he just wanted to know; it would be so much easier if he just knew instead of having random sensations disconnected from anything tangible that allowed his imagination to run wild). He suddenly lost his appetite. Bobby stopped behind him again, watching and waiting as Dean appeared to be on the verge of another breakdown, but instead, Dean just stood there and counted again. So fine, this time he had to count to thirty-seven, and his vision went a little black around the edges and he had to instruct himself to breathe, but this counting thing could (maybe) work. He took both boxes of tests off the table with shaking hands and stared at them for a moment, before declaring, “Well, let’s get this over with,” and striding off with as much confidence as he could muster to the downstairs bathroom. Bobby prayed to whatever gods were listening that John came back from his walk soon.
John, however, wasn’t taking a walk. While his son was peeing on four different pregnancy test sticks just so he could be sure, John was in the middle of a summoning ritual off behind some of the stacks of tires Dean had piled up throughout the weeks he’d been with Bobby so that when he lit the candles and set the ingredients in the bowl atop the sigil aflame the fire wouldn’t be seen from the house. He spoke the Latin incantation - Et ad congregadum...eos corum me - and waited. It was only a few moments before he heard from across the yard, “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”
“I need your help,” John said, as Crowley walked towards the candles, buttoning his overcoat.
“You seem upset, John,” Crowley said. “I take it you finally watched Hannie Caulder?”
“You know what happened to my son?”
“I know everything that every Hell-bound soul has done. And those three boys -” He raised his eyebrows. “Let’s just say they have quite a number of non-consensual notches on their bedposts.”
“I want names,” John growled. “I’ll give you anything you want.”
Crowley scowled and tsked, wagging his finger at the Winchester patriarch.
“Never lead with ‘I’ll give you anything you want,” he scolded. “Have I taught you nothing?”
“I don’t care, Crowley,” John insisted. “I need to know who they are.”
“Sam wasn’t willing to give up his cousins then? Surprising. There’s no love lost between them.”
“Which ones?”
“First things first, John.” Crowley pulled a pen and a contract out of his inside coat pocket and unrolled it. It seemed to unroll for days. He flashed a smile at Dean’s father, and asked innocently, “Shall we discuss terms?”
John quirked an eyebrow and gave the demon a long, hard look. They’d been doing business for a while now and this was the first time it went beyond a quid pro quo and into contracts. He was going to have to decide, and quickly, what he’d be willing to trade for help getting the alphas who had raped his son. He was sure he could figure out which of Sam’s cousins it was on his own. The problem was more trying to go up against the Campbells. Samuel might be old, but he still wielded a lot of power. If he caught wind of John hunting some of his family members he’d retaliate; especially since it was John. And John had an awful lot to lose.
After a few minutes, he held his hand out and waved for Crowley to give the contract over, snapping, “Lemme see that thing.”
“Of course.” For the first time since they’d met at The Purple Room John could believe that Crowley was Hell’s top salesman. He certainly had the easy confidence and smooth delivery down pat. “It’s just a standard rider. Given our previous agreement I’ve struck anything having to do with anyone’s soul, but I left in the clauses requiring an even trade for services rendered.”
“What would you consider an even trade?”
“Depends.” Crowley gave him a noncommittal shrug. “Do you just want names or would you like me to take care of it?” He held his hand up, fingers together, and smirked. “You say the word, I snap my fingers, they die a nasty, bloody, agonizing death.”
John was taking a long, serious look at the contract as he absorbed what the demon had just offered him. The wording and clauses certainly seemed straightforward enough. He was no lawyer, but he couldn’t find anything that would put him or his sons in danger - in this life or the next. While the idea of Crowley taking care of whoever had hurt Dean without John having to expose himself to the Campbells was tempting, he wasn’t going to agree to star in The Devil's Advocate without more specifics.
“What would you consider an even trade for snapping your fingers?” he asked at length.
“There’s a gentleman - a Man of Letters - who sold his soul to me decades ago and has been using his unique set of talents to dodge me ever since,” Crowley replied. “His account is overdrawn by about fifty years and I intend to collect with interest.”
John blanched and said, “It’s not my…”
Crowley feigned distress, covering his heart with his hand as he pouted, “Whatever must you think of me, John? I would never ask you to kill your own father. It’s his partner, Cuthbert Sinclair. Bugger has built the two of them a fortress somewhere and even my Juliet can’t find it.”
“Juliet?”
“That’s right. You haven’t met my bitch.”
Crowley whistled, loud and long, and then stood quietly, looking at John with an impish grin. Within a few moments, John heard a low growling and something moving among the trucks; something very, very large. Rumsfeld went nuts in his house and the vicious snarls of what sounded like a gigantic dog echoed in response. The noise grew closer until John watched as something brushed up against the demon, moving his coat. Crowley looked down with an expression another person might have taken for affection and patted his hand on something invisible and solid.
“That’s daddy’s good girl,” he cooed. “John, meet Juliet.”
There was more snarling from whatever it was that was standing beside the demon and John instinctively pulled his gun. The snarling grew louder and closer.
“Down girl,” Crowley ordered, and the snarling backed away. He gave Juliet a scratch along her muzzle. “Back to your crate like a good doggie.”
The hellhound continued growling, but the growling grew fainter as John heard her moving back through the junkyard the way she’d come. Rumsfeld eventually quieted down. His heart was racing and sweat was pouring from his forehead and down his back. What was he getting himself into?
“So you want me to find this Sinclair and kill him?”
“And steal all my puppy’s fun? Perish the thought!” Crowley retrieved the contract from John’s trembling hands. “No, I just need him out of his hidey-hole.”
Something told John it wasn’t going to be quite as simple as Crowley was making it sound, but it seemed like a reasonable trade. John wasn’t a big fan of the Men of Letters as it was, and he thought he could probably use his father as a way in to get at Sinclair. This was probably the way people paved their roads to Hell.
“You’ve got a deal,” he said, holding out his hand for the pen.
“Smart man.” Crowley half extended the pen and then paused, holding it back. “One more thing. I understand that young Dean is in a delicate way right now; physically and emotionally. Hunting down Azazel must take precedent to that. No taking a leave of absence to tend to your son until you’ve put a bullet between Azazel’s eyes.”
“Dean needs me,” John objected, aghast at the thought he should just abandon him after what had happened today.
“Sorry John.” He didn’t look it, the bastard. “Them’s the rules.”
John considered this, but it didn’t take long for him to decide. He didn’t know how to help Dean without being there for him, and being there for Dean was simply outside his skillset. Seeing to it the alphas who had terrorized him died bloody - that was something he was comfortable with. He grabbed the pen from Crowley and scrawled his name at the bottom of the contract. The demon smiled at him.
“Brilliant. Typically I’d seal these kinds of deals with a kiss, but I feel that would be inappropriate given the circumstances.” He gave a fluid snap of his wrist and the contract rolled up into his hand so he could tuck it back inside his coat. “Time to get back on the road John. Chop chop.”
And he was gone. John cleaned up the elements from the ritual, dragged his foot over the sigil to erase it from the dirt, and headed back to the house. |
It had all started innocently enough.
“Morning sunshine,” Dean said as Castiel appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Some coffee?”
Sunshine. Dean hadn’t exactly meant to say it, but it didn’t garner a reaction from anyone. Sam hadn’t batted an eyelash; he doubted Cas was even really listening. ‘Sunshine,’ as it turned out, was a safe enough term of endearment. Dean had been tiring of ‘buddy’ and ‘pal,’ though he couldn’t exactly pinpoint the reason why. So sunshine stayed.
He was careful not to say it too often, and only in appropriate situations. Mornings were always safe. It was also acceptable on days where Cas was particularly grumpy (most days, Dean noted). Saying it made Dean feel comfortable and warm, like a secret no one else was in on.
Dean should have known he would manage to muck it up somehow. That’s what you get for trying to deviate from any nickname that you wouldn’t call your own brother.
It happened at a small café in Boulder, Colorado.
They had received a text from Mary the prior day about a possible haunting in the area, but she was too far away to get there in any reasonable amount of time. It was nice being on a normal hunt with Cas available to hitch along for the ride. They had decided to stop at the café to get their caffeine fix and bum the free Wi-Fi for their research.
“I’ll get the coffee if you two would like to find a table,” Cas said. “The usual?”
“Add an extra shot of espresso,” Sam said.
“Me too,” Dean said, then added, “and a blueberry muffin.”
Cas nodded, getting in line while Sam and Dean found a table near an electrical outlet so they could recharge their nearly dead devices.
“I don’t know Dean,” Sam said, scrolling through a couple articles on his tablet, “I don’t see any history on the property that would indicate ghost activity.”
“Then it’s gotta be connected to the family, not the property,” Dean mumbled, opening another tab in his browser. Cas finally appeared with their order, setting the paper cups down on the table and sliding into the chair next to Dean.
“I forwent the muffin. All of them were vegan and gluten-free. And they cost five dollars. I didn’t think you would want one,” Cas said.
“And you were right.” Dean took a sip of his coffee without looking up from his laptop screen. “Mmm, thanks sweetheart.”
Sam startled and looked up from his tablet. Cas froze beside him.
“What?” Dean asked.
“You just called Cas sweetheart,” Sam said, a grin spreading across his face.
“No I –“ Dean looked at Cas, who nodded solemnly in confirmation. “Shit I – I didn’t mean to!”
“What would we call that? A Freudian slip?” Sam asked, now openly snickering. Dean felt all his blood rush to his face.
“Shut up, Sammy,” he mumbled. “Sorry, Cas.”
“I really don’t –“ he began, then, thinking better of it, “it’s fine. You’re welcome, regardless.”
Dean couldn’t look at him the rest of the day.
***
They arrived home at the Bunker two days later. Thankfully, they had found and destroyed the object tying the ghost to the family and Sam had exhausted the “sweetheart” jokes after about six hours of relentless teasing. They were all exhausted, mentally and physically. They were unpacking their weapons in the war room to begin the process of inspecting and cleaning each one when Sam received a facetime call from Mary and took it in the other room. Cas helped Dean finish the task. It was nice, sitting comfortably in companionable silence. Dean wondered when he had gotten used to having Cas around for little stuff like this, and how he would feel if Cas ever left again. Dean knew, inevitably, he would have to for some noble reason or another. This soured the pleasant after-hunt-glow a bit. As if noticing the subtle crease in Dean’s brow, Cas said,
“I enjoyed being able to hunt with you and Sam again.”
“Yeah, thanks for tagging along,” Dean said.
“Anytime, sweetheart,” he said, before exiting the room.
Dean stared after him. Was Cas trying to make him feel better? Or making fun of him? Dean scowled, loading a magazine into a clip a little more forcefully than necessary.
***
The incident was not brought up again. Weeks went by. Dean tried to let it go, but he couldn’t help micromanaging every interaction between himself and Cas. He overanalyzed every touch, however brief, and was painfully aware of every lingering glance. It had been so easy before. What had changed?
***
The Impala flew down the road towards the bunker, tires screeching and Dean white-knuckling the steering wheel. They had received an alarming call from Castiel about a half hour before, which had ended in the sound of furniture breaking and a fist connecting with bone. Someone, somehow, had gotten into the bunker.
“Did he say who it was?” Sam asked from the back seat, clinging onto the driver’s seat as Dean took a sharp right turn. He shook his head no.
“Could be another angel,” Mary suggested.
“Cas should be the only one who can get past the warding,” Dean said. “No, my money’s on those British sons of bitches.”
“What would they want with Castiel?” Mary asked.
“Nothin’ good.”
Dean pulled to a halting stop outside the back entrance. The key was barely out of the ignition before he had leapt from the car. The door to the bunker was ajar, the frame singed at the edges.
“Looks like a spell,” Sam said, but Dean wasn’t listening.
“Castiel?” he called, running down the steps two at a time, gun in hand. “Cas, where are you?”
Through the archway he saw a lamp shattered on the floor of the library and he ran towards it. In the library, crumpled in the corner and covered in blood, was Cas. He had a brief horrific flashback of another time Cas had been lying beaten on the library floor. When it was Dean who had put him there.
“Shit, Cas,” Dean said, dropping to his knees at his side.
Cas was unresponsive, eyes closed and limp as a ragdoll. Dean hefted him up partway off the floor, cradling his head in his lap.
In the background he could hear Sam and Mary splitting up, going to check the rest of the bunker. He brushed back the hair on Cas’ forehead, noticing a deep gash near his hairline. His usually stark white shirt was sticky and red, clinging wetly to his body. Dean couldn’t even tell where the wound was.
“Cas please,” he heard himself say, “c’mon wake up.” He gently slapped the side of his face and jostled him a little. “Snap out of it, Cas. Wake up.”
His eyes were stinging. He was barely aware of Mary and Sam back in the room with him.
“Sweetheart, please,” he whispered. “We…I need you. You know that, how many times I gotta say… Castiel. Please…”
Then Cas’ eyes flickered open and he took a rattling breath.
“Cas!” Dean said, pulling the angel in closer until he was almost sitting up. “You alright? Talk to me, sweetheart.”
Cas whispered something, an unintelligible gravelly rasp.
“What? What is it?”
“Sweetheart,” he said. “You called me sweetheart.”
“Yeah.” Dean swallowed hard. “I did.”
Castiel stared and then smiled, his busted lip pulling slowly over pink stained teeth.
“I like that.”
Dean smiled back, leaned in, and finally pressed their lips together. |
Sansa stood at the ferry’s rail, watching the foamy sea water slide along the hull. Behind her lay the mainland; ahead, the open sea. As hard as she tried, she could not see any land mass ahead. The horizon blended with the sea in the murky, foggy haze of the early morning hour.
Stannis seemed able to read her mind. “You couldn’t see Greenstone even if it were clear. It’s well beyond the horizon, about sixty miles from here.”
“How long will it take to get there?”
“In calm seas, about five hours. This is an old, slow ferry, nothing like those on Blackwater Bay. We’ll get there shortly after noon.”
“Won’t your uncle be surprised? He’s not expecting us that early.”
“I want to show you a few sights first. The second ferry doesn’t dock until nightfall.”
“Why only two per day?”
“Economic reality. It’s a small, mostly undeveloped island. A few tourists visit in summer, but the island is too far from the mainland to allow for daily commutes. In winter there is just one ferry per day, and only when the sea cooperates.”
“Sounds lonely.”
Stannis shrugged. “Depends upon your point of view. It’s a tight-knit community, without the noise and mess of a large city.”
Sansa turned to watch the sun burn through the fog. She and Stannis stood on the main deck, enjoying the breeze. And she didn’t want to miss the trip - she had never been out on the open ocean before.
Stannis leaned forward, almost straining to catch a glimpse of his mother’s childhood home. It gave Sansa an opportunity to study him. She knew he brooded about the fights with his brothers, but he refused to discuss the incident concerning Renly. No amount of prompting or hinting would get him to change his mind on that subject.
He had been tense and terse throughout the long drive down to the coast the day before, talking little. But the moment the ferry left the dock that tenseness lifted from his shoulders. Stannis relaxed against the rail, breathed in the salty air, and gave Sansa a soft smile. That was enough for her to smile back and kiss him, laughing as she did so, even though other passengers stood nearby.
Stannis harrumphed. “What’s so funny?”
Sansa smiled again. “Nothing. I’m just glad to get away from King’s Landing.”
And that was the truth. She had come to regard Robert’s estate as a prison of sorts, and King’s Landing as a dangerous environ, full of monsters waiting to attack. That thought was enough to chase the smiles away.
“Will it ever go away?”
“What?”
Sansa shivered, even though it was not the least bit cold. “Feeling unsafe. Afraid. I don’t want to live in fear my whole life.”
Stannis gathered her into a warm, enveloping hug. She leaned her head on his chest, listened to his strong, steady heartbeat. There, in his arms, she knew security. She knew love. His hands worked magic, kneading away the knots in her neck.
“It will, and you won’t. I’m right here.” Sansa loved the timber of his deep, gruff voice, the way it echoed through his chest to her ears. “And what happened won’t happen again.”
“How can you be sure?”
Stannis sighed and squeezed her a little closer. “As long as you’re by my side, I am sure. Monsters are few and far between, and none will dare challenge me.”
Stannis cupped her face, his hands warm and comforting. “Your whole life is ahead of you, Sansa. Live it. Seize every day.”
Sansa thought of the other day in Robert’s home office, on how wild and uninhibited Stannis had reacted to her flirtations. He had certainly seized that day. And her. It was another side of him that she had not expected to see, but relished that aspect on the rare occasions when it surfaced. She couldn’t imagine herself behaving in such a daring manner before meeting him, and certainly never with anyone else.
She giggled on the thought, all fears gone.
“What’s so funny this time?”
“The other day. There you were, Mr. Stern Businessman one moment, a wild stallion the next. So intense.”
He frowned. “Was I too rough? Did it bother you?”
“No! I liked it - liked you .” She smiled shyly. “Especially when you get all hot and bothered. That was amazing.”
“I’ll show you hot and bothered, girl.”
Sansa gasped as Stannis pushed her against the rail, kissing her with such intensity that she found herself all hot and bothered. Kissing, rubbing, even a quick hip grind, she was soon wishing they could find a private spot.
Too soon, though, Stannis sighed and pulled back. “I’d better stop.”
Reluctantly they parted. Still holding hands, Stannis led Sansa inside to the café for breakfast and coffee. She stifled a grin when he glared at people who were giving them dirty looks.
After eating they went back outside - neither one seemed inclined to spend much time hemmed in by walls. This time they went to the top of the observation deck where they could get the best view of their voyage. Up there she felt even freer, less confined, less cooped up. Too much time spent in one house, even a mansion, will give anyone a serious case of cabin fever.
They stood in companionable silence for a while, until Stannis pointed. Ahead loomed a large fuzzy green mass, just barely discernible on the horizon.
“There.” He spoke quietly, in his usual brusk manner, but Sansa could still hear an undertone of excitement.
“Greenstone.”
This time Stannis smiled freely and gripped Sansa’s hand tighter. His excitement and anticipation were infectious. Soon the ferry dock materialized, and passengers headed back to their vehicles belowdecks. Sansa had to stretch her legs to keep apace with Stannis as he all but dragged her back to the car, eager to set foot once again upon his mother’s home island.
******
The fisherman worked methodically. With sure hands guided by decades of experience on the water, he steered his pride and joy, the Sarah, into her berth at the wharf. She was an older, smaller vessel than her nearest neighbors, but in his mind, far fairer. Certainly better built.
The trawler was small enough to be operated by just one or two crewmen, but large enough to provide a family with a modest income. More fortunate than most, he only fished for love of the activity and for the open sea.
On this day the sun shone hot and the sea was calm. Lomas Estermont had not set any long lines, only taken the boat into the bay to test her engines and throw a hook or two into the water. The red snapper were in a mood to bite, and he had quickly secured a fresh meal for himself and his soon to arrive houseguests.
Dockside, Lomas set the ramp and made short work of tying his boat to the pylons.
“Hello.”
Just a few yards away stood a teenage girl, red hair and pale skin indicating that she was no islander but a visitor from up north somewhere. He wondered where her parents were. The docks could be a rough place at times; no place for a genteel young lady.
“Hello yourself.” Lomas looked up and down the wharf, but it was empty of all but a few known fishermen like himself, and one tall fellow up near the parking lot. Certainly no one that might meet the description of this girl’s parents. “Are you lost, miss? This isn’t exactly a tourist zone.”
The girl pushed her long fire-kissed hair out of her eyes. Pretty hair. A rare coppery shade that could attract far too much attention.
“Oh, I came here with my boyfriend. He has family here.” She gestured vaguely towards the parking lot. “He’s just on the phone right now - apparently his office can’t even go one day without calling him about something.” She smiled, lovely and innocent.
Lomas couldn’t detect any regional accent in the girl’s speech - she was clearly not Dornish nor from the Stormlands.
“This your first time visiting the island?”
The girl blushed. “Yeah. Can you tell?”
Lomas chuckled. “Just a smidge.”
“Don’t let him tease you, girl.” A voice, a gruff yet so familiar Stormlander voice, one he hadn’t heard in twenty five years, sounded from right behind Lomas.
He whirled around, and a name tumbled forth before reason set in. “Steffon.”
The man standing before him was surely his brother-in-law - who else could it be? But no, Steffon had been gone, long dead and buried, so many years ago.
“No.” He could see it now - thicker musculature, harsher lines and angles on the face, stormy dark blue eyes where Steffon’s had burned bright.
Lomas wiped his face with a handkerchief and gathered himself. “Damn me, son, if you aren’t the spitting image of your father. I thought a ghost had walked onto this deck.”
Stannis stepped forward. They clasped arms and then Lomas pulled his favorite nephew into a strong bear hug. He stepped back, taking a good long look. Stannis was every bit as built as Robert had once been, before the eldest Baratheon brother had run to fat.
He had less hair now than Lomas remembered, cropped close against his skull, with an equally short beard lining his jaw. That was new. Lomas squinted and blinked twice. Surely not. But silver glinted back at him, a reminder that time marched forward, and Stannis was no longer a boy.
A decade and more of responsibilities had etched their story into his nephew’s face, a face that Lomas remembered as equally serious, yet so much more youthful than today. Yet when Stannis turned his attention to the pretty young girl standing so close beside him, all those lines disappeared to be replaced by a boyish grin.
“Uncle Lomas, I’d like you to meet someone very special to me - Sansa Stark.”
Sansa extended her elegant hand to shake his own sea-roughened one, gifting Lomas with a graceful smile. “So nice to meet you! Stannis told me a little about spending summers here. You were at the center of his stories.”
Lomas arched a brow. “That so? Are you sure we’re talking about my nephew Stannis? He’s damn near mute.” The girl stifled a giggle and grinned right back at him.
“I am not. I talk, if there’s something meaningful to say.” Stannis scowled, but Sansa reached for his hand anyway. Immediately the scowl disappeared to be replaced by a much softer expression, one Lomas had never seen his nephew display. It was identical to the looks Steffon had so often bestowed on Cassana, all those years ago.
Lomas grinned. His nephew was in deep, deep in love. And this young lady clearly loved him back. About time.
He clapped his hands together. “Well son, I didn’t expect to see you ‘til tonight.” Lomas tilted his head towards the boat. “Since you’re here, make yourself useful. Them snapper won’t unload themselves.”
Stannis moved to the boat, and Sansa had questions. “What is snapper?”
Lomas turned his attention once again to Sansa, pleased with her curiosity. “A warm-water fish. I hope you like it, my dear.”
Stannis returned, carrying the heavy cooler full of ice and freshly cleaned fish. “Red snapper. Good eating, those.”
Lomas offered to help carry the ice chest to his truck but his nephew refused. He knew it weighed a good sixty pounds or more, but Stannis did not seem the least strained by carrying it. Sansa chatted all the while, asking questions about the island. The young lady had a voice custom made for music.
“Do you sing, Miss Sansa?”
Her eyes lit up. “Yes! Music is my passion. That, and drawing. I’m minoring in both at KLU.”
Lomas brows raised. “An artist and a musician? How on earth did Stannis find you?”
Stannis snorted. “Pure chance. My brother left the door open.”
Sansa jumped in. “I don’t know, maybe not just chance. I think we were supposed to meet.”
Stannis harrumphed. “I don’t believe in cosmic forces.”
Now stopped at Lomas’ truck, Sansa poked Stannis in the chest. “Well I do. I mean, after everything that’s happened, I’m convinced.”
One look at Stannis’ clenched jaw told Lomas that he was missing some important details, and so he cocked one eyebrow towards his prickly nephew.
Stannis sighed. “It’s a long story. Let’s tell it over dinner.”
Lomas spent the hour-long drive mulling over the changes he had noticed in his nephew. The most obvious change was physical - his strength and muscle build up. Ten years ago Stannis had been a wiry, rangy young man, looking like he didn’t quite have enough meat draped over his long bones. Now he weighed a good fifty to sixty pounds more, nearly all muscle. And not pretty boy muscles either. Lomas had seen the thick tendons and sinews flex in Stannis’ wrists and fore-arms when he carried the ice chest. And his hands - those were not the soft hands of an office executive. Stannis had built up his strength somewhere. And by the rough looks of those hands, Lomas wasn’t sure he wanted to know how.
The other obvious change in Stannis was his outright wariness. In the few minutes that they spent together before leaving the docks, Stannis stood on guard. His shoulders had remained tense, with one hand hovering at or around Sansa’s waist at all times. His eyes constantly roved, scanning the area around the docks and the parking lot, narrowing at every man who walked near them. Lomas had known men who behaved in much the same manner. Men who had served in war, or who had spent too much time dealing on the wrong side of the tracks. Men scarred on the inside, scarred by too many events that they had been unable to predict or control. How had Stannis - a one-time bookish and contemplative boy - come to adopt such a world-wary attitude?
Stannis and Sansa followed him in their rented SUV. Lomas thought that Stannis drove something much more becoming his station and income than a mundane SUV, and said as much when they parked behind his secluded seaside home. It was Sansa who answered. “He does. I love that car - it’s so sleek and smooth. But…”
Stannis interrupted. “But my Benz would attract too much attention here, something we’re trying to avoid. So, a rental.”
What are they trying to avoid, Lomas wondered. An undercurrent of tension flowed through Stannis like untapped electricity. Yet it disappeared, at least momentarily, whenever Sansa bestowed her affections and attention on him. So she wasn’t its cause. Well, he could be patient. The sea had taught him that much. And their story would come out in its own time.
Almost as soon as she entered the house, Sansa gasped. She looked around the great room in wonder, making a big circle to tour Lomas’ vast collection of literature. Sansa ran her fingers along the spines of some of his older books, lips silently mouthing the titles as she walked. Several photos of the Estermont’s fishing fleet decorated the walls as well, along with one large oil painting that his wife had made of their flagship boat. Lomas could tell she was having a hard time reconciling his book collection with his profession.
Stannis’ heavy footstep heralded his approach, along with a deep chuckle. “Don’t let my uncle’s crusty fisherman façade fool you, Sansa. He got his MBA in Braavos, same as I did. He ran the Estermont family fishing fleet and cannery for nearly thirty years.”
“Darn it, boy, you just had to ruin it.” Lomas smiled at Sansa - it was hard not to. “MBA or not, my dear, I am still a crusty fisherman.”
“I don’t think you’re crusty at all.” Then Sansa frowned slightly, nose wrinkled up in an adorably quizzical expression. “But I didn’t see a big fishing fleet or a cannery at the dock. Are they somewhere else?”
Lomas sighed, old memories of busier times resurfacing. “Once upon a time we were this island’s largest employer. Then five years ago a fire broke out, and our cannery burned to the ground. It’s a wonder no one was hurt. But times change. The population is less than half of what it once was, and the schools of fish have moved on with the shifting currents. Drew and his cousins - Eldon’s sons - took the fleet and the business to Lys.“
“How do people earn a living now?”
Lomas shrugged. “Fishing and crabbing, but on a much smaller scale, little more than subsistence, really. The rest are low paying service jobs. Every year more people leave. Seems like the island is dying off.”
“That’s so sad.” He heard genuine empathy in her voice - a sensitive soul, this Sansa Stark. “It’s so peaceful here. Nothing like King’s Landing. I don’t think I’d want to move away.”
“It is what it is. But enough of melancholy subjects. Tell me, Miss Sansa, would you like to learn how to cook snapper, island style?”
Lomas grinned at her enthusiastic response, and they set to work in the kitchen. Sansa agreed with both men that red snapper was, indeed, “good eating.” Over dinner his two guests told their tale of how they met, although Sansa did most of the talking. But when she reached the part where Stannis was arrested Lomas felt his eyebrows jump into his hairline, and he had to interrupt.
“Son, how on earth could they justify arresting you? It makes no sense.”
“Excessive force, they said.” Stannis frowned, and looked around the room. “Didn’t you see it on the news? That damn video was broadcast all over the television and the internet. I figured you had heard about it - everyone else in Westeros has.” The last bit Stannis spoke with no small amount of rancor and disgust, at whom, Lomas wasn’t sure.
He gestured. “No computer, no smartphone, no television. I reckon I live in my own little bubble here. It’s easier that way.”
In truth, since his wife had died and the cannery burned down, Lomas hadn’t had any energy to do much of anything beyond go fishing or read his books, and no inclination to watch what passed for news. He spent some time at the local pub, but not too much, and hadn’t left the island in nearly a decade.
Still, the information his nephew revealed sparked his interest. “Well, that must have been an experience for you, getting arrested for the first time, even if they dropped all charges. Robert probably thought it was amusing, no?”
The looks that passed between Sansa and Stannis were not lost on Lomas. He may have spent some years in relative isolation, but he knew people.
“What else am I missing?”
Stannis sighed, looked out the window, swallowed heavily. He closed his eyes for a moment, and Lomas could tell that his nephew wished he were anywhere else but there.
“It wasn’t my first arrest. That was five years ago. I’ve got a permanent felony on my record to show for it.” Stannis sighed, more heavily this time. “And now all of Westeros knows about it, too. Not one of my prouder achievements.”
Not for the first time that day was Lomas surprised. “What happened?”
“It was when Selyse served me with divorce papers.” Stannis laughed, a short bark, harsh and self-deprecating, utterly without humor. “I apparently thought I should act like Robert. Drunken bar fight and all. I often times wonder what Father would think.”
Time to put that shame monster to rest. “He would have told you welcome to the club.”
Lomas chuckled at Stannis’ startled expression. “What? You thought your daddy did no wrong? Think again, boy. Ain’t no man perfect. He and I spent a night or two in jail ourselves, fueled by an excess of alcohol and youthful arrogance. Cassie settled him out.”
Sansa reached out to cover Stannis’ large hand with her own pale slender one, giving him a slight squeeze. Stannis did not speak, but he straightened his shoulders and gave her a quick nod.
After dinner the three went back out to his porch. The evening breeze had picked up, dispersing the earlier heat and humidity enough to make sitting outside comfortable. Lomas snagged his soapstone pipe and tobacco from the mantle on the way out. It was a moderate indulgence, he and his pipe, a nightly ritual that put each day to rest.
Sansa, upon seeing the sea painted orange from the lowering sun, immediately declared that she had to ‘capture the moment’, fetched her drawing supplies and hastened towards the shore. Both men watched as she settled upon a windswept rock among the dunes. He could just barely make out furious hand movements as she began to sketch.
“I don’t suppose you’ll join me. I’ve a spare pipe if you ever change your mind.” Lomas gestured back towards the house.
Stannis pulled a small green can of tobacco out of his pocket, proceeded to dip. “I’ve got my own, thanks.”
Lomas hid his surprise behind lighting his pipe. Drunken fights, arrests, dating a girl half his age, now using tobacco? Ten years ago he could never imagine his uptight nephew engaging in any one of those activities, let alone all of them. What other changes had he not yet revealed?
Lomas nodded to the green tin Stannis held. “That girl give you any grief?”
Stannis shook his head. “Never.”
“Good.” Lomas took a long, slow pull from his pipe, lazily watching the far off waves break as he thought of times long past. “My Sarah, she never nagged me none either. A good woman won’t nag her man.”
Stannis leaned against the porch railing, eyes focused on the same distant breakers. “She’s a special girl, Sansa is.”
“You’re right on both counts.”
“Both?” Stannis frowned.
“She is indeed special. It takes a special someone to take on you Baratheons.” Lomas paused, pulling on his pipe. “Your mother was special too. She loved your father. Respected him, honored him. They were head over heels in love through their whole marriage. But she didn’t put up with his guff none, either.”
“You said ‘both counts’. What’s the second?”
“Your mama was a strong woman. Helped that she had brothers. But she was also of an age with Steffon.” Lomas tilted his head towards the sandy dunes, where the subject of their conversation sat sketching the scene before her. “Yonder girl is just that - a girl. A very young, sheltered girl at that. Do you know what you’re doing, son?”
Stannis spat off the porch, brows knit in a deep quiet frown, more of an eerie replica of his father than he probably realized. “Sansa is not a child. Young, aye, but she knows who she is.”
“You didn’t answer the question.”
“I didn’t come here for interrogations, Uncle. We came here to forget King’s Landing.” Stannis took in a deep breath, eyes both dark and bright with fiery passion. “I came here to introduce you to somebody I - impossible as it may seem - love with every fiber of my being.”
As Stannis spoke his Stormlands accent grew thicker and stronger once again, so that by the end Lomas could almost swear it was Steffon himself speaking through his middle son.
Not quite the answer he’d been looking for, but it was assurance enough that Stannis took the relationship, and Sansa’s wellbeing, seriously. The knot in Lomas’ stomach melted, and he walked over to clap Stannis on the back. His nephew’s quick anger turned into bewilderment.
“Just like your father. Good.” Lomas turned his attention towards Sansa, making her way back through the sandy grass to the house, the setting sun lighting her hair even more ablaze, if that was even possible. A quick glance at Stannis showed him a besotted man - no stress lines visible, eyes alight with a passion Lomas hadn’t known could reside in his workaholic nephew.
“Well, my dear, what treasures found their way to your canvas?”
“The sea, of course! This island is full of new landscapes for me to explore.” Sansa smiled happily and displayed her sketches of the nearby shore to both men. “Right now I need to go spray some fixative on these or they’ll smudge.”
She skipped across the broad porch and through the door, out of sight. Stannis hadn’t moved. Lomas wasn’t sure his nephew was even breathing, he stood so still. One look at the younger man’s face told Lomas that Stannis’ mind had focused itself elsewhere, on that pretty girl with long red hair.
It took three tries to get Stannis’ attention. Finally Lomas had to mock punch Stannis in the arm while calling his name.
Lomas chuckled at Stannis’ slight jump. “I say, boy, you got it bad.”
Stannis turned lobster red, grimaced, and rubbed his neck. Lomas nearly missed the softly uttered affirmative, part sigh, part grunt. “Mm hmm.” Half mute, indeed.
“How? And don’t tell me Robert left the door open. That’s just how you two met. But it don’t explain how you and her got together.”
Stannis stayed silent for long moments, absently kneading the knuckles of one hand while he stared out to sea. Eventually, as Lomas knew he would, he spoke. Quietly.
“She touched me.”
Sansa soon returned to the porch, expressing a desire to walk along the shore. Hand in hand they walked off, Sansa chatting until Lomas could no longer hear her voice. He sat back in his rocker to finish his pipe, and thought of his own youth with his Sarah, when she and he would walk the beach at dusk. Once finished, he flipped the porch light on and went to bed. He was certain they would not return before full dark had descended.
From his bedroom window Lomas caught a glimpse of two figures wandering out among the dunes in the waning light. He watched as they came to stop in a dip between two higher dunes, bodies joining together in a deep embrace. As the light grew ever dimmer he watched the man remove his shirt, lay it down on the sand, and then pull the girl down to lie with him on the makeshift blanket. He watched them until the light faded away, perhaps a little longer than he ought to have, inwardly chiding himself on being a dirty old man. But he went to bed with a smile, happy in the knowledge that Stannis had, at last, found love.
|
What it came down to was Cecelia and Bucky building up a network of people who hated Duke for one reason or another. Steve was not really sure how it all happened, but he was suddenly at the center of a sprawling web of discontent. He set up a system so that those who were in a position to report Duke’s movements either reported to Cecelia via the store or Bucky via the clubs, but there were a few people who shunned even that much risk. For them, Steve rigged a system of hidey-holes in public places where anonymous notes could be dropped off. Cecelia passed on the information she received in coffee tins she put in his bag whenever he went shopping. Looking at the growing pile of tins in his room, Steve figured he was amassing a coffee stash that would last him until at least 1950.
It was all very cloak-and-dagger which was almost fun. The problem was that Duke was a man of set habits that were regular and expected. Getting him “off the beaten track” for anything like a sting was proving to be beyond Steve’s ability to figure out.
He sat staring at his planning notebook, seeing Duke’s routine laid out clearly before him: the people he met with, the cops who paid him off for odd jobs intimidating people, the whores he visited regularly and the other guys who made up his “crew.” He was rarely alone, and often drunk, and never ever vulnerable.
“You look like you swallowed a bug or something,” Bucky said, propped up on Steve’s bed with a bottle of rum. He had fought with Anne the day before so they were on one of their off periods of their on-again/off-again romance, and Bucky was reacting the way he usually did when that happened: skipping work and hiding out at Steve’s with a bottle of booze. Steve didn’t mind too much, it at least kept Bucky off the streets and out of fights. Bucky always complained about Steve picking fights with guys but that was the pot calling the kettle black, as far as Steve was concerned.
Steve was on an old rickety metal chair that had probably once belonged to the local public school when Steve was a baby. He sat with his feet on the bed.
“I think I’m going to call off this plan with Duke. I can’t make it work,” Steve sighed, closing his notebook.
“You’ve been planning this out like a military operation, Steve. We've got at least ten people wrapped up in being your field agents, like some kind of Hitchcock movie. You can’t just call it off.” Bucky took a swig of the rum and passed the bottle to Steve, who allowed himself a generous swallow. Steve was not fond of getting drunk but he liked a good buzz as much as the next guy.
Steve opened his mouth but closed it when his cousins stumbled through the flat from the back bedroom, just heading off to work on the night shift and already stinking of hot machine oil and sweat in their old coveralls. They barely exchanged greetings as they slammed the front door behind them. Steve and Bucky just stared after them, then shrugged at each other. Bucky took another hit from the bottle. “You have to figure something out.”
“I can’t!” Steve sighed.
Bucky rolled his eyes. “Yes, you can. You know I remember when we were kids and all you wanted was to grow up and be a cop. You wanted to clean up the streets! So now you can. Clean out that scum, send him someplace else.”
Steve tossed the notebook onto his little desk.
“Aw, Steve. C’mon. You’re the one who hates the guy. I think the only one who hates him more than you do is Cecelia.”
“That doesn’t mean I can just send him packing. He’s got his boys around him, he’s in with the cops even if they are willing to throw him under the bus, and the gangsters keep him at arm’s length. According to reports he pays his whores, doesn’t have a bill run up anywhere.” Steve crossed his arms and tipped the chair back onto its rear legs. He startled when Bucky pulled the chair back down.
“You’ll fall and hit your head, and cry like a girl,” Bucky said smugly as he settled back against the wall.
“I think you got us confused,” Steve snapped, although there was no heat in the bickering.
Bucky took another swig of rum. “Look, give it another week. Let’s see what happens. If you don’t have a plan by then, we’ll spread the word that the deal is off.”
Steve studied his friend carefully. There was something there, something that bothered Steve in the way that Bucky’s eyes flashed with a dark, secret purpose. But that was how Bucky worked, Steve knew that, so he wrote it off.
“Sure, okay. Deal.”
“Great.” Bucky put the bottle on the window sill. “You mind if I crash out here?”
“I’ve got work in the morning, Bucky. Don’t keep me up with your snoring.”
“Don’t keep me up with your damn kicking.”
“Don’t keep me up with your damn wandering hands.”
Bucky laughed. “Dream on, Romeo. C’mon, let’s sleep.”
Steve curled up in the shelter of Bucky’s body, which even at 18 was still hitting random growth spurts, hardening and widening and getting stronger. It was usually (secretly) Steve’s favorite place to be, but the matter with Duke weighed on his mind and he could not shake his unease.
He woke up and rolled over to see Bucky flipping through his planning notebook. Steve rubbed his eyes and yawned.
Bucky was already dressed, and that threw Steve off. Bucky usually worked late hours and slept until noon, so it was more common for Steve to sneak out to his job while Bucky snored away. “What’s up?”
“Hey. Nothing, I promised my aunt to come over and help with some house repairs. Her husband’s brother is a carpenter, and he’s said he’ll teach me some stuff if I help out.” He put the notebook down.
Steve sat up. “Oh hey! That’s swell!”
“Yeah, I could use a trade or something. I can’t keep boxing for money too much longer. It’s learn carpentry or go into the Army.”
Steve gulped. “Army wouldn’t be bad,” he offered, although his heart dropped.
“Nah, but it’s not my first choice. Would rather stay in Brooklyn, you know?” Bucky grinned and chucked Steve’s chin. Steve grinned back at him as Bucky grabbed his hat. “Gotta go. It’s seven a.m., time for you to get up anyway, sleepyhead.”
“Yeah yeah. Go away.” Steve pulled his legs out of bed, his toes barely sweeping the ground. Bucky waved and went out.
Things went on as usual in Operation Stop Duke for a couple days, which was to say things didn’t go anywhere at all, when suddenly an opportunity opened up. Steve stared at the note Cecelia had tucked in his coffee, then shared it with Bucky, who read it and shrugged because by itself, the information meant nothing. Steve put the new information into the notebook, studied it, and decided that it was time to move. Duke had suddenly started going off alone to meet with a new girl, and Steve noticed that his path happened to cross that of a mob runner. He thought that if they somehow dropped that fact into Duke’s ear, along with a mention of how much money the runner usually carried, he might take the bait. All Steve needed was one observer, hidden well out of the way, to snitch to the mob afterward. It put the runner into a precarious position, as chances were good that Duke would get violent, but Bucky swore to Steve that the runners knew the risks and could take care of themselves.
“I’ve got just the guy to snitch,” Bucky said, nodding, when Steve explained the plan.
“No, it’s gonna be me.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Yes, it is.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Bucky—”
“No.”
“Me, or this doesn’t happen.” Steve glared at him.
Bucky sighed.
Later, when Steve put it all together, he knew that Bucky had been trying to protect him. At the moment, though, Steve felt that it was his duty to take that risk, to see it through to his plan’s end. He felt he owed that to the gay kid who had been murdered in front of him, and to everyone Duke had ever hurt. So he made arrangements for information to be passed from hand to hand to Duke, and for four nights in a row Steve hid behind some trash cans as he watched the runner make his way through the back alleys, always followed a few minutes later by Duke on his way to his girl’s apartment. On the fifth night, Duke unsurprisingly arrived early.
The runner saw Duke and pulled up short, recognizing him. “You’re crazy if you think you can rob my boss,” the runner stated flatly.
Duke just grinned, bringing up his knife and moving in.
Torn, Steve debated what to do for one long moment before the runner yelled out, “Now!”
Several doors opened and people flooded the alley. Steve stood up, shocked, and watched in horror as the mob descended on Duke with boards and baseball bats. Duke did not even have time to yell before the first blows hit. Steve jumped forward to stop the slaughter but arms reached out and grabbed him, pulling him back. Steve kicked futilely at his attacker.
“Shut up, Rogers!” Bucky hissed in his ear, walking backwards and dragging him away. Steve stopped fighting as Bucky hauled him off. The last Steve saw of the scene was Cecelia bringing up her hand, holding a blood-covered brick, and swinging it down. Her pretty face was contorted in rage.
Steve let Bucky manhandle him, walking him like a prisoner to Steve’s place. Steve stumbled through the door and landed on the edge of the bed. Silently, Bucky pulled out their bottle of rum and poured a heavy shot into Steve’s coffee mug. Steve took it and slugged the whole thing, coughing afterward. Bucky drank straight from the bottle, then refilled Steve’s mug.
“You knew,” Steve said, looking bleakly up at his friend.
Bucky wouldn’t meet his eyes, but shrugged his confession.
“That…that wasn’t my plan.” Steve stared at the liquor.
“I know.”
Steve took a few deep breaths, getting his lungs full again. Bucky watched him, shifting uncomfortably. Finally Steve looked back up at him. “What…how?”
“Cecelia. When you noticed that Duke’s path crossed with Isaac, she got the idea.”
Steve shook his head.
Bucky sighed. “Apparently she knew Isaac because his sister is a nurse at the hospital. His sister’s husband was killed by Duke and his thugs.”
Steve blinked. “They let Jewesses be nurses?”
“I think she converted to Catholic when she got married or something. Doesn’t matter, does it?”
“No, I guess not.” Steve drank the rum, then slumped on the bed. “I wanted to stop a bully, not make more of them.”
Bucky sat down next to him, slinging a friendly, comforting arm over Steve’s shoulder. Steve leaned in to him just a little, wanting more but holding himself back. Bucky rubbed his arm. “I know. I knew from the start this would end badly.”
“Then why didn’t you stop me?” Steve pushed him back but Bucky tightened his hold.
“When have I ever been able to stop you? Jeeze.” Bucky sighed and they both relaxed again. “Look, Steve, I know these kinds of guys. I know too many of them. They don’t stop being what they are because you teach them a lesson. They stop when they die.”
Steve blinked. “Cecelia said that…back, back a while, in the hospital. She said that. God, she planned this from the start. Damnit. I can’t believe I fell for that.”
Bucky snorted. “Not the first guy to fall for a pretty dame’s line.”
“I feel like a fool. And I got someone killed. And—”
“Sweet Jesus, Rogers, if the next words out of your mouth are ‘I should turn myself in to the cops’ then I will personally bust your ass with my own belt.”
Steve snapped his mouth shut.
“Look, this is how the world works: bad guys are bad, and good guys stop them in whatever way they can. You’re a good guy, Steve. The best. Better than me; I wouldn’t have even tried. I’m too used to seeing that crap.” Bucky gave him a one-armed squeeze. “You keep me a good man. You remind me that the world isn’t all blood and boxing and jerks who gamble away the money for their kid’s shoes. Duke got what was coming to him, but more importantly he’s not going to hurt anyone else. Not little girls or fairies or…or you.”
“I told you, I was fine that night, they just—”
Bucky shoved him back and grabbed his shoulders, actually shaking him. “Don’t you get it? You moron! If Duke had even scented you in this he would have killed you! I couldn’t…I wouldn’t…aw, shit. Steve. I won’t make it without you, okay? So Duke had to go down. Because I need to know you’re safe. I won’t ever regret what happened tonight. Never. Because you’re safe now, that’s what’s important to me.” Bucky gave him a final hard shake and then jumped up from the bed, pacing the room.
Steve had nothing to say to him. He knew that if their situation was reversed, he’d feel the same. He could not imagine losing Bucky; just the thought of Bucky getting married and starting his own family was enough to make Steve’s heart ache. He could not even conceive of what he would do if Bucky ever managed to get himself killed.
“I’m sorry.” Steve focused on the floor, unable to look Bucky in the eyes.
Bucky sat down again and hugged him. “Just be safe, Steve. I can’t always be there to pull you out of a mess. We’re not ten years old anymore.”
Steve just nodded and hugged back, letting himself enjoy the protection and comfort of Bucky’s arms around him. Bucky set his chin on Steve’s head the way he always used to do when they were younger, and they sat on the bed like that until Steve fell into an exhausted, guilty sleep. |
Chris marched into the hospital and people scattered before his glare. He had not been impressed when JD had informed him that Vin had left during the night while they were travelling and had no clue where he had gone. The kid had held up impressively against his anger and Chris felt a little bad about that, but he doubted it would be the last time until they found Vin.
It had been bad enough when Vin was investigating NCIS, but that had only been a few weeks and he’d known where Vin was whenever he’d needed to. Whatever contact he’d managed to keep with Vin and Ezra had been whenever they’d manage to sneak away from their FBI handlers. Vin was going to give him grey hairs long before he was due, he was sure.
“I’m looking for the doctor that was treating Vincent Falco,” Chris demanded, catching the first nurse he came across. The man had dark hair and green eyes that widened in fear and then narrowed quickly.
“Who’s asking?”
Chris quickly flashed his credentials and the nurse relaxed a little bit.
“Look, it’s like I told those FBI guys, Mr Falco was pretty out of it. He shouldn’t have been out of bed, never mind out of the hospital.
“You treated him?”
“I was there when he woke up, but he fell asleep pretty quickly. Dr Rush was the one who worked on him. I think he was up to a conversation when she checked on him,” the nurse said.
“Where can I find her?” Chris said.
“Doctors’ lounge on the first floor,” the nurse said, gesturing to the elevators just past the reception desk. Chris didn’t bother with him any further and he bypassed the elevators, taking the stairs two or three at a time instead. When he reached the doctors’ lounge he heard voices raised in argument and he pushed the door open and walked in to see two men arguing with a woman in a lab coat.
“FBI,” one of the men said, flipping open the wallet with his badge. “This is a private discussion.”
“ATF,” Chris said. “And it’s not your case.”
“An agent is missing.”
“An ATF agent,” Chris told him. “My agent. And you’re the ones who lost him. I wouldn’t trust you to find your own ass, never mind my agent.”
“He disappeared during the course of our investigation,” the agent said.
“He was kidnapped and assaulted and your agency was too incompetent to notice. Your investigation’s over but if you interfere with my search for my agent, I’ll make sure if you ever work in law enforcement again, you’ll be lucky to be writing tickets.”
“I’ll be talking to my superiors about this,” the agent said. Chris bared his teeth in something approaching a smile.
“So will I.”
The agents disappeared quickly after that and Chris was left facing the doctor.
“I hope you won’t insist on records without a court order,” the doctor told him.
“Vincent Falco was my agent’s undercover identity. His real name is Vin Tanner and I have power of attorney,” Chris told her.
“Do you have documents to that effect?” she asked, eyes hard. He matched her glare for a moment before he pulled out his phone and dialled Buck.
“Get me Vin’s legal documents,” was all he said before he ended the call. He’d never been so glad for Nathan insisting on medical and legal papers for every member of the team after the first disastrous visit to the hospital when they hadn’t had anyone to make decisions for Vin.
“I appreciate your co-operation, Agent...” she said, expression relaxing into something professionally pleasant.
“Larabee,” he said. “Agent Chris Larabee.”
She smiled.
“Can I offer you coffee while we wait?”
“Thanks,” Chris said, jaw clenched as he was forced to wait, putting even more space between him and Vin. “Can you at least tell me if he was alright?”
She gave him a small smile.
“He was recovering well.”
He was nursing an untouched cold cup of coffee by the time Ezra arrived with the required documents. Chris wasted no time in handing them to the doctor who scanned them quickly before looking at Chris with far more sympathy. Chris nodded when she looked at Ezra. Ezra hadn't been able to let go of the idea that somehow he could have prevented Vin being taken. Chris was sure that if Ezra had had the opportunity to do something it would have been done. Ezra and Vin had a strange friendship considering how different the men were, but it was absolutely solid. He wasn't going to exclude him now.
“When Mr Falco... forgive me, Agent Tanner, was dropped off two days ago. He’d been beaten, restrained and drugged, though we’re still not sure with what. He regained consciousness for a short time yesterday morning and then longer in the afternoon. By this morning, he was gone.”
“But he was alright?” Chris said, needing to double-check.
“Despite the drugs and concussion, he was quite coherent for the short time he was awake. He didn’t seem to have much memory of the event itself that led to his stay in the hospital, but that was to be expected,” she told him.
“He didn’t want to call anyone? Didn’t seem distressed to be in a hospital?” Chris asked, because something just didn’t feel right.
“Oh no, I don’t think he was awake long enough to think of it, but he did accept that a few days stay was for the best. Which is why I was so surprised that he left.”
Chris looked at Ezra and both men frowned.
“Would you be inclined to direct us to the security office?” Ezra asked. “I believe your security footage might shed light on the situation.”
-
He had stolen a few more things, including a coat and shoes that almost fitted, which was something of a relief. He’d even managed to get a bit of money since he couldn’t remember any of the pin numbers for the cards in his wallet and some instinct was telling him not to use them anyway.
The only avenue of investigation he had were some names and that they were hunters, so that’s what he was pursuing. That was why he’d found the name of a hangout for local hunters and was now standing outside a rather shabby looking bar that somehow felt familiar in some intangible way. Not that he thought he’d been here specifically, but that he’d often been places like this.
He pulled the cap lower, to shadow his face, and stepped inside. It took a moment for him to adjust to the dim light within and he went to the end of the bar, keeping his gait as steady as possible, even as he leaned on the cane.
The stool was uncomfortable, mostly a factor of his bruised body than the chair itself, but he wasn’t planning to stay long. The bartender moved to his end of the bar and he ordered a beer. He didn’t particularly care what kind it was, since he wasn’t planning on drinking it. Even without knowing much else, he knew enough not to mess with whatever drugs might still be in his system and the lingering headache.
“I’m looking for someone,” he said, drawing the bartender’s attention.
“Should probably be at Charlie’s then,” the bartender told him.
“The men I’m looking for are hunters,” he said and he slid one of his precious bills across the bar. The bartender pocketed it and raised an eyebrow at him. “Robert Smith and Rufus Jones.”
The bartender shrugged, shook his head and moved off before he could ask anything else. He sighed and turned the glass in his hands, wondering what he should do next. Finally, he got up off the stool and left the bar.
He was barely out the door when someone grabbed him and shoved him against the wall. He was sure he could feel his bones grind together. He struggled, managing to get in a few good hits, before the man overcame him and shoved him up against the wall again.
“Who are you and what do you want with Bobby and Rufus?” the man demanded. He grunted in pain as the man dug into a particularly sensitive bruise.
“If I knew the answer to that, I wouldn’t need them,” he said.
The man looked confused for a moment before pulling out a knife and scoring his neck before he could do anything stop it. A moment later, he was splashed in the face. The man seemed confused but he loosened his hold.
“What do you mean?” the man demanded.
“I don’t remember anything before waking up in the hospital a day ago. I don’t know anything about how I got there except that this Bobby and Rufus brought me in. I need to know what happened to me and they’re the only ones with answers,” he said.
The man hesitated, evaluating him closely before he nodded and stepped back, releasing him. He massaged his shoulder, trying to ease the ache.
“Smith and Jones are aliases,” the man said with a faint smirk. “You’re looking for Bobby Singer. Try Singer Salvage Yard in Sioux Falls, South Dakota.”
“Thanks,” he said. The man shrugged.
“If you try something, Bobby will kill you and if he doesn’t, the Winchesters will,” the man warned him. He nodded, not entirely sure what he was getting himself into.
-
Dean thought that he wouldn’t ever get used to travelling by Cas as they landed on the porch of Bobby’s house. Sam knocked politely but Dean just rolled his eyes and opened the door, letting them in.
“Hey Bobby,” he called before going into the kitchen to grab a beer.
For a long time, Bobby’s had been as close to a home as any of them had, even if Dean had found a new place to settle down, that didn’t mean this place meant anything less to him. Sam could behave like a visitor, but Dean refused to.
Although, Lindsey’s vague but somehow still pointed comments had been why Dean had suggested popping over to Bobby’s with Sam to catch up. He hadn’t seen Bobby since the whole Azrael thing and with the team he’d been seeing the man less than usual before that since his hunting was now sponsored by the government.
“What do you ingrates want now?” Bobby asked, walking into the kitchen. There was a crinkling around his eyes, however, that Dean knew meant he was pleased to see them.
“To drink your beer and eat your food,” Dean told him, raising the bottle.
“Your government salary not covering the basics?” Bobby asked, getting a beer of his own. Sam sat down at the kitchen table and the others joined him.
“Far be it for Dean to pay for anything he doesn’t have to,” Sam said, grinning.
“Dean is very generous,” Cas objected and Dean fought a blush, half wishing he could teach Cas to filter himself and half not wanting the angel to change at all. Sam snickered.
“So, you been up to anything interesting?” Dean asked, changing the subject without any pretence at subtlety.
“Just got back from a hunt with Rufus,” Bobby told him.
“How did it go?” Sam asked, leaning forward with interest.
Dean found it a little ironic that now that Sam was out of hunting entirely, the way he’d always wanted to be, that he was clamouring to get back in. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, not when the last time they’d been hunting together, they’d had to face Lucifer and Sam had died. Worse than died. Bobby shrugged.
“Let me tell you,” Bobby said, “fairies are not all they’re cracked up to be.”
“Fairies?” Dean asked with a grin. Bobby shot him a glare.
“They are not to be underestimated,” Cas told him, standing behind Dean’s chair so that Dean could feel the warmth of him. Dean leaned back and looked up at Cas.
“But fairies?” Dean asked, holding up a hand with thumb and forefinger barely two inches apart.
“Before they became the fair folk, they were as gods,” Cas told him.
“And they pack quite a punch,” Bobby added.
“But you dealt with them,” Sam said. Bobby shook his head.
“Fended them off, maybe,” Bobby told them. “But they won’t be down for long. We did manage to get a civilian out, though.”
“Maybe I should ask Tony to look into it,” Dean said thoughtfully. “Adam might know something about it, too.”
“Ain’t much can kill a fairy,” Bobby said.
“You clearly haven’t let Adam have a go.” |
Chris collided against the metal door for the hundredth time, refusing to give up even though the barrier gave no indication of budging. He declined to address the rising panic he felt and instead charged at the door again, focusing his energy on the slim chance of escape instead of falling prey to despair. After a few more moments of slamming his entire weight against the obstacle, Chris heard a groan from the floor. Abandoning the door for the moment, he moved towards the moaning figure on the floor. Chris crouched down in front of her. “Hey,” he muttered softly, reaching out to give his companion a hand.
Sheva blinked slowly and rubbed her eyes, trying to ignore the pounding in her head. She accepted Chris’ outstretched hand, and with his assistance leaned against the wall behind her. “Where are we?” she questioned, looking around as she asked. The room was small and dim, a single bulb illuminating the small space. Though the entire room looked decrepit, the door was not, however. Reinforced steel barred their way to freedom.
Her companion shrugged in response and he scowled, looking back at the unaffected door. Sheva reached up and felt around the back of her head, finding a large bump. So that was why she had such a headache! Moving her hand down to assess the rest of her, she found her pockets to be empty and every one of her weapons missing. Even the knife she hid in her boot for times like this was gone. Closing her eyes and leaning her head back carefully, Sheva let out a soft sigh. “What do you remember last?” she finally asked when Chris didn’t say anything further.
With a grunt, Chris sat down next to Sheva, mirroring her posture as he too leaned against the wall. “We were fighting Jill… and Wesker,” he muttered, his voice tight with barely restrained anger. Hatred for his former captain bubbled in his chest and Chris took a moment to take a deep breath, trying to stay calm. He needed to keep a cool head in order to get out of this predicament. Giving in to his anger would do neither him nor Sheva any good. And he wasn’t going to lose another partner. Not this time.
“That’s right,” she murmured, opening her eyes to look at Chris. “Jill hit me from behind and I don’t remember anything after that.” She nodded as she recalled the intense battle and the equally intense emotional toll the reunion must have had on Chris. Sheva reached her hand out and gently patted Chris’ shoulder, hoping he would understand that she was there for him if he wanted to talk. It must have been so hard to not only see Jill in the flesh, but then have to fight with her. Sheva could tell that Chris had physically restrained himself from doing Jill any real harm during their duel, while she had come at him full force, her moves intending to do damage. Granted, it wasn’t truly Jill that was fighting them. But the fact was it was Jill’s body and it must have hurt Chris’ psyche far more than any kicks or punches he had received in the melee.
“After you went down, she turned on me, and I couldn’t outrun both her and Wesker,” Chris told her. He glanced at the hand on his shoulder but did not remove it, much to Sheva’s delight. “I don’t understand why we aren’t dead,” Chris admitted, looking his partner straight in the eye. “Wesker has been trying to kill me for years. He had the perfect opportunity.”
Biting her lip as she contemplated the situation, Sheva gently squeezed Chris’ shoulder before removing her hand. If what Chris said was true, it didn’t make any sense. She glanced at the door as if the answer to her question would bust in. But the door remained closed and their cell remained eerily quiet. Letting her growing fear and trepidation guide her thoughts, Sheva thought about the man that had attacked them just a few short hours ago. Wesker had moved with graceful ferocity, and if their lives hadn’t been at stake Sheva would have been fully impressed with his skill. Despite his superior strength and agility from whatever virus ran through his veins, Sheva knew that Wesker had had some sort of tactical training before all of this. And Chris had known him personally before all of this Uroboros nonsense. From what she had picked up on, the grudge between the two men ran deep. “I hate to say it, but maybe a quick death isn’t what he has in store for us,” she muttered, still staring at the door.
Chris followed her gaze towards the door but quickly looked back at her, a frown pulling down the corners of his mouth. Sheva was probably right. Wesker wouldn’t just leave them to rot in this cell. He would have some sort of nefarious plan. “We need to be ready for when he shows up then.”
There was no way to tell time in the windowless room, but Chris would guess that it had been a full day since he had woken on the cell floor. Besides conversation with Sheva, the cell had been silent. There were no sounds from outside the door that penetrated through. Not even the single lightbulb flickered or buzzed like it did in so many cliché movies. Instead, the two companions sat in silence, except for when they felt the need to talk. That too had steadily petered off.
Chris was unwilling to discuss Jill, and the few attempts Sheva had made to initiate a heart to heart had been met with either silence or a change of subject. Small talk seemed to be out of the question as well, for it broke Chris’ concentration. He sat facing the door, poised to rise at a moment’s notice. His eyes were trained on the handle, waiting for any sort of movement. Sheva had eventually given up and fallen into silence, choosing instead to either watch the door for movement as well, or to study her companion, looking for any signs of fatigue or emotional breakdown.
A few more hours passed this way, the two occupants as silent as the rest of the room. Finally, Sheva began to grow restless and stood to pace, but a quick glare from Chris had her sitting back down. No distractions, right. So instead she fiddled with her necklace, trying to do something that wasn’t a complete lack of movement. It wasn’t long before she began to feel antsy again, and frustration at the situation and Chris’ cool composure in the face of their certain demise caused her to spit out, “Maybe he isn’t coming.”
“That doesn’t mean we can’t be prepared.”
His voice was cool, almost to the point of dripping with disdain. He hadn’t even turned to look at her, his eyes still trained on their only escape route. Sheva felt anger curl in her breast and she rose to her feet, the fiery emotion fueling her now. “Chris, we can’t beat him. We ran from him before. You think we can do something in this tiny cell?”
Chris rose from his crouch and finally turned to look at her, his own eyes brimming with uncontrolled rage. “What kind of attitude is that? You’re giving up already?” He knew that his partner was scared and that her anger wasn’t entirely directed at him, and he too wasn’t completely angry at her. Easy to process in his mind, but uneasy not to get caught up in an argument. To take out his frustration on someone that would later forgive him was simpler than staring at a door for hours. Letting his anger at the entire situation fill him, Chris cried, “What would your parents say?” He had never thought himself cruel, so his comment surprised him, and his mouth hung open in shock after his outburst.
Sheva’s eyes widened in surprise and her nostrils flared with indignation. “How dare you!” she cried, lunging forward. She pummeled her fists against Chris’ chest, but her hits weren’t meant to hurt, no matter how much his comment had stung. The fight was out of her in a few moments, and instead she leaned against her fellow prisoner, breathing in deeply, his scent comforting her. She allowed herself to get comfort from Chris for a moment, seeking a physical connection to soothe her nerves. Contentment filled her when Chris wrapped his muscular arms around her and murmured apologies into the top of her head. For a moment, Sheva felt at peace and that things would be fine.
“How touching.”
A mocking voice broke the two BSAA agents quickly apart, and both were shocked to see that Wesker had made his way into their cell in a matter of seconds, unnoticed by both of them. Before anything else could be said, Chris lunged at the man, a snarl of hatred on his lips. Wesker smirked at Chris’ assault and began to fight with him, parrying the first punch with ease. The two men began brawling, though it was apparent Chris was taking far more hits than he was landing them. Realizing it may be their only chance to escape, Sheva rushed forward in an effort to help her partner. She kicked out at the back of Wesker’s knee, hoping the force behind the blow would incapacitate their captor long enough for them to make it beyond the door. There was a connection, but her kick may as well have been a child trying to inflict damage. Smirking all the while, Wesker glanced back at her as she moved to grapple him. Faster than any mere mortal could possibly hope to move, Wesker slammed his elbow into Sheva’s head, knocking her to the floor as he spun to face off against Chris once more.
Seeing his partner fall so quickly made despair begin to race through his mind, but Chris continued to advance on Wesker, hoping by some miracle they would win. Pain from Wesker’s punches flared all along his body, but Chris refused to give up. A sudden kick to the ribs made the man grit his teeth in agony, but again he stood, defiance and hatred fueling his movements. Absently, Chris noted that Wesker still had his sunglasses on and his hair was still perfectly slicked back. The bastard. “Come on, old man. You can do better than that,” he taunted, smirking at Wesker as he wiped at a blood trail that trickled from his nose. His former captain grinned in return, but it was no friendly thing. All teeth, practically a sneer at the edges, and Chris knew he was in trouble.
He couldn’t hold out against Wesker’s barrage. Determination not to give in to his enemy or show any weakness was all that fueled his movements now. He successfully dodged one of Wesker’s sweeping kicks by throwing himself back, but the movement made him lose balance. Landing heavily on the floor from his wild escape, Chris rolled away from a follow-up stomp that would have surely crushed a few ribs if he had not moved in time. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sheva rising, equal parts determination and desperation on her face. He knew that his partner had been right, however. There was no way they could compete against Wesker’s enhanced abilities. Running was their best option, yet again. “The door, Sheva!” he shouted as he latched on to Wesker’s ankle, hoping to distract the man long enough so that his female companion could escape.
She moved quickly, though he knew she must have loathed leaving him. Sprinting for the open door before Wesker could subdue Chris long enough to stop her himself, it appeared that she would be free in moments. Chris felt a laugh of triumph escaping him when she cleared the doorway and disappeared from sight. Gloating shining in his eyes, he looked up at Wesker and saw the man’s self-satisfied smirk. Chris realized then that Wesker wasn’t even making an effort to escape his weakened grip on his ankle. Instead, the black clothed man stood still, eyeing the door that Sheva had rushed through moments before. “Any moment now,” he murmured to Chris, his smirk steadily growing.
With a growl, Chris rose to tackle Wesker, enraged by the other man’s relaxed countenance. “I tire of this,” Wesker told him as he easily latched on to his captive’s throat, effectively stopping any further attacks. With just one hand the blond held the BSAA agent aloft, all the while keeping his eyes on the open door. Chris scrabbled weakly at the gloved hand, humiliation coursing through his body. No matter how hard he kicked out at Wesker, the grip around his throat would not budge. He began to see spots in his vision and he gasped frantically, doubling his efforts at prying the hand off.
Just as Chris was sure this was how his former captain planned to finish him off, he was dropped unceremoniously to the floor. He took great lungfulls of air, not resisting when he felt Wesker grab at his hands and pull them behind his back. He didn’t register the click of the cuffs until it was too late. His hands were now useless to him. “Be a good boy now, Christopher,” Wesker said, looking down at the fallen man. Chris opened his mouth to spit insults at the blond when a commotion was suddenly made right outside the door.
Turning his head from where he still lay panting on the floor, Chris witnessed Sheva being dragged by the hair by none other than Jill. Sheva was shouting at the woman, alternating between trying to reason with her or delivering threats. No matter what his companion said, Jill did not react. Instead, she moved with a single minded purpose towards Wesker, still dragging the struggling agent behind her. When Jill finally reached her master, she threw Sheva forward, causing her to pitifully tumble until she rested near Chris.
“Now that everyone’s here,” Wesker drawled, placing one boot on the brunette man’s back as he leaned down to look at the pair. Chris wiggled and shifted, trying to dislodge the older man.
“Get off of me, you piece of shit!”
Wesker’s hand darted out faster than what Chris’ eyes could follow, clamping down on Sheva’s already abused hair. He dragged her towards him, ignoring her gasps of pain. “Now Chris, is that any way to speak to your betters?” he asked, though his face was turned towards Sheva’s.
Knowing he was walking on thin ice and refusing to let Sheva be hurt just because he couldn’t control his mouth, Chris grit his teeth and spat out, “No…sir.”
“Good boy.”
The words damaged his pride, and despite himself Chris could feel his cheeks heating in rage and mortification. He averted his eyes to stare straight ahead at the rough floor, trying to ignore the weight of Wesker’s foot on his back and the way his nemesis began to chuckle softly in delight.
“Ms. Alomar, BSAA agent, is it?” Chris heard Wesker ask above him. Though he was grateful that Wesker was no longer focused on him for the sake of his ego, worry began to bloom in his chest. He would rather take Wesker’s insults all day than for Sheva to face off against him.
To her credit, Sheva answered without any tremor in her voice. “Yes. Albert Wesker, science experiment, correct?” In fact, her voice held a bit of derision to it, as if the man that could rip out her hair in one pull was a complete waste of her time. Chris felt his heart swell with pride as he turned his head to watch the exchange.
A moment of silence passed before Wesker’s other hand moved with a blur. A sharp smack echoed in the small space and Chris’ eyes widened with horror when he realized that the blond had just slapped his partner. Sheva let out a gasp of pain, trying to pull away to nurse the stinging wound. But Wesker’s grip tightened in her hair and he slapped her again, causing Sheva to cry out from the force of his blow.
“Stop it!” Chris screamed, renewing his struggles to get out from under Wesker.
Another slap followed his exclamation, and this time Sheva’s nose began to drip blood, so fierce was the hit. She still thrashed her body and strove to turn her head to escape the madman’s grip, but just as Chris’ struggles did no good, so too were her movements futile. More slaps rained down on Sheva’s cheek before she was roughly shoved to the ground.
When Wesker finally removed his boot, Chris quickly rolled on to his back so that he could more fully survey the room despite the strain it put on his shoulders from his cuffed hands. He first glanced at the door that still hung open. Then he looked at Jill, still waiting impassively next to Wesker. And finally Chris looked at his companion who lay on the floor clutching her hand to her cheek. No tears stained her face, but Sheva certainly looked flustered and her eyes remained pointed to the ground. “Sheva…” he murmured, trying to get her attention and to assess the extent of her injuries.
“Ah ah ah,” Wesker chided, shaking his gloved finger at him. “All eyes on me.”
“Fuck you,” Chris spat, his brown eyes glistening with hatred.
“All in good time, Chris.”
Chris could only blink at that, unsure what his captor could possibly mean. He glanced briefly at Sheva again, but she too looked confused when she finally looked up to peek at him in return.
Not waiting for a response, Wesker continued to speak. “Chris, you and I have quite the sordid past.” He began to pace as he spoke, arms clasped tightly behind his back, unconcerned with any effort his captives might make in attacking him. “Much as I hate to admit it, I find myself in quite the predicament. As a god, I should not be burdened with such…mortal emotion as I have with you.”
Chris continued to stare at the blond man, not understanding where this speech was going. It wasn’t often that Chris was baffled into silence, but now was one of those times. Was this seriously going to be the final thing he would hear before Wesker finally killed him? Some confession about the one remaining human feeling that he had?
“I loathe you, Chris. You’ve foiled my plans far too many times. You’re a thorn in my side. A human, causing a god so much trouble.” Wesker had stopped his pacing to turn and stare in the other man’s direction. He slowly removed his sunglasses, his red eyes glinting fiercely despite the low light. Chris stared unflinchingly into the older man’s eyes, wondering what in the world he was getting at. Wesker continued with, “I find your existence…insufferable.”
There it was. He was going to die any moment now. Though Chris wouldn’t admit it, fear began to freeze his blood and roaring began to fill his ears. He refused to look away from Wesker’s intense gaze, however. Instead of letting his fright take over, he let a sneer contort his features as if he found the very idea of Wesker trying to end his life laughable.
Wesker was still speaking when Chris finally returned to reality and was able to focus once more. “-always there, with your sense of justice. Your mortality is what tries me most. So righteous even in your pathetic existence.” Chris rolled his eyes at the blond’s tirade, growing bored with the speech, though he knew the conclusion marked his own life’s end. “And yet,” Wesker ground out, obviously not as sure of himself now. Chris found his attention once more focused and sharp, his interest piqued. “My loathing is equaled only by my desire for you.”
Time stopped. Chris felt the already small room grow tighter, pressing the four occupants closer together. He felt more trapped now than he did before. Eyes blown wide in shock, the brunette found himself staring openmouthed at his former captain. Had he heard correctly? There was no way Wesker had just said that. Sheva was also staring at Wesker, surprise clearly etched on her features.
“Your spirit fascinates me. Even your mortal form intrigues me.” Wesker had resumed pacing, clearly agitated. Chris had never seen the other man nervous, and even now Wesker exuded confidence, but the BSAA agent could tell these statements did not come easy for him. And certainly it wasn’t easy for Chris to process either. Was Wesker pulling a sick joke right before he pierced his chest with his fist?
“I want to kill you, Redfield. Yet I cannot.”
Chris felt a breath he had been holding whoosh out in a swift gust. This was not real, it could not be. His brain wasn’t wired well enough to fully process the situation.
“Not until I claim what I have desired for so long.”
This time, his heart stopped. “Chris!” Sheva shouted in terror as Wesker took a step towards him. Chris felt himself squirming away, panic seizing control of his actions before his bravery could kick in. As Wesker reached towards him, he rolled to the side, avoiding contact with the gloved appendage. The older man growled in frustration and started to move towards Chris again before stopping midstride. Sheva had leaped forward and wrapped her arms around Wesker’s leg, distracting him from his pursuit of Chris.
“Insolent bitch. How dare you touch me, you unworthy worm!” he hissed, once again grabbing the back of her head by the hair. Sheva gasped and clawed at Wesker’s hand, releasing her hold on his leg. He raised his hand to strike the woman.
“Stop! Wesker, stop!” Chris shouted, struggling to sit up in his panic, his bravery back in full force once he saw Sheva being threatened.
The blond turned to regard Chris and moved the raised hand towards him. Chris couldn’t fight the flinch that moved him further away from the outstretched hand, and Wesker’s smirk was back. “If you continue to resist me, Christopher, there will be consequences.” He returned his gaze to Sheva, staring for a few seconds before his fist connected with her stomach. Her breath rushed out and her body tried to curl in on itself, trying to escape further pain.
Despite Chris’ renewed shouts, Wesker dragged Sheva’s weakly struggling form further away so that Chris could see them more fully. The gloved hand that had just given her such an intense blow was now gently fondling her breasts, while the other remained firmly lodged in her hair. When Sheva finally registered what her captor was doing, she stilled, shock causing her to freeze.
Chris had finally found his feet and made to rise, hatred causing his features to contort viciously. A snap from Wesker’s gloved fingers and Jill was advancing on him, still no sign of recognition in her eyes. Jill leapt at him, focusing on his legs in an effort to down him once more. He put up a solid fight, in his desperation actually fighting with his full strength against his former partner, but it was to no avail. It was only a few moments before he was back on the ground with a knife pressed firmly to his throat, a clear warning silently telling him not to try and move again.
“Now then, where was I?” Wesker hummed, resuming his assault on Sheva’s body. He slowly slipped beneath the purple top, his gloved hands coming in to direct contact with her skin. She shuddered at the sensation, her breaths coming faster and faster as her panic grew. Wesker leaned forward and brought his lips to her neck, and inhaled deeply. His tongue slowly slid against her skin, marking a long stripe down the length of it. When he reached her necklace, his teeth clamped down and pulled. The beads went flying as the jewelry snapped from the pressure. A cry escaped her lips and Wesker’s cruel smirk grew, the sound egging him on. He pushed Sheva to her knees in order to further her feelings of powerlessness and degradation.
Removing his hand from her shirt, he began to wind it slowly down her torso. With deft skill he began to unlatch her belt, causing the woman to begin to struggle once again, the fear that had frozen her before now spurring her to resist. Chris began to shout obscenities at Wesker, watching as tears began to trickle down Sheva’s face. The older man ignored his shouts and unzipped Sheva’s pants, forcing his hand past the waistline despite her desperate twisting.
It was obvious when Wesker actually inserted his fingers inside of Sheva. A sob escaped her mouth and she closed her eyes, her lips trembling with barely suppressed distress. “Jill, my pet, come here,” Wesker purred. “And if you move, Redfield, I’ll snap her neck,” he added, his voice hard as steel.
Jill rose, sheathing her knife as she approached. “Touch her, pet,” Wesker ordered, his voice soft and sensual. Still revealing no emotion, Jill reached out and began to caress Sheva’s shoulders. “Lower.” Jill’s hands cupped Sheva’s breasts, kneading them softly. A sudden pinch through the fabric of her shirt caused Sheva to gasp in surprise, and Wesker chuckled, amused with the situation.
“Kiss her.”
Chris watched with growing horror as Jill continued to fondle his partner with one hand while using the other to firmly grasp Sheva’s face. “Jill, stop! This isn’t you!” he shouted, but did not dare rise from the floor. The blonde woman began to softly kiss the captive, her lips moving gently over Sheva’s quivering mouth. It wasn’t long before the kiss turned rough and Jill forced her tongue into her victim’s mouth. Sheva moaned from the contact, but Chris knew it was not in pleasure. He saw Wesker’s hand resume moving inside her pants and Sheva sobbed around Jill’s tongue once more.
“Do you like what you see, Chris?” Wesker murmured in between light nips that he littered on Sheva’s neck and shoulder, all the while continuing to move his fingers inside her. A wordless snarl sprang to Chris’ face. Under normal circumstances, Chris could admit that he found two women together erotic. But this was sick. Sheva was being unwillingly assaulted, and Chris found no enjoyment in it whatsoever. And Jill… Well, Jill wasn’t really Jill. It made no difference to Wesker, apparently. “Two of your partners and your captain together? You must feel so left out.” Wesker’s words were mocking and cruel and his smirk accentuated his taunts.
“You’re not my captain,” Chris spat, unwilling to let Wesker’s claims go unchallenged.
The blond gave a quiet “Tsk tsk” at his words before he let go of Sheva’s hair, grabbed Jill’s ponytail, and pulled her in for a rough kiss. Fresh hatred filled his heart at the sight of Wesker and Jill kissing so fiercely. Wesker’s blood red gaze bored into Chris’ brown eyes and he audibly growled at the older man. “Stop,” Chris snarled.
Their contact continued for a full minute before the two blonds parted, both panting from their passionate kiss. “Enough playing, my pet.” Wesker shifted Sheva’s body so that she was leaning against his broad chest, her legs angled out for easier access. Jill mechanically began to pull at Sheva’s pant legs, ignoring the other woman’s desperate kicks.
“STOP!” Chris’ chest heaved with the deep breaths he was taking, fury coursing through his body as he resisted the urge to rise and attack the man opposite him. A perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched at Chris, though the man made no move to stop what he was doing to Sheva. Chris took a deep breath, swallowing his remaining pride. “Wesker, please. Please stop. I’ll….cooperate.”
The black suited man smiled a predatory smile, dangerous delight evident on his face. In one swift jerk he had pulled out of Sheva and pushed her forward onto the floor. She grunted and tried to turn to face her assailants, but with a gentle snap of Wesker’s fingers, Jill moved forward. Before Sheva could properly resist, Jill had forced her hands behind her back and was zip tying the captive’s hands and feet. From somewhere in her jumpsuit Jill produced a rag that she stuffed into Sheva’s unwilling mouth.
When she was finished, the blonde woman began to drag Sheva towards the door, clearly aiming on removing her from the room. Chris couldn’t tell if he wanted that or not. On the one hand, if Wesker was serious about… well, he couldn’t even think the words in his own mind about what the man wanted… then he didn’t want Sheva there to witness it. But he didn’t want her out of his sight either. Before he could voice his concerns, Wesker called out, “Now pet, Chris got to watch us play with Ms. Alomar. It’s only fair she get to stay.” With that, Jill dragged the trussed up Sheva to the opposite wall, leaning her against it before standing next to her, face still impassive.
Chris stared into Sheva’s panicked eyes, giving her a small smile and a nod to encourage her to hang in there. He knew he had to be brave for her… And brave for himself. Turning his head to face Wesker, Chris lost his smile and instead glared, making sure his feelings towards the older man were apparent on his face. “Hurry up and get this over with,” he snarled, curling his lip in a deep scowl.
“Oh Chris, so eager?” Wesker teased, approaching slowly. With each step Chris felt his heart begin to beat faster, but he strove not to show his rising fear. Finally reaching the restrained captive, Wesker knelt down and leaned forward, staring deeply into Chris’ glowering eyes. Chris had to force himself not to move away this time, focusing instead on controlling his breathing. “What is it about you that so captures my attention? A god should not feel this way about a mere human.” Wesker seemed furious with himself, his trademark smirk turning into a tight frown. His hand flashed forward to grip the nape of Chris’ neck, pulling him closer to stare even deeper.
And then Wesker’s mouth was on his, a furious meeting of teeth and tongue. His former captain’s tongue lashed against his, twisting about in an intricate dance. Chris had never kissed another man before, had never had to battle for dominance. He had always been the aggressor, the one to set the pace. Wesker was brutal in his kiss, thorough in his exploration of the younger man’s mouth.
And for a few seconds, Chris lay passively, wanting to get this over with. He didn’t want Wesker to have the satisfaction of him returning any sort of physical contact. And he wasn’t allowed to fight back, or Sheva would be hurt again. So instead, Chris lay limp, allowing Wesker to plunder his mouth with no resistance. He was disgusted with the feel of the other man’s mouth on his, ashamed that he had let this happen.
But then his anger at the entire situation began to creep back into his mind. He couldn’t believe that he’d been captured, that Sheva had been assaulted, that Wesker was touching him like this. Needing an outlet for his frustration, Chris realized he would have to react without putting Sheva in danger. He knew that Wesker would probably like his participation, but he’d be damned if he sat by and became his enemy’s bitch so easily. Might as well join in and show him who was boss.
Using his bound hands to push up and give him some momentum, he suddenly met Wesker’s passionate kiss head on, lashing his tongue against the other man’s tongue with force. The grunt of surprise from Wesker made Chris bolder and he bit at the blond’s lower lip, hoping to draw blood. Wesker pulled Chris closer, a low growl sounding in his throat as he pushed back, trying to regain the advantage he’d had at the beginning of the kiss.
They battled like that for a few minutes, tongues dueling as their bodies had done earlier that evening. Exhausted from his earlier beating, and finding that even Wesker’s tongue seemed to have superhuman strength, it wasn’t long before Wesker had the lead again, his tongue dominating Chris. He felt gloved hands pushing at his shoulders, forcing him to lie uncomfortably on top of his bound hands. Wesker broke the kiss, and despite himself, Chris was pleased to note that there was a slight flush to the man’s cheeks.
Making a show of removing his gloves, Wesker stared down at his adversary with a soft smirk, flexing his pale fingers before moving towards Chris again. The brunette eyed the gloves as they were dropped to the cell floor and he frowned, his anger bubbling when he remembered where those gloves had been moments before. He didn’t have long to focus on that, however, for Wesker’s bare hands were suddenly under his shirt and shamelessly exploring his toned stomach. Chris gasped at the other man’s touch, uncomfortable with the sensation. Wesker’s hands were firm, yet his skin was soft, and completely different from any woman that had touched him before. Uneasiness and fear began to battle with the anger, his emotions not equipped to handle this strange scenario.
Chris barely registered that Wesker had pulled a knife from somewhere and was delicately cutting through his shirt, revealing his tanned and sculpted torso. A sliver of panic was beginning to nestle firmly in his mind. He hadn’t really believed Wesker wanted him sexually. The man had never given any such indication before. Yet here he was, being stripped and kissed by the madman, and it appeared he had no intention of stopping. He looked up into Wesker’s face, waiting for what was to come next, trying not to shy away from the other man’s touch for fear of what would be done to Sheva in retaliation.
Pale hands groped at his chest, slender fingers mapping out the contours of his muscles. Wesker exhaled deeply as he continued to touch, his gaze focused on the bronzed chest and stomach. Just as Chris was beginning to relax and grudgingly accept the gentle touch of his enemy, Wesker’s nimble fingers cruelly pinched his right nipple. The BSAA agent gasped in surprise at the jolt of pain, and he made to rise, his reaction instinctual. Wesker held him in place while he moved to the other nipple, a smug grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. This pinch was harder, and Chris bucked in shock. The older man chuckled and moved his head down, now taking one of the abused nipples in his mouth, lapping at the puckered flesh gently. Chris remained tense despite the soft licks, wary of Wesker’s teeth.
But Wesker seemed impatient, sucking on his nipples for a few more seconds before moving on. Just as Wesker’s skilled hands had undone Sheva’s belt with ease minutes ago, now too Chris found his own belt being unbuckled. Despite himself and his vow to remain strong, Chris began to tremble, the sliver of panic growing exponentially. Wesker was really going to do it. He was going to… Oh God, he couldn’t even think the words.
The blond seemed to be thoroughly enjoying Chris’ rising panic. He slowly pulled at his pants and boxers, making sure to catch Chris’ gaze as he did. A lazy smirk was on the older man’s face, but Chris could tell by Wesker’s quick breaths that he was just as affected by the exchange. Except he was actually enjoying this, Chris thought. He glared at Wesker, refusing to look away despite his growing embarrassment as his body was exposed.
It was Wesker that broke eye contact first, yet Chris didn’t feel like much of a winner when he realized where Wesker had decided to stare instead. The other man gazed silently at the rest of Chris and the younger man felt his cheeks grow hot with shame. He wasn’t small by any means, and generally when a woman stared at his package he found the situation enticing. But Wesker was not a beautiful woman, and the look on his face gave nothing away. Chris grew increasingly self-conscious as the seconds ticked by. Perhaps Wesker had changed his mind, Chris thought with sudden hope.
“Magnificent, Chris,” Wesker finally breathed, effectively dashing his hope that the madman had decided to abandon his plan.
As Wesker’s hand descended towards his flaccid cock, Chris felt his bravery begin to trickle away. He struggled between his urge to protect Sheva and his need to try and escape. In the end, Chris forced himself to remain where he was, a quick look at Sheva’s tear stained face reminding him why he was sacrificing himself for her. Wesker’s keen eyes missed none of the exchange, and he chuckled, earning another dark glare from his captive.
Deft hands firmly gripped his shoulders and spun him onto his stomach. Chris felt himself panting, his breaths puffing out quickly in panic. It had been moving so slow. Where was this rush coming from? But Wesker did nothing except fiddle with the cuffs that restrained him. The black clad man suddenly rose from his crouch, and Chris watched over his shoulder, noting Wesker’s smirk growing as he moved away. “I’ve changed my mind, Chris.” Eyes squinting in confusion, Chris suddenly realized that the cuffs had fallen away, freeing his hands. “You’re incessant, yet ultimately futile, fight against me is one of the reasons I find myself so drawn to you.” Chris rolled over, rubbing at his freed wrists. “So fight me, Chris. And have no fear for your partner.”
Rising slowly, still rubbing his chaffed wrists, Chris’ lips set in a firm line. It was obvious that he couldn’t defeat Wesker. He had no weapons, was naked, and his body was already weakened. It really would be futile, as his captor had just said. But if anything, Wesker knew how Chris worked. If the opportunity presented itself, he was going to resist. And now that no harm would come to Sheva… Chris raised his fists in a defensive gesture, his body shifting into a fighting stance. If Wesker wanted a fight, he was going to get it.
Waiting for the blond to make the first move, Chris remained frozen, all of his attention on the other man. Without any warning Wesker moved forward, lunging at his captive. Chris sidestepped the first punch that was thrown and jabbed as he dodged, hitting Wesker’s upper arm. It was a weak hit, but Chris felt satisfaction in making a connection. Quickly pivoting, Wesker turned to give Chris an uppercut. Unlike the prior punch, this blow was vicious, and Chris felt his teeth rattling from it. He stumbled from the force of the hit, but remained upright. Wiping at blood that escaped his mouth and spitting out the rest, Chris grit his teeth and lashed out with his foot. Again, he connected with Wesker’s body, but it was as if he was gently poking the other man instead of hitting him with all his strength. He rolled to avoid a roundhouse kick from Wesker, ignoring the flare of pain his ribs gave him. Rising quickly, Chris punched Wesker in the stomach. “Yes,” his adversary hissed, though Chris was certain it wasn’t from pain. It was then that Chris noticed the bulge in Wesker’s pants. Growing angrier, Chris punched again before Wesker returned a blow, causing Chris to fall onto his back to the floor.
Wesker advanced on him once more, this time with slow, deliberate steps instead of a quick attack. It gave the brunette time to make it to his feet once more, his fists raised to meet the other man head on. It was only a matter of time before he lost, so Chris decided to go on the offensive. They began fighting anew, Chris giving it all that he had. He lashed out with his fists, solidly connecting with Wesker’s body. But for all Chris dished out, he received more than double in return. Wesker’s hands were a blur, hitting him with quick and efficient precision. It wasn’t long before Chris realized that his enemy was toying with him. Though the assault from Wesker certainly hurt, he could tell that had the other man been using his full strength, the fight would have been over in a matter of seconds.
With speed that his human eyes could not follow, Wesker suddenly latched on to Chris’ wrist and pulled him in close, their faces mere centimeters away. Smirking lips were smashed against his and a tongue wriggled at his sealed lips, trying to force its way inside. Indignant rage welled up in him and Chris opened his mouth to bite, his teeth clamping down on Wesker’s wet appendage. It was the first time that Chris had seen the blond in pain that night. With an audible grunt of discomfort, Wesker pushed Chris away with a violent shove. Blood dribbled down the pale man’s chin and Chris smirked, proud that he had hurt his enemy.
But Chris’ small victory didn’t last long. Moving just as quickly as before, Wesker was suddenly upon him once more. A pale hand wrapped around his throat and shoved him against the wall, forcing Chris up on his tiptoes. Gasping from the pain that radiated from numerous points on his body, as well as from the restriction to his airway, Chris weakly struggled to make his enemy let go. A loud laugh suddenly echoed throughout the room and Chris’ eyes shifted to gaze at the man that held him aloft. Wesker was chuckling, wiping at his mouth with his free hand. He stared at the blood for a few moments before shaking his head in amusement. Chris kicked out at him, hoping to catch Wesker off guard, but as usual, it was to no avail. Catching Chris’ foot with his free hand, Wesker looked up at the dangling captive.
“You see, even now you fight me. Even when I have you pinned to the wall like an insect. Still, you fight.” Wesker’s hand flexed around Chris’ throat and he gasped, not able to breathe at all. He was distantly aware that Wesker was lowering him, the cell wall cruelly scraping his naked back and shoulders, though the grip to his airway did not let up. His vision began to swim when he felt those awful lips on his again, the blood dripping from the other mouth making the connection slippery.
He was just about gone, consciousness rapidly slipping away, when his captor finally let go, allowing him to breathe again. Though he had let go of his throat, Chris was still held against the wall by Wesker’s body, a solid barrier that would not allow him to move. As he sucked in precious oxygen, he felt Wesker running his lips over his jaw and neck, not kissing but some sort of intimate caress. It made his skin crawl, and he shivered, dread filling him.
A hand was running along his body, never staying in one area for too long. It dipped dangerously low on his navel and Chris sucked in a breath, eyes darting to look down as the hand continued to move south. He wriggled weakly, a low whine beginning to sound in the back of his throat. Wesker grabbed at Chris’ hands and forced them up and over his head, his own pale hand holding them hostage in a secure grip. His free hand continued to move despite Chris’ increased struggling.
“S-stop,” Chris ground out when Wesker was a centimeter away from his dick. That manicured eyebrow was arching in amusement again and then his hand was wrapped around the soft organ, squeezing firmly. Eyes blown wide in shock, Chris gaped at his former captain. He didn’t resist when Wesker leaned forward to capture his lips in another kiss. Blood no longer seeped from the blond’s mouth, and dimly Chris realized that Wesker’s regenerative abilities had taken care of the bite wound on his tongue.
It went on like that for what felt like hours, Wesker deeply kissing him and teasing his cock. But when Chris didn’t begin to respond to the stimulation, he could tell that the blond was frustrated. With a growl, Wesker grabbed his leg and threw it up around his hip. Awkwardly standing on one leg, Chris looked into his captor’s eyes with confusion. A finger was held up in front of his face with the command, “Suck it.”
Blinking slowly, Chris felt his eyebrows knitting together as he scowled. “Hell no.”
“Suit yourself, Chris. I was only trying to help,” Wesker answered, his tone dripping with mocking amusement. And then the dry digit was circling his asshole, teasing at what was about to come. Chris yelped and tried to move his leg down so that he wasn’t so exposed, but Wesker leaned more firmly against him, trapping his leg up. The finger was now pushing gently against the resisting ring of muscle and Chris began to truly struggle, throwing his whole body forward in his desperation. But Wesker was an unmoving wall and he merely laughed at the agent’s panic.
“Wesker, stop!” Chris panted, though he forced himself not to beg. No matter what, he would never beg, he told himself.
“You had your chance to make this easier, Chris,” Wesker purred, pushing his finger more firmly inside his victim.
Already to the knuckle, Chris tensed around the digit, trying any way to stop its movement. It didn’t necessarily hurt, but the pressure was foreign and uncomfortable. And he knew there was more to come. With a huff, Wesker pushed forward, pushing his finger all the way inside of the brunette. Staying still, he allowed Chris’ frantic breathing to slow before he began to move inside of him. He pushed in and out of the dry channel, curling his finger and wiggling it about slowly. The entire time Chris tensed his body and stared in horror at Wesker, though his defiant glare was always present in his eyes.
After a while Wesker withdrew his finger and Chris sighed with relief, foolishly believing his tormenter may be done with him. The finger that had been inside him and the finger next to it were raised to his lips and Wesker chuckled before demanding, “Suck them.”
“What?” Chris gasped, disbelief clearly etched on his face. “Fuck no!”
Wesker shrugged and returned to Chris’ hole, circling it gently before beginning to push once more, this time with two digits. Chris began to growl and threaten the blond man, straining against Wesker’s hold despite knowing he could not break it. He continued to rant through the pain, trying to distract himself from the pressure coming from Wesker’s invading fingers. His breaths came in sharp gasps and his heart beat wildly, trying to force its way out of his chest. The dryness made this assault hurt more this time around, the pressure of two fingers causing him more pain. The lone digit hadn’t caused much discomfort, and Chris could hardly wrap his head around the idea of two measly fingers causing this much pain. Burning filled him and yet Wesker continued pushing, ignoring Chris’ protests.
Once the two fingers were pushed inside to their full length, Wesker began to move them around inside, curling them again. It was as if he was looking for something inside, and Chris tried to remember everything he had learned about sex. He knew men engaged in this sort of thing and enjoyed it, but how? This did not feel good at all. He grit his teeth against a sharp stab of pain and closed his eyes, trying to block out the sensations.
And then he felt it and remembered how men could have pleasurable sex. A sudden jolt of pleasure, a lightning bolt of sensation that ran straight to his cock. His eyes snapped back open in shock and his mouth fell open, a sharp gasp escaping. When he looked at Wesker, the other man looked extremely pleased with himself. Fingers curled again and the explosion of pleasure was back, blinding Chris with the force of it. It wasn’t long before Chris felt himself responding, though he tried every trick in the book to quell his growing arousal. Wesker’s fingers found the spot relentlessly, pressing against it in quick succession. Feeling his cock begin to swell, Chris buried his face into his arm, his cheeks heating with humiliation.
“There we are,” the blond murmured, gazing with satisfaction at Chris’ engorged cock. He removed his two fingers before raising his hand to the trapped man’s face, this time with three fingers extended towards him. “Suck them.”
Chris shook with pain, arousal, and the desire to fight Wesker even now. But he didn’t think he could take it again without anything to ease the pressure. Three fingers would surely tear him to pieces. Wesker wiggled his fingers at him, expecting some sort of reaction. Reluctantly opening his mouth, Chris allowed his captor to push his three fingers into his waiting mouth. He sucked gently, trying to ignore the taste and the idea of where two of the digits had been. He also ignored Wesker’s sigh of pleasure, instead glaring at the ceiling.
When the fingers were removed from his mouth, Chris let out a quiet mutter of, “Fuck you.” Wesker smirked at that, but made no comment as he pushed his fingers against his hole again. The spit certainly helped, but the pressure was still there. The stretch was still painful too, and the brunette tried to regulate his breathing through the pain. He bit his lip, trying not to let any of his feelings show, hoping to take away any enjoyment Wesker may be getting from the exchange. But he couldn’t hide his pleasure when Wesker found that spot deep inside of him again. Three fingers now poking at the spot, Chris audibly gasped, his erection swelling further.
Just as Chris was beginning to grudgingly accept the pleasure, Wesker pulled out of him and let go of his hands, allowing him to fall heavily to the floor. Chris didn’t immediately rise, too exhausted to fight as valiantly as he had before. He watched as Wesker began to strip, forcing himself to look away as his former captain began to unbutton his own pants. He didn’t want to see the other man’s cock, didn’t want to have it anywhere near him. If he pretended it wasn’t there, maybe…
But the childish idea was unrealistic, and Chris felt Wesker’s hands a moment later. One gripped his erection, pumping with the right amount of pressure, causing Chris to arch his back in surprise pleasure. The other hand grabbed at his brown hair, pulling him closer. Their mouths met once more, and Chris still did not fight, allowing the blond to devour him. Perhaps his original idea of laying limply would cause Wesker to lose interest.
When they parted, Wesker was breathing heavily, but he was scowling. “That’s not going to work, Chris. Even when you don’t physically fight me…” As he spoke, his hand stroked Chris’ cock, squeezing tightly to accentuate his words. At that, Chris growled and gripped Wesker’s shoulders tightly, his nails leaving small crescent marks in the pale skin. “Even then, you fight me. Your spirit. I can feel it.”
It was Wesker’s usual mumbo jumbo, but he obviously believed it, for his red eyes shone brightly, glittering with passion and arousal. And then he was kissing Chris again, roughly grabbing the other man and bringing their naked bodies closer together. The roughness ignited a fire inside Chris and he returned the passionate kiss again despite himself, biting and nipping at Wesker with matching ferocity. Their writhing bodies slid against one another, sweet friction a blessing to Chris’ aching cock. When Wesker’s own hard cock rocked against his own with a thrust of hips from the blond, Chris felt himself shy away despite himself.
They broke apart with animalistic growls, staring at each other with mixed emotion. Wesker spat into his hand and lowered it to grip his own cock, impatience obvious in his movements. Chris swallowed hard, knowing what was about to come. It rankled that he couldn’t stop it, that his usual strength was nothing compared to Wesker’s. He glanced down at Wesker’s hand and almost wished he hadn’t. His captor’s cock was large, and only seemed bigger when Chris thought about where the other man planned to put it.
“I’ve thought about this for a long time, Chris,” Wesker sighed, focusing once more on his captive when his cock was slick with his own spit. He rubbed gently against the younger man, running his cock along the cleft of Chris’ ass. The BSAA agent tried to wiggle away from the teasing cock, but Wesker pinned him down with one of his hands, his red eyes flashing in warning.
Grasping Chris’ leg with his other hand, Wesker placed it up on his shoulder, once again allowing the older man easier access to one of his most private places. He trembled with panic but did not fight it, knowing Wesker would make him regret it at this stage. Wesker’s cock was now pushing against his entrance and Chris clenched his fists, closed his eyes, and grit his teeth. His nails dug into his skin and he tried to focus on that small pain instead of the cock that was slowly pushing inside of him.
It surprised him that Wesker was taking it so slow, that he wasn’t being cruel. The other man pushed unhurriedly, giving him a few seconds to adjust every time he moved forward further. It still hurt despite the relatively gentle treatment, but Chris couldn’t help but be grateful for the small mercy he was being given. Trying to even out his breathing, Chris forced his body to relax, knowing he would hurt himself more if he resisted.
“Oh Chris, you’re so tight,” Wesker sighed when he had finally seated himself fully inside Chris. The other man lay still on top of him and Chris tried to relax further, though the pressure inside of him did not seem to lessen no matter how much he tried to assure himself it was okay. “You’ve never been with anyone this way, have you?” Wesker asked, as if he had only just now realized it. A grin lit up his enemy’s face and he looked down at Chris, who had slowly reopened his eyes at the question. “Not even with that pretty boy, Kennedy?” the blond teased, smirking down at the younger man.
“Leon?” Chris asked stupidly, picturing the other man in his mind. At his question Wesker withdrew slightly, causing Chris to hiss at the sensation.
“Wouldn’t he be a treat,” Wesker taunted, swiveling his hips as he spoke, eliciting another hiss from Chris, though it wasn’t apparent if it was from the new sensation or anger at Wesker’s words.
Before Chris could even think of a comeback, Wesker had begun to move, slowly pumping in and out of the younger man. It hurt again and Chris reached up, clamping down on Wesker’s shoulders in order to ground himself. The pain was unbearable, a burning and tearing that flared throughout his entire body. Nerve endings screaming, Chris could barely suppress whines of pain that bubbled in his throat.
He thought that it was going to be like this the entire time and he didn’t know if he could do it, didn’t know if he could take the pain. It was so unlike anything he had experienced before. He could take a beating from Wesker, had been bitten by BOWs, and had been shot on several occasions. But this hurt was inside and stemmed from his core, a hurt that also damaged his pride. His erection had deflated because of the pain, only semi-hard now. A small mercy, at least. Chris figured he’d rather not enjoy this than give Wesker the satisfaction of making him feel good.
But just as Wesker anticipated his driving need to fight, he seemed to know what Chris was thinking and feeling in this instant too. He moved to encircle Chris’ cock, squeezing tightly before pumping, bringing it steadily back to life. The pleasure combated with the pain, and Chris found himself on a cliff, wavering between giving in to the pleasure or falling prey to the pain. He clung desperately to Wesker, small noises of discomfort escaping despite himself. And then Wesker hit that spot inside of him with a quick thrust and Chris moaned despite himself, clenching even harder to Wesker’s shoulders.
With a satisfied grunt, Wesker focused on that spot inside Chris, angling his thrusts in order to stroke the bud that gave him such intense pleasure. He wanted to fight it, but he was just so tired of being hurt. Though he loathed himself for it, Chris let himself give in to the pleasure that Wesker was giving him. He focused on the blooming gratification that erupted from inside him as well as the sweet pressure from the hand that satisfyingly clenched his cock. The pain was never truly gone, but it subsided considerably when Chris let go, and he was able to lose himself in the moment.
They moved together in an effort to find their own release, their bodies slick with the sweat from the exertion of their coupling. Gasps of breath coupled with grunts and moans filled the small space, echoing lowly on the walls. Chris threw his head back in ecstasy, wrapping his legs around Wesker in an effort to allow the man deeper inside him, hoping the other man’s cock would press more firmly on the spot that lit fireworks in his body. The blond groaned at that, and with a pleased growl began to move faster, moving at a punishing pace.
If Chris hadn’t decided to allow himself to bask in the pleasure, the piston-like whips of Wesker’s hips would have reduced him to a quivering mess of pain, but as it was, the pressure and pace only increased his pleasure. Wesker leaned down to capture Chris’ lips, thrusting his tongue into the younger man’s mouth in time with the thrusts of his hips. Chris responded, lashing out with his own tongue, his only way to show Wesker that he wasn’t broken, that he would fight when he regained his strength. It spurred the blond on, his movements becoming frantic as he neared his release.
Wesker never forgot to pump Chris’ cock, even when he let out a strangled moan and came deep inside of him. Throughout his orgasm he jerked Chris off until he too hit his orgasm, spurts of his come landing on his and Wesker’s chests. They lay together panting, Wesker lying completely on top of Chris, their bodies steadily cooling. Chris lay dazed, not truly aware of himself until Wesker stirred and gingerly pulled out of him with a wet pop that sounded horrendously obscene in the now quiet room.
The blond man was dressing quickly, his gaze nowhere near where Chris lay on the ground. This was it. In mere moments he would be dead. That had been the last lay of his life. Chris could feel an insane giggle threatening to burst forth at the thought, but then Wesker turned and all of his sudden amusement vanished.
Wesker’s eyes were blazing with fury and Chris couldn’t help but shy away. He advanced on the naked man before Chris could scrabble backwards, gripping Chris yet again by the throat. “This is getting fucking old,” Chris rasped, pulling at the fingers despite the futility of it.
“My thoughts exactly,” Wesker growled, before letting him go a moment later. Chris blinked in amazement, looking up at his glowering adversary. “I had thought that once I had you this connection would be gone. I have sated my appetite. So why…” Wesker growled again and began to pace, running his hands through his slicked hair, messing up the perfect strands.
As Wesker paced, Chris tried to make sense of his words. What fucking connection? As if they were long lost lovers or something. Seriously, what a drama queen. The BSAA agent slowly rose to his feet, using the wall to balance on his shaky legs. If he was going to die, might as well do so standing.
He glanced over at Sheva as Wesker continued to pace. He was shamed to look her in the eye but also wanted to make sure she was still alright. His partner looked shaken and had a flush to her face, but she met his gaze with a sympathetic nod of her head. He smiled weakly and nodded back before returning his attention to Wesker. May as well meet his end head on. “Hey, can we hurry this brooding up?” he called out, glaring at the other man.
Wesker stopped pacing and stared openly at him, a strange expression on his face. He glanced over at Jill and Sheva then back at Chris, obviously at war with himself over some decision he was mulling over in his mind. “Chris, only a handful of humans truly matter. Only those fit for survival will be allowed to carry their genes into a new age.”
“I’ve heard it all before, Wesker. You can skip this part.”
A smirk began to erase the frown that marred the blond’s face, and Chris felt a nagging worry begin to form in his mind at the look. “Even in the face of your demise, so brave, my Chris.”
Chris sputtered with outrage before shouting, “I am not yours!”
“You’re adorable.”
A snarl of rage echoed throughout the room and Chris found himself advancing on Wesker, ignoring the come that slid disgustingly down his legs. Quick as ever, Wesker had caught his wrists and was staring at him, ignoring the curses Chris roared his way.
Still staring at Chris, Wesker snapped his fingers. Jill had grabbed a hold of Sheva’s hair and began to drag her towards the open door, Sheva’s muffled cries sounding behind the rag that was still lodged in her mouth. Chris began to struggle, more worried about where Sheva was being taken rather than for his own safety, but he needn’t have worried. Wesker gave him a brief kiss before easily throwing him up on to his shoulder, hauling the younger man towards the door, ignoring Chris’ struggles.
“I think you have what it takes to enter my new world. I want you by my side, Chris. I’ll even let you keep your precious friends.” |
it was a few years ago when sapnap was just a kid, his bruised knees touching the cement sidewalk, crying because of how much they stung. he was a clumsy boy, never really taking his time to do something and it always ended in him falling or tripping over himself. the sobs and cracks that came out of his mouth caused people who were passing by to bat an eye, yet no one bothered to help the boy with the scraped knee.
“hey are you ok?” he heard the shuffling of feet as they came into view, small grey sneakers that stopped in their track suddenly. sapnap looked up, eyes meeting with green emerald ones. the boy above him had short blonde hair, light freckles, and a bandaid across his left cheek. he extended a hand out, offering to pick up the boy on the floor, the widest grin plastered on his face.
“here i’ll help you get up, i have an extra bandaid to put on your knee. it looks like it hurts, are you ok?” the squeaky kid voice every small boy had at a young age would eventually deepen as years went by, but sapnap could only continue crying as the boy he now saw as his older brother helped him up. the blonde sat sapnap down at a nearby bench, getting down on one knee as he peeled the bandaid in his hand.
“what’s your name? i really like your headband, it looks fucking sick!” he sounded so fucking excited for no reason, and sapnap was deeply confused as to why someone with such looks would help him. he was the perfect image of what a boy wanted to grow up to be like: strong, helping and courageous.
“my name is nick, what’s yours?” he managed to hiccup out. the tears had stopped falling just moments ago, and he watched intently as dream placed the bandaid over his cut, securing it with rubs on both ends. the boy finally stood back up, he was taller than sapnap even if the boy wasn’t sitting, and he had the brightest smile regardless of the countless cuts and bruises on his own hands and legs.
“my name is clay!”
sapnap sat at the top of the office building, legs crossed as he rested his back against the edge of the roof. he was waiting on clays word, tonight would be the night they tried to take out the king and his bishops. the only problem was that the some rooks were present, and they would get in the way of a clean shot through the targets heads. they patrolled the outside of the club, some residing in the lobby and the rest in the main playground with the king.
the brunet sighed as he played with the rifle in his hand. it was like a prized possession of his, specially crafted as he was the only one that worked it like the back of his hand. see sapnap was a weapon specialist, knowledge ranging from basic rifles and pistols to heavy snipers and explosive machinery. he was the rebels tank and the most aggressive weapon holder;
nicknamed the arsonist.
———
george couldn’t quite recall how many drinks he’s had so far. his head was fuzzy, shots of mixed alcohol being forced into his hand, and without much hesitation he downed them in fear of being punished. he failed to notice the men walking past them, an even bigger mistake by leaving his drink at the edge of the table. bits of white powder sprinkled into his drink, and its effects were causing his eyes to swirl, dull colors overwhelming.
the laughs at the table were directed towards him now. george could still make out their faces, seeing as only lucien and the female bishop laughed. anais voslo, younger to lucien voslo, was the bishop in charge of the money. she had strange methods, gambling the majority and always without a fail doubling the amount. her brother hated her ways, but learned to accept them considering she never once lost a gamble. oh how impulsive she was, addicted to the thrill and still remaining calm and composed. she had long, thick, red and orangish hair; a color that made her look like a ginger while concealing her true blonde locks of hair. she was wearing a silver bodycon dress that hugged her figure, defining her curves and love handles. anais was almost identical to her older sister, up until she dyed her hair. her sister, who was killed by rebels.
next to her sat a taller man, rather slim but with a textured body. he wore a black suit, thick black shades that covered his eyes, with light brown hair that bundled up on one side of his face. he grinned, but didn’t laugh. george would say he was the nicest of the bishops, and often would have relaxing conversations with the man. this was eret, bishop in charge of the rook army, giving orders received from the king. he crossed his arms, shaking his head at anais’ laughing fit.
a hum of approval came from the last man that sat on the other side of anais. he wore a red tuxedo and black tie, brown hair which spiked up and a well trimmed beard he was proud of. the man rarely talked unless it was to give a response or order. george could tell how much the man disliked him, ignoring him like all the other pawns, and often times demanding the brunet to do something for him. he was the youngest of the bishops, but also the deadliest. this was ponk, bishop in charge of “recruiting” boys, or in their language; another term for finalizing sales and kidnapping boys.
———
george started to feel sick to his stomach. he could feel as the alcohol coursed through his veins, being rejected left and right. his stomach started to turn and twist, and at any moment he would start puking the only food he had in his system. george hated the sensation of puking, it made him feel hospital sick and even sometimes caused him to faint from disgust.
he quickly got up from his seat, a wave of dizziness hitting him from the sudden movement before rushing to the staircase they had come from earlier. the laughs coming from the table ringed in his ears, and they watched as he waddled away, holding his mouth with one hand and his stomach with the other. of course they had no idea the young boys drink had been spiked by malicious men with no good intent.
the brunet quickly made his way down the first set of stairs, clutching onto the railing as he felt even more lightheaded than before. in the background, the music picked up as
poison lips
from vitalic played through the loud speakers. the disco ball in the air reflected the lights that changed rapidly to the beat of the song, and he couldn’t make out all the colors being flashed in his face. it felt like a rave, waves of people jumping against each other, others dancing and grinding on each other, some even passed out from the alcohol. the chandelier swayed slightly from the vibrations generated by the clubbers and their accentuated movements. it was beautifully chaotic.
his legs started to wobble and he no longer had the strength to stand up. he braced himself for the contact his body would make with the floor, but it never came. instead, he felt big arms wrap around his waist, pulling him up against someone big. another pair of hands grabbed his legs and he was hoisted up and being carried away.
‘no, this isn’t right. my head, i’m slipping away.’
george whimpered, putting the last of his strength into his legs as he tried to kick the men off of him before going out cold.
———
dream was ready to give the signal to sapnap, calculating the rooks every moves. he had waited a long time to see if the knights would show up, but they never did and he was starting to get impatient. he raised a single finger up to his ear before stopping, seeing a group of older men carrying what looked like another man. the more dream looked at the scene, the more he made out that the young man was george. his brown locks covered his eyes as his head hung, his arms swinging at his sides and his legs being held by another man.
immediately he forgot about the signal he was supposed to give, afraid that if a shot were fired it would put the boy in even more danger. the blonde got up from his seat at the bar and walked over to group of men who had successful gotten down the stairs. they stopped in their tracks, seeing dream approaching them before the man in front let go of george’s legs, puffing up his chest and blocking dreams view.
“what do you want blondie?” they had strong masculine voices, with bomber jackets that outlined their muscly arms.
“i see you’ve got a lot on your hands. let me ask you, how do you know him?”
“that’s none of your fucking business how i know him.”
dream moved closer to the man in front of him, aligning their heights as he pushed his face into the others personal bubble.
“it is my fucking business. so tell me, what is he to you?” he spat into the mans face, eyes drifting towards george as the boy started to move in the other mans arms, opening his brown eyes that looked right into dreams.
“dream?” he said softly, causing dreams heart to melt on the floor. he sounded scared, squirming and trying to get out of the mans grip. the man used one hand to grip george’s face, covering his mouth and tilting his head up. dreams nerves snapped, and he felt the blood rushing to his face and knuckles as he saw the man bite george’s neck. at this, george started to whimper, noises covered by the loud music blasting around them. tears threatened to spill as the man continued to bite and lick george’s neck; he felt violated, disgusted with his life and could no longer hide his sobs as the tears spilled from his eyes.
“hey, george.”
he stopped sobbing for a second, looking over at dream as he continued to squirm and fidget.
“just wait ok? i’ll be there in a second.”
the man in front of dream laughed, looking the blonde up and down.
“a second? yeah righ-“ and with a punch straight to the face, dream knocked the man out cold, his body hitting the floor with a loud
thump
.
dream turned to the man holding george, cracking his knuckles as he approached the assailant and his hostage. he pulled out a small pocket knife, pressing it against the mans neck as he leaned into his ear, loudly saying, “let him go, or you’ll regret it.”
george continued sobbing as he felt the grip around his face tighten. the two men had a standoff, staring into each other’s eyes as dream pressed the blade harder into the mans skin until surely blood would start spilling. it wasn’t until a few more seconds that the man let george go, letting the boy fall to the ground roughly. dream sucker punched the man straight in the nose, knocking him on his ass before the waterfall inside broke loose. he turned towards george, seeing the boy breathing heavily on the floor, legs sprawled and arms hugging himself. dream frowned at the sight, leaning down to pick up the brunet. george hesitated at first, flinching at the sudden contact before letting himself be picked up in a bridal style. he lay his head against dreams chest, hearing the rise of his heartbeat as he walked towards the bathrooms. dream tightened his hold on the boy as if he were going to disintegrate at any moment.
———
on the second floor, lucien and his team continued their business talk, having seemingly forgotten about george for the time being. that was until ponk spoke out.
“where’d the little mutt go lucien?” ponk pointed out. eret glanced at the king and his sister, both already looking at each other before lucien turned towards the other corner, motioning with his finger for the rooks who guarded to approach him. the two smaller figures stopped in front of the king; they were about the same height, innocent faces, and both beginners to the rook army.
“i want you to go find that fucking-...i want you to go find george.” he muttered the last part, but still loud enough for the two rooks to hear. they looked at each other and nodded before proceeding towards the stairs.
“niki, tubbo....” the king called out once more, “don’t let him out of your sight when you do.”
|
It’s the night before the Orpheum and Reggie should be asleep, Luke would kill him if he knew that it was two in the morning and he was still awake the night before their biggest break yet. It was hard to fall asleep though, with the sounds from the kitchen drifting up into his room.
It was two in the morning and his mother was still awake. She was talking to herself, the words slurred and barely audible. The banging, however, was perfectly clear. She had started drinking again. In the last week he’d found multiple bottles in the garbage, noticed the fridge becoming steadily emptier, and though she hadn’t gotten angry at him, he knew it’d only be a matter of time.
His father was gone and if she did decide to go into one of her rages, he was the only one there for her to focus on. It scared him, but what scared him even more was his friends finding out. He didn’t want to burden Rose and Ray. He didn’t want the rest of them to worry about him. It was enough that he was losing sleep, the rest of them didn’t need to suffer for it too.
He knew Rose was already suspicious. She didn’t do too good a job hiding her contempt for his mother. Ray, he was sure, felt the same but at least the man hid it better. He loved them for it, it almost felt like Rose was looking for any sign that she could take him back. He looked over to his book bag where the keys to the Molina house lay. He wanted so badly to go back there but he couldn’t leave his mother.
His phone vibrated next to him, the screen lighting up to show a new text from Julie. Almost like she could read his thoughts from her house a block away.
Jules🎤⭐: I miss having you across the hall. I could really use some Reggie cuddles right about now.
Reginald🪕🎃: Can’t sleep? Me neither.
Jules: Just nervous/excited. Why are you up?
Reginald: Same.
Jules: 🤔 You sure?
Jules: You’d tell me if something was wrong right?
And just like always, she could read him like a book even through text.
Reginald: Of course.
Jules: Be there in 5
Reginald: No it’s fine. You should sleep.
She stopped answering though. She was on her way over and Reggie dreaded every second of it. Anyone but her and Flynn, they worried too much. They kept a close eye on him the same way Rose did when he was at their house. His mother was still banging around in the kitchen, every so often breaking something he’d have to clean up in the morning.
A knock sounded from his window where Julie crouched in her pyjamas and converse sneakers. She was smiling at him expectantly and he got up to let her in. She climbed through, took his hand and forced him back on the bed, sliding in next to him. She threw her arm over his stomach and laid her head against his shoulder. He prayed that his mom had passed out.
No such luck. Another clatter, another crash of shattered glass. Julie flinched next to him and hugged him tighter.
“It’s happening again, isn’t it?” She whispered.
“Yeah.” He left it at that, knowing she wouldn’t need him to elaborate.
“I’m going to talk to my mom in the morning. You can come back to us.” She said it like that was that. It would just happen the way she said, without any complications. He didn’t miss the hopeful tone of her voice either.
“No!” He shouted and then cringed, waiting to see if his mother had heard. She hadn’t.
“No, please. I can’t leave her by herself and I don’t want to stress anyone else out. Please don’t tell anyone. Please, Jules.” She looked up at his face, confusion warring with worry. Did he not want their friends to know? What about Flynn?
“Reg, we’ve all been so worried. You can’t hide this, especially from Flynn. She’d never forgive either of us for keeping it from her.” She said.
“It’ll be fine. It won’t be like last time. I’ll make sure of it.” He responded.
“How?” They both knew he didn’t have an answer to that. There was no guarantee, no way to promise that everything would be okay. So, he just lay there quietly and eventually Julie fell asleep against him. He followed shortly after.
She helped him clean up in the morning, sweeping up shattered glass and throwing out empty bottles. They both pretended that Alice hadn’t passed out on the couch clutching a bottle of whiskey. After that night she kept a closer watch on him. She didn’t tell anyone and the longer it went on the guiltier she felt. If something happened to Reggie, it’d be her fault for listening to his pleas.
Caleb Covington was standing in front of them, offering the very thing they’d been working towards. Sure, they’d all thought it would take more work, more time, more years to mature before a record deal was offered to them, but here he was, looking exactly how Carrie had described.
Luke clutched the business card in his hand, crumpling it in the process. The look on his face said it all. He was about to curse this man out and possibly get them black listed in the process. Thankfully, Trevor Wilson chose that moment to show up.
“Caleb. I’m shocked to see you here. Didn’t think The Orpheum was your scene.” Trevor said as he placed himself between the kids and Caleb’s greedy stare, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Trevor. Always a displeasure.” Caleb answered, his own disdain clear. “Just thought I’d check out this up and coming talent.” He waved in the direction of the band, a false smile plastered on his face as he looked them over. Julie cringed as his eyes passed over her.
Flynn, Carrie, Willie and Nick had made their way backstage to congratulate them but stopped short when they saw the looks on the adults' faces.
“Hey guys, why don’t we go relax in the dressing room, they’ll be right behind us in a minute.” Ray said as he ushered all eight of them through the door. He followed them in and closed the door behind him.
Trevor, Rose, and Robert stayed out in the cramped hallway with Caleb.
“Were you going to tell them that you’d be signed as a fifth member of the band? That you’d get the highest percentage of them all? Or that you’d own all of their masters if they signed on? No, somehow I don’t think so.” Trevor spat at the purple clad man.
“I’d never let them sign that. I’d go through that contract with a fine tooth comb.” Robert added.
“Oh I’m sorry, I haven’t introduced myself, I’m Robert Ryder, Esq. Of Ryder, Pasternak, and Goldstein.” Robert smiled, icy and mean. He pulled out a business card in the process and held it out to Caleb. He looked at it as if it was diseased, his face the very picture of disgust and ignored the offered card.
“I’d never do that. They’d have every right to look over the contract before signing.” He answered.
“I’m sure the fact that they’re minors and right on the edge of their dreams coming true had nothing to do with your eagerness to have them sign onto Covington Records. It’s why you tried to corner them back here, without their parents present. Just like I’m sure what happened to JoJo was just a misunderstanding too, right?” Rose snarled at him.
She was fully aware of what kind of predators inhabited the music industry. What happened to young artists too eager to realize their dreams to read through contracts, without parents who understood the ins and outs.
JoJo had been one of them. A beautiful song writer and an amazing talent who was screwed over by the man in front of her so thoroughly that it took her a decade to be able to make a comeback, she still didn’t have the rights to any of the songs that had kick started her career.
Well, her kids had parents who knew what to look for. Adults who were willing to go to the wall for them. He’d have a hell of a time getting his greedy hands on them.
“You know as well as I that the media is full of half truths and inaccuracies. Can’t believe everything you read.” Caleb responded. His smirk was still firmly in place, smiling at Rose. She cringed, the mad was slimier than any snake she’d ever seen.
“I didn’t need to read anything, I happened to work with her on her new album. The point is, you won’t get anywhere with them so I suggest you leave.” Rose was done. She wanted to go see her kids and this asshole was quickly ruining whatever excitement had been pumping through her. Robert and Trever were smirking on either side of her.
“It should be their decision, shouldn’t it? It’s their dream, their lives.” Caleb needled.
“They’re barely sixteen, they won’t be signing anything without their parents and an attorney present. I’m pretty sure we’ve already made that clear. It’s a no, by the way, in case you didn’t understand the first two times. From all of their parents. Please leave before I get security to make you.” Robert replied.
“I hope you all are prepared to explain to them why their first chance at a record deal was ripped away. Most record labels would refuse to work with an act whose families are so… overbearing. This industry is not kind to stage parents. Wouldn’t want that getting out, would you?” Caleb threatened.
“Oh, well then it’s a good thing Second Chance Records is fully invested in signing Sunset Curve. We don’t mind overbearing parents either.” Trevor said. “This conversation is over, I’d appreciate it if you went and fucked yourself, Caleb.” Trevor finished.
“You’ll regret this.” Caleb said before stalking off towards the back exit. Trevor held up his middle finger over his shoulder in answer as he turned back to the door of the dressing room. He opened it and ushered Rose and Robert in. They found the kids seated on the couch excitedly discussing the performance.
Nick was talking to Luke and Reggie about their ad libbed riffs, asking for advice. Carrie, Flynn, and Julie were fawning over Flynn’s inspired wardrobe choices. Willie and Alex were in the back laughing and sipping on the complementary sparkling cider. They all looked up when the sounds from outside became louder through the open door.
“We have twenty minutes before Panic! take the stage. I know you guys want to be there for that so I’ll make this quick.” Trevor pulled out a few business cards and handed them out to the parents.
“My assistant will be reaching out to you to schedule a meeting. Like I told Caleb, Second Chance Records is interested in you.” Trevor spoke. Carrie beamed with pride and looked at her friend's faces.
“You should tell them, dad.” Carrie said. They all turned to her in confusion and then back to Trevor, expectantly. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“When I was just starting out, a little older than you guys, I was at an open mic night. Caleb happened to be in the audience. I had just turned eighteen, and looking back on it now, I think he knew it at the time.” Trevor started.
“He approached me after my set. Promised me everything but the sky and the sea. I was young and stupid and so excited to have my big break standing right in front of me that I didn’t even blink when he pulled the contract out right then and there.” His face contorted in disappointment at his younger self.
“I basically signed away my soul. I didn’t read it, didn’t even talk to my parents first. He was written into the contract as the second half of my act. He’d get sixty percent of all earnings. He’d own the masters to all of my songs for three consecutive albums. Everyone knows the first two albums make the artist. By the time the contract expired I was spent. I had nothing left to give, no music left in me. It was a really dark time in my life.” The rest of them listened intently, Ray placing a comforting hand on Trevor’s shoulder as he continued the story.
“I spent a while locked away in my house. Bobby and Carrie were too young to remember. I barely left the house at all. Then one day I heard Bobby messing around with my guitar and Carrie trying to sing along to the song and I knew I had to do something. I hired a team of lawyers, vicious men and women who made a living destroying men like Caleb. They found loopholes in the contract and when we took him to court, he had to pay out almost everything he’d stolen from me. Unfortunately he still got to keep the masters for my music though, so he’s still making money on that.” He continued.
Before he could finish his story, a knock sounded on the door informing them that Panic was going on in five. He told them he’d continue the conversation when they set up the meeting and the group of twelve made their way back to the VIP section.
When they got there, the lights were low, the Pattersons along with Leia and Jason were toasting, another shot of tequila for the bands successful performance.
Panic went on a minute later and it was explosive. The way they played their instruments and Brendon Urie’s voice blended to create literal perfection. He hit notes that Luke would try to emulate later and never be able to touch, it just wasn’t in his range. His band vibrated to the music. Saxophones, guitar, drums, and keyboard ringing out, blending perfectly to create a masterpiece.
The crowd was getting rowdy, jumping up and down and blocking the view for the shortest members of Sunset Curve and friends. Luke was the first to bend down so that Julie could climb on his shoulders. Reggie followed next for Flynn and Nick did the same for Carrie. The band stopped playing to allow the crowd to sing along in the silence that remained.
There was something about hundreds of people all singing together, knowing every word to the song that sent chills across the room, including the band on stage if the looks on their faces was anything to go by. Brendon Urie was giggling, bending over and clutching his knees as if he wasn’t used to this reaction from their fans. As if he hadn’t been performing to sold out crowds for longer than they’d been alive.
“Holy Shit!” Brendon exclaimed as he smiled watching the audience. His eyes swooped over to their section where he could just make out the boys heads singing along. He smiled at the sight of the girls on their shoulders reaching out towards the stage.
Their set finished about an hour later and the band bowed. He brought the mic up to his lips for a final speech.
“Thank you all so much for coming out tonight! LA never fails to bring the energy!” The crowd erupted once more. “Big round of applause for Sunset Curve, who we can only expect to be headlining their own show one day very soon.” The crowd went wild yet again, the same signs flying up into the air. Their section cheered the loudest.
“Brendon Urie just shouted out our band...What is happening?” Luke asked. Not to anyone in particular but seven others enveloped him in a giant group hug. All smiles and teary eyes as they absorbed the enormity of this moment.
“Our new album, Pray for the Wicked, is out next month! Tickets for the tour go on sale at the same time! Maybe you’ll get to see Sunset Curve again.” He winked at the group of huddled teenagers before turning back to the crowd who started screaming again. “We’ll see you all again in 2020!” He bowed low and the lights cut off, letting the band exit the stage.
“What?! What did he just say?” Julie screeched out.
“I think...I think he said...What the hell did he say?!” Luke was spluttering. Unable to form coherent sentences.
“Did he just imply that we’d be on tour with them?” Alex had his hands in his hair, his voice climbing up to a pitch only dogs should be able to hear. He pulled at it until Willie took his hands in his to stop him from an anxiety spiral.
“I-I think he did.” Reggie answered. Flynn was screaming next to him, in absolute raptures at the turn the night had taken.
Before they could even process what had happened, a tall woman with curly hair and dressed more for a business meeting than a night at a club came over to their section. Brendon Urie was right behind her.
“Hello. I’m Andi Parker of Destiny management. Are these your parents?” She asked as she smiled at the assembled crowd of parents and teenagers.
“Yes, we are. Nice to meet you. I’m Rose Molina, Julie’s mother.” She continued introducing the adults at the table. Andi’s eyebrow went up when Reggie’s mother was the only one missing. “I’ll be answering for Reggie as well.” She added at the look Andi shot to Reggie.
Reggie smiled at Rose in response as Julie wrapped her arms around his arm and scrunched her nose as she smiled up at him.
“I was just talking to Andi about getting you guys on tour with us as an opener.” Brendon added.
“I’d love to discuss management as well. I assume you don’t have one yet?” She asked.
“Actually, We already have a manager. None of this would have been possible without her.” Luke said as he pulled Flynn forward to stand directly in front of Andi and Brendon.
“Wow! How old are you?” Andi asked. It was a simple question but Flynn bristled just the same. Like her age somehow impeded her from being able to manage a band. A band that happened to be made up of her very best friends in the world.
“Fifteen.” She answered. Her tone was dry and slightly cold. Andi seemed unaffected though and continued on.
“Fifteen! And you’re responsible for all of this?” She waved her arm in the band's direction as if encompassing everything that they’d achieved so far.
“You all must be so proud! The talent here is just...insane!” Brendon said, interrupting whatever Andi was going to say.
“So listen” Andi clapped her hands, turning back to the parents. “ I would love to set up a meeting. Both for management and to maybe set up an internship for Flynn here. Destiny would be lucky to have someone like her on our team. We’d allow you to continue working with Sunset Curve, they’d be your client only but you’d have myself right beyond you for any help you’d need.” She turned back to Flynn who’s mouth had dropped open. Reggie placed a finger under her chin, pushing up and laughing as he did so.
Brendon and Andi stayed at the table to continue discussions with their parents. The table had become extremely cramped so the kids left to go dance to the DJ who was currently playing. Once in a while being stopped to ask for a selfie from random people in the crowd.
It was one of the best nights of their lives and all of them thought they’d never come down from this high. They made it home passed one in the morning and Rose insisted that they all stay over. They had ordered a bigger bed for Julie and all six of them fit on it comfortably.
The next day they had performed for their halloween dance at Los Feliz. The band dressed in a group outfit. All of them painted as skeletons, in ripped up suits and top hats, Julie wearing striped stockings, combat boots, and a poofy black dress that made her look like a zombie bride. Flynn and Carrie had designed the looks and Willie had done the body painting for all of them.
Flynn had gone as scary spice, complete with space buns and leopard print bodysuit. Carrie had gone as baby spice, pink mini dress and platform sneakers completed her look. Nick had gone as Troy Bolten from Highschool Musical, a fact which all of them had laughed at. It wasn’t even a costume, he just wore his letterman jacket.
The next day had been Reggie and Julie’s joint birthdays. Where they ate amazing food prepared by her aunt Victoria. Received gifts they had no idea what to do with. The parents had set up meetings with both Trevor Wilson and Andi Parker for the following week. Over all it had been only three days but it felt as if a lifetime had passed and all their dreams had come true.
It continued on like this for months after. They had signed with Second Chance records after Trevor had explained that the goal of the company was to do right by it’s artists and his attorney’s worked hard to try and free those that had already signed onto Covington Records.
Andi had created an entire internship position within Destiny management to accommodate Flynn, who the band refused to work without. They would remain Flynn’s first and only clients, she would have control over everything with Andi right there to help along the way. It was a way for both Flynn to build experience and for Andi to see what Flynn had to work with.
The band had agreed to go on tour with Panic! At The Disco, starting right after the last day of school. The contract had been signed and the compensation agreed upon. Even principal Lessa had gone out of her way to create a curriculum they could work on while on tour since they’d only be back in January of 2021, the middle of their Junior year. Ray would be going with them, to chaperone and because Panic! Had hired him as their personal videographer on the tour.
By the Christmas holiday though, it had all come crashing down. Luke had stopped answering any one of them on Christmas eve and when they had gathered to go to his house, they found it empty. The lights were off and the house eerily quiet.
They had been calling and texting him non stop for the last three hours but the messages remained unread and the calls sent directly to voicemail.
“He wouldn’t ignore us like this. It has to be bad, guys.” Julie said as they stood huddled on the Patterson’s porch as a thunder storm loomed above them, the clouds dark and foreboding.
“Is he sharing his location with anyone?” Alex asked. They all pulled out their phones to check. He wasn’t. Willie put his arm around Alex's waist.
“No, he’s not. Who spoke to him last?” Reggie asked. Flynn took his hand when his voice cracked.
“I did. We spoke last night and he sounded fine. He said he was going to write for a while before he went to sleep.” Julie answered.
“Maybe he forgot his phone? He could be out with his parents. It is Christmas.” Willie supplied.
“He has a point.” Flynn added.
“No, I have a really bad feeling. Let’s go back to my house. Maybe my mom can get in touch with Emily and Mitch.”
They arrived back at her house within a few minutes. Rose was placing cut up chicken and potatoes in front of Carlos and Ray was sipping on coffee in the kitchen.
“Hey, kids. Are you hungry? We’ve got lunch ready.” Ray asked. None of them answered, Julie shook her head in denial at the question.
“Do you guys know if the Patterson’s went somewhere today?” Rose and Ray exchanged confused glances.
“No… Is something wrong?” Rose asked.
“Luke’s not answering any of us and he’s never left this phone at home before, and we all just have a really bad feeling.” Reggie blurted out. Somehow he’d ended up in a hug from Rose who squeezed him to her and kissed his temple.
“Okay, don’t panic. Let me call Emily. They probably just went out for lunch or something.” Ray answered. A loud crash of thunder punctuated his words bringing with it and ominous and suffocating energy into the kitchen.
Carlos started getting fussy in response to the tense atmosphere. Willie picked him up and bounced him around trying to get him to laugh. Hoping to at least spare the kid from the heaviness in the air.
Ray let the phone ring until it went to voicemail, looking back up at the kids when he ended the call. The look on his face did nothing to quell their worry. They had gravitated to each other, Carlos squeezed between them like some kind of shield against whatever horrible news they were anticipating.
“I’ll try Mitch. Don’t start panicking yet.” Ray said as he dialed his phone again. This time it rang once before Mitch picked up.
“Hey! Mitch, is everything okay? The kids are worried, they can’t reach Luke. Did he leave his phone at ho-” He was cut off by the response on the other end of the line.
They all watched as Ray’s face crumpled and he looked up at them. His eyes flicking from Julie to Reggie to the rest of them. Back and forth as he listened to whatever Mitch was telling him.
“We’ll be there as soon as we can.” Ray said as Rose picked up her own phone, calling Victoria to come stay with Carlos.
He ushered them all outside into the van, they were too quiet and Julie’s fear spiked because of it.
“Are you going to tell us what's wrong?” Julie snapped and then instantly regretted it. Her parents looked just as worried. Ray let out a heavy sigh and looked to Rose who nodded.
“It’s Emily. They couldn’t wake her up this morning. She’s in the hospital, it’s not looking good. The doctors say she had an aneurysm overnight.” He explained.
There were gasps and sobs from the back. It was impossible to match the sound to the person. Flynn reached over and grabbed Julie’s hand. Alex and Willie teared silently from the far back. Reggie leaned forward and put his arms around both girls.
When they pulled up to the hospital Julie hesitated before entering. Rose stopped in front of her and hugged her, leaning her head down so that her lips were right by her daughter's ear.
“I know you don’t want to go back in there but, mija, he needs you. All of you.” Rose whispered and Julie nodded, took her mother’s hand and then Flynn’s and marched in.
They got to the waiting room where they found Mitch who had his arm around Luke on the same couch Julie had sat on so many months ago. Luke was curled in on himself, his knees pulled up and his face hidden in his pyjama pants. He’d never looked so small and all of their hearts broke at the same time at the sight of him.
Ray and Rose went to Mitch who had stood up to make room for the kids. Luke hadn’t spoken a word to him since they’d called the ambulance and he hoped with everything in him that his son would at least talk to his friends.
He didn’t. He didn’t even lift his head when Julie wrapped herself around him. Nor when Reggie had shoved himself on his other side, resting his head on top of Luke’s. No words for Alex who had knelt in front of him and rested his head against Luke’s shins. Flynn arranged herself in front of Reggie, her hand curled around Luke’s ankle. Willie did the same from Alex’s other side.
No, he did not speak or acknowledge them in any way but when all five of them were touching him, he broke down. His sobs were strong and sounded like they tore at his throat on their way up. He tried and failed to keep them contained, the harder he tried, though, the more forcefully they came up.
Julie took his hand and held on, trying to lend as much support as she could, trying to make him feel less alone. He still hadn’t spoken, he didn’t need to. They felt his pain, they hurt right along with him. Their hearts broke with his, their tears fell in tandem with his.
Rose and Ray watched, their own tears falling from their eyes, Mitch held between them like they could keep him together in the face of losing his wife.
“Mr. Patterson?” The doctor came out, calling to him. Luke finally looked up then, watching as his father walked to where the doctor stood. They couldn’t hear the words he said, they didn’t need to. When Mitch collapsed to his knees and the Doctor followed him down, when Rose and Ray braced him from either side, there was no other prognosis the doctor could have given.
Emily would not survive this. Mitch would lose his wife. Luke would lose his mother. Not one of them could do a thing to make this better. None of them had the power to help so when Luke’s sobs got louder and his shoulders shook harder, the rest of them tightened around him and cried with him.
Three days later, after she had lain in a coma during that time, Emily passed away peacefully. Rose and Ray had appointed themselves as Mitch’s right hands. Helping to plan the funeral. Cooking for them, helping to clean their house and generally doing anything they could to lighten the load.
The kids had spent every waking moment at Luke’s house. He still had not spoken but he appreciated their company all the same. At least he wasn’t alone. Julie and Alex had cleaned his room. Flynn had ironed and hung up his suit for the funeral. Reggie and Willie had forced him to get up and shower, they helped style his hair after. They did everything they could to help carry his burden. They tried so hard to put the pieces of his broken heart back together.
On the day of the funeral, the sun was shining bright, the temperature unseasonably warm for December in LA. It was closer to a summer day than what it should have been and Julie silently raged that the weather did not reflect the gravity of what today meant.
Luke and Mitch sat in the front row as the pastor spoke. Julie was seated directly behind him, their friends spread out in the second row. All of them had their hands on him but he only held Julie’s.
Luke didn’t hear a word of the speech, his ears filled with buzzing, his head felt stuffed full of cotton. His thoughts were slow, ending in the middle of one and picking up in the middle of another. The thoughts made no sense and he didn’t waste time trying to figure them out.
He watched as his mother’s casket was lowered into the ground, watched as the pallbearer shoveled the first scoop of dirt into the hole. All the while the only coherent thought that got through the fog was I wish it was me in there. He didn’t voice it but it was loud. Louder than all of the broken fragments before it.
Julie’s hand squeezed his shoulder again and his tears fell as he squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t think he’d be able to bounce back from this. The thought of continuing on with his dreams made him physically ill. He’d leave the band, he didn’t want to hold them back when everything was lining up for them.
He’d have to figure out a way to do it. He just couldn’t see himself ever picking up his guitar again. His music died the moment the machine tracking his mothers heart had flat lined. It hadn’t been physical but he had died in that moment too. He wouldn’t make his best friends suffer that same fate. He’d made his choice.
Music means nothing to me anymore. He wasn't sure anything could be important to him after this. |
The day before Loki’s sentence ended he was incapable of sitting still. Laufey had annoyingly held out for the entire hundred day span and Loki was practically scratching at the doors to the castle to get out. Then there was the Asgard delegation. His father was arriving tomorrow. Tomorrow. It seemed like forever away.
Loki paced rapidly back and forth across the royal chambers as Laufey tried to read the information Raolr’s spies had put together about the upcoming meeting.
“Loki, you are distracting me.” He said mildly and with a great deal of affection.
“Good, father will swindle you tomorrow then.” Loki replied without looking over at him.
Laufey’s smile faded slowly. He had not found the courage to tell Loki that his father had all but abandoned him, and that these negotiations were more to settle an after-marriage dowry than anything else.
“I’m sure Odin will be pleased to see you.” He said.
“It’s been months since I laid eyes on him. Months! You could have let him visit too you know.” Loki said.
“He is my greatest enemy and I detest him quite a lot.” Laufey said calmly, still looking at the scroll.
Loki looked up at him then, an amused look on his face.
“You could have done it for *me*.” He said almost cheekily.
Laufey looked up with a smile.
“Oh really? Was I supposed to do that before or after you tried to bury me?” He asked playfully, putting the scroll down.
For a second Loki looked uncertain, he was not sure if his actions had truly been forgiven. But Laufey was clearly happy to joke about it, now.
“If you’d done it before I would not have been so upset.” He said dismissively.
“I see, I see.” Laufey said, reaching out and hooking one finger through Loki’s belt. “Clearly I should have arranged things differently. I will learn for next time.”
“You really should.” Loki said with mock seriousness as Laufey pulled him closer and nipped his ear.
Loki wriggled in his grip and went to pull away.
“Are you going to let me tomorrow after you’ve seen you father?” Laufey asked, sliding a hand slowly up Loki’s thigh.
“Probably not.” Loki admitted.
“Better get it out of the way now then.” Laufey said. “And you are distracting me from my reading.”
Loki sighed and rolled his eyes.
“Fine, let’s go.” He mumbled and tried to head to the bed.
He was stopped by Laufey’s arm which was still pressed against his back.
“Uh, the bed is that way.” Loki said as Laufey nipped lightly along his neck and shoulder.
“Yes, but my chair is right here.” Laufey said in his ear.
Loki sighed again.
“Really?”
“Mmmm.” Laufey answered, one hand kneading Loki’s arse.
Loki pulled a face over Laufey’s shoulder and let himself be lifted up onto the king’s lap. Laufey trailed gentle bites down Loki’s neck as his other hand pulled Loki’s loincloth free. Loki tried to relax as best he could. It was just a physical act, like, training or stretching, just, with another person, who put very large parts of themselves inside of you. It would be over soon and then he wouldn’t have to do it again for as long as his father was here, maybe ever, if Odin could negotiate his release.
Laufey lifted Loki’s body up and lowered him slowly back down onto his cock. Loki gritted his teeth as the sensation of being filled swept through him. He finally came to rest with his legs straddling Laufey’s body in the chair.
Laufey didn’t move, just let the feelings flow through him. It was Loki who couldn’t stay still. His traitorous body urging him to move. He held out as long as he could but couldn’t help a sense of deep relief when he shifted his hips and felt Laufey slide inside of him.
Laufey thrust up in the chair. Loki grabbed a hold of the King’s waist to keep from overbalancing as he was lifted. He couldn’t supress a moan at the intense feeling that jolted through him. Laufey rolled his hips upward again. This time Loki dug his fingernails into Laufey’s flesh in response.
The next thrust forced a cry from his lips. A desperate needy sound that had nothing to do with his lack of desire. Loki felt his body drive downward as Laufey thrust up, meeting him in a hard slap of skin on skin. The sensation of peaking was building inside of him. He wanted to resist but it was too strong, pulling at him, threatening to undo him completely as they moved together again and again.
Laufey leaned forward and pressed Loki down against him, thrusting up against his body as it was held in a more restricted position. The sensation doubled, tripled. Loki snarled in pleasure as it ripped through him. He was so close, so very close. Laufey’s thrusts were like lightning shooting up from his entrance to his neck. Loki knew what he wanted, knew what would finish him completely, he didn’t want to ask for it, didn’t want to admit how good it felt and how much better it could still be.
Thankfully, Laufey didn’t try to make him. As Loki struggled to contain the feelings shooting through him, Laufey leaned down, compressing Loki’s body even more, and clamped his teeth tightly on the back of Loki’s neck.
There were no words, no way to articulate the utter mind-blowing sensation that tore through Loki’s body. He screamed in pleasure, kicking his legs uncontrollably, the only part of him that could still move as Laufey thrust into him from one end and pressed him down at the other. Loki peaked hard and long. The spasms that ripped through his body forcing cry after cry of pure ecstasy to spill from his mouth.
When Loki regained his thoughts he was still sitting in Laufey’s lap with his legs splayed either side of the King’s body. He felt raw, open and empty, the juices from his body freezing between them as they trickled slowly out of him.
Laufey reached down between them and brushed the frozen fluid away. The top of his hand lightly touched Loki’s entrance, causing him to rise up slightly in response. He felt tender and swollen from Laufey’s hard thrusts.
Laufey held him afterwards for a long time. He stroked down over Loki’s back again and again until a knock on the door signalled the arrival of dinner. Loki just rested against Laufey’s body. He had pushed himself magically and mentally for the last hundred days and he felt too tired to rise.
The next day Odin sent an envoy to enquire as to the correct protocols that should be followed for the negotiations. The envoy was escorted by two guards and stood proudly as Vindsval outlined the procedure for the next few days. Laufey sat on his throne and watched as they negotiated how to negotiate. He knew Loki was disappointed that Odin had not arrived on the first day, but hopefully things could get underway soon. The Royal Progress to the outer realm was being delayed for this.
It took all day, but finally they had a procedure that they both agreed to follow. Odin would come tomorrow morning with a small entourage. He and Laufey would ‘have negotiations’, neither side gave away what they hoped to achieve at the meeting, until dinner time, when Odin would return to Asgard so that he and his men would not have to spend the night in the cold.
‘Or in enemy territory.’ Laufey thought.
This whole exercise was a waste of time. If it weren’t for Loki, Laufey would have refused Odin outright. But Loki’s happiness was important, important enough to pretend for a few days that Odin wasn’t the most despicable person in the nine realms.
‘Why couldn’t he have been taken by an elf?’ Laufey thought as the envoy took his leave.
Laufey escorted a quiet Loki to their chambers and pulled him into an embrace.
“Tomorrow.” He said. “You’ll see them tomorrow, and they’ll be time to talk while each side confers about their decisions.”
Loki gave him a tight smile.
“I know. I was just looking forward to seeing them after so long.” He said.
Laufey’s answering smile looked a little strained.
“I’m sure they are just as eager to see you.” He said.
The envoy arrived back at the Bifrost where Thor was waiting anxiously. One of the guards shuddered and changed, turning into Odin.
“It’s one of the most complex spells I’ve ever seen.” He said as they walked to the horses. “It does far more than just bind Loki to Laufey. I saw protection runes, health runes, fertility runes and teleportation runes. I swear there was a rune that was for sustenance. I knew the Queen was at the centre of their culture, but he is practically sacred.”
“We’re still going ahead with it, right father?” Thor asked.
“Of course, Loki has the right to asylum and we will grant it as soon as he gets here.” Odin said. “It is going to take quite some time to unravel the spell though. We must negotiate hard enough to delay them, but not hard enough to drive them to end early in frustration.”
“Tricky.” Thor said.
“I know, but if we miss this opportunity who knows when we will get another.” Odin said.
The following day Loki awake before dawn. He couldn’t keep still, so after his wriggling woke Laufey they chatted quietly about the coming negotiations until the servants arrived.
The Bifrost site lit up an hour later. Loki would have run down to the throne room if Laufey hadn’t organised a large party of guards including Thrym to escort them.
When Loki saw Odin for the first time his eyes lit up.
“Father!” He cried out and went to run forwards.
Odin returned his look calmly.
“Your Majesty.” He replied.
Loki stopped. He tried to hold back the sudden hurt. Odin was here for him, clearly he had a plan of some kind. It probably didn’t look good to break from the agreed protocol.
Loki stepped back and went to his chair.
“Allfather.” Laufey said.
“King Laufey.” Odin acknowledged.
“Welcome to Jotunheim.”
“We thank you for your hospitality.”
“We have prepared a room and heated it as much as it can be for your comfort.”
“That is most thoughtful.”
“Lunch will be served at midday, but if you require refreshments at any time, please ask.”
“We thank you again.”
The two kings were speaking in ridiculously polite voices. Out of the corner of his eye, Loki saw Thrym pull a slight face at the overly calm, borderline insulting way they were carrying on.
“My son Thor greatly desires to speak with his brother. Perhaps they could have some time together while we negotiate.” Odin said.
Laufey regarded Thor thoughtfully.
“Very well.” He said. “Loki and Thor can get reacquainted with one another.”
Loki had not stopped looking at Odin. Odin had not looked at him since he had first greeted him. Maybe Thor could shed some light on what was going on.
Loki stood and held out an arm to Thor.
“Come on, I’ll show you the library.” He said.
Thor groaned audibly but followed Loki out of the throne room.
Laufey was surprised at the Allfather’s callous attitude. He knew Odin was here to get what he could in exchange for his son, but he had expected some level of feeling. Perhaps the Allfather did not live up to his name.
The moment they were alone Loki turned to Thor.
“What is going on? Is Father going to offer the casket again? Does he have another plan? What is he doing Thor? Why wouldn’t he look at me?”
Thor looked trapped. His eyes shifted nervously.
“Father is going to spend several days negotiating for many things. Trade agreements, visits for Mother, ah…”
“He’s not here for me?” Loki asked, horrified.
He had been counting on it, hoping for it. Despite his attempts to keep calm he’d been convinced Odin had a plan from the moment he’d heard his father was coming back.
“Laufey won’t let you go.” Thor said, he looked cornered. “Loki, trust me, please. Things will work out.”
“But not today.” Loki said, his face falling.
“No…” Thor said. “Not today.”
Thor was stuck. His job was to stay by Loki’s side, to be close by when the spell was broken and to help his brother reach the Bifrost. He had been ordered not to tell Loki what Odin had planned in case the Jotun overheard. He did not know what to do when asked outright like this.
“Father will do his best for you.” He said.
Loki gave him a fearful look.
“But how?” He asked.
“I was not privy to the fine detail of the negotiations.” Thor said. “Show me the library brother, please.”
Loki led the way to the castle library in silence. He was fighting the feelings of despair that threatened to crash over him. He had not realised how badly he had been pinning his hopes on Odin finding a way to rescue him.
Laufey sat and glared at Odin sitting across the table. He did not think there were enough derogatory terms in the whole nine realms to adequately describe the man.
“Let us be clear. There is little our two realms want or need from one another. The days of large scale trading and building commissions are long passed. I will grant Queen Frigga one, one hour visit a month with Loki in exchange for one of our small traders being allowed access to the Asgard markets.”
“That is all you wish? I imagine there is something else you want much more than that.” Odin replied.
Laufey resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
“Hand over the casket.” He said flatly.
“I have not dismissed the idea Laufey, but the price must be right.” Odin replied, leaning forwards slightly.
Laufey narrowed his eyes. So the game began. |
Next day I called Fiza from my office and told her to be ready at 6pm sharp. My advices were very clear on what she had to do to be ready for me. She was to be waiting at her bedroom, on her knees, hands down at her sides. She was to have no clothing on, no jewelry, her hair to be down.
At 6pm I walked through the door and saw her kneeling before me. I did not say a word just closed and locked the door. I reached down and grabbed a handful of hair with one hand, took my cock out and shoved it in her mouth.
She started sucking and I had loosened my grip up a small amount allowing her to have some movement with her head. Her hands came up and took hold of my shaft so her mouth and tongue could concentrate on the head of my cock. After a few minutes of this I pulled out of her mouth, taking her hands behind her back and tying them together.
I pushed Fiza roughly down lower so her knees were spread but her ass was on her heels to push her all the way down would have let her pussy rub against the floor and that would not do.
I grabbed her hair pushing her head back some; I placed my cock at the edge of her lips pushing her mouth open. Fiza tried vainly to suck my cock, I reached down and pinched on of her nipples hard making it turn blood red and told her to just keep her mouth open.
I began fucking her, I fucked her mouth like it was her pussy...fast, hard and deep, making her gag at times but I never stopped. I fucked her till my cum shot down her throat spilling out the sides of her mouth. Fiza tried so hard to swallow it all but I kept cumming and she couldn't drink it fast enough.
I pulled her up to standing, using my fingers I wiped my cum from her face and gave them to her to suck clean for me. I led her over to the coffee table and pushed her to her knees in front of it.
Her legs were the first to be bound to the legs of the table; I then stretched her across it untying her hands only to tie her arms to the other side of the table. I then placed a pillow under her stomach so that her ass was up in the air, just enough to give me better access.
My hand was the first thing she felt strike her ass, there was no rhyme or reason to his slaps. Fiza tried so hard at first to not cry out, to take the pain and punishment I was giving to her with grace but then I started using my paddle.
Her ass was already red and stinging before the first stroke of my paddle but when it made contact with her skin she cried out in pain. I continued with the barrage of paddling, her cries soon became no longer just pain but a mixture of pleasure and pain. I ignored every one of her please for me to stop.
Finally I stopped but only when she had stopped begging for it. I looked at the pillow under her and there was a wet spot right in a direct line from her pussy. Without saying a word I greedily thrust 3 fingers inside of her. She was saturated and I felt her pussy beginning to contract around my fingers.
I kept fucking her with my fingers. I leaned in taking my tongue and I teased her ass. Fiza tried to push up to make me go deeper my fingers and my tongue and she didn't care which she wanted more. She begged me to let her cum; she needed to cum so bad.
I stopped everything I was doing and just sat still with my fingers deep in her. She was still begging pleading with me to please fuck her and to fuck her ass, her pussy just to please give her my cock.
I slowly pulled out my fingers; she began moaning and screaming from need of something to fill her up. I placed the head of my cock just at the outside of her pussy, my hand came down and slapped her red ass then I rammed myself deep inside of her in one hard deep thrust.
She couldn't hold it back she felt her orgasm starting without telling her brain. Her body just responded in a pure primal state. As her moans grew deeper and louder I fucked her harder and deeper never stopping to let her catch her breath after that orgasm.
My cock driving into her pussy she knew she was going to come again if I kept up that pace. She pleaded with me to please fuck her ass. I didn't need much begging at this point. My cock slick with her cum, I pushed just the head in and held there giving her a chance to adjust to my size, my one and only act of kindness during this hard fuck.
I pushed my way deep inside of her revealing in her cries of pain and pleasure. I fucked her hard and slow, rubbing and grabbing at her ass as I grinded my cock deep inside of her. She felt me tense and my pace picked up, my hands were mauling her ass that was still burning and hurting from my paddle.
She felt her orgasm starting to well up knowing that I was going to cum all inside of her. The smell of sex that had permeated the room was all she could handle. Then we cummed simultaneously.
I filled her ass with my white hot cum and she filled her pussy up. After I pulled out of her, I took a camera and took a picture of her red ass with cum dripping out of both holes before untying her.
After that I went to the bathroom. Suddenly I heard a male voice from Fiza's bedroom. It was the sound of Ballu. I came out of the bathroom and placed my eyes in the keyhole. I was right, it was Ballu. He was already naked before Fiza.
He sat down on the coffee table and took her with him. She ended up falling across his knees. She was flailing away and kicking her legs, trying everything she could to get away from him. He pushed her head down toward the floor.
He struck her evenly on both cheeks of her ass and marveled at how great it felt to slap her ass. He'd often looked admiringly at that gorgeous ass, but never really considered the possibility that he'd actually lay hands on it.
Ballu just kept up the spanking. Every now and then he'd hit the center mark and give her pussy another swat or two. Fiza reveled in the new feelings she was experiencing. She wanted to tell Ballu to quit spanking her and just fuck her, but she couldn't form coherent speech. All she was capable of now was grunts and groans.
She had completely quit screaming and was only grunting and moaning unintelligibly. She moved her ass back toward each blow and then forward. It must have come from her cunt. Fiza was lubricating copiously. She loved the spanking.
Ballu reached under her ass cheeks and felt her cunt. She thrust it back toward his hand as soon as she felt the slight touch. She wanted it inside her. Her cunt was wet and swollen. It was as ready for a fucking as it could get.
Ballu took two fingers and rammed them into her cunt as hard as he could and she exhaled as if she were hit in the gut. Then he pistoned his fingers in and out of her cunt rapidly. She was bucking wildly trying to keep time with his thrusts. He stopped suddenly and she gasped.
"Don't stop. Please don't stop," she cried.
He resumed fucking her with his hand. He reached up inside and curled his fingers down toward her pubic bone from within. That was the spot that usually drove women wild. He made sure to rub it with each stroke. She whimpered.
"Thank you. Oh, yes. That's the way. I want to come. I have to come. Keep it up," she implored.
Her orgasm began with tightness in her belly, right behind her pubic bone. It seemed to spread from there to every extremity. Her stomach fluttered and her head became fuzzy. Her cunt was the center of the universe now as the intensity kept building. She thought she might never come. She wanted it so badly. She imagined his hand was his cock.
When it finally hit, she was more than ready. She actually saw stars. The combination of feeling humiliated, the stinging of her ass, and his hand ramming into her finally sent her to a place she'd never been before. Her ass stopped moving and her entire body began to spasm.
When her gasps for air changed to even breathing, he changed to a slow lazy motion stirring her cunt with his fingers. Her juices were everywhere. She had lubricated so much that, as he had slammed his hand in and out of her cunt, her juices splattered all over the floor. She moaned and mewled like a little animal now.
Fiza was off his lap, and on her knees before him, instantly. She loved being there. She felt safe and secure at his feet. She was subconsciously wondering at this even as she hurriedly took his cock and made love to it. That's what it was. She didn't just suck it, she made love to it. It was as if she needed to repay him for the wonderful gift he had given her. She felt liberated.
She licked the tip of his cock, which was coated in his precum. Beating her ass hard certainly gotten him excited. She smiled as she wrapped her lips around the big crimson head and sucked. She maintained the suction all the way down the length of his shaft, not stopping until her lips felt his pubic hair. She held him there and marveled at the feel of it in her mouth and throat.
It was hard, yet soft. She could feel the veins bulging along its length against her tongue. It was incredibly smooth and as she held it in her throat, she felt it twitch. She knew she turned him on and it made her proud. She slowly withdrew and twirled her tongue around the head of his cock as she removed it from her mouth.
Ballu gave a little groan as it popped out. He reached for the back of her head to put her mouth back on him, but didn't need to. Fiza was already going back down again. She maintained that slow rhythm for what seemed like forever. He could only think of her mouth on him and she could only think of his cock in her.
They worked well together. Gradually, he began to take over control of the speed. He held her head in both of his hands and alternately pushed and pulled her mouth up and down on his cock. She put her tongue to good use at every opportunity.
He moved her head faster and faster. Soon he was fucking her mouth, not getting sucked. He rammed his cock into her mouth harder and harder. She fought hard to breathe and found it difficult to stop herself from gagging when his cock found the back of her throat. Finally,it happened.
He felt it coming. His cock swelled up in her mouth and it felt like he was about to explode. The tension was unbearable. He knew the spasms were forming, but they just didn't release. His cock continued to swell and, at last, he was there. A great gush of come spewed out the head of his cock and slammed into the back of her throat.
She took it and tried to swallow it, but couldn't get it all down before the next volley hit. She swallowed as fast as she could, but still missed a large quantity that ran down her chin. Some of it ran down into the cleavage between her breasts. She licked her lips and looked up at him with adoration in her eyes.
Silently he padded back to the bed with her shaking body in his arms. Fiza felt him tenderly lay her into the bed. Ballu slipped into bed next to her cuddling her close to him. I could understand that Fiza liked to take some rest and after sex foreplay from Ballu. I left them alone for that night.
|
Bernie stood as her name was called and pulled her hoodie tightly around herself, ignoring the stares from the other people in the waiting area who’d assumed she was just another doctor. She looked at her watch before glancing down the corridor in the hope that the 20 minutes she’d been kept waiting past her appointment time would have been enough time for Serena to finish in theatre but she wasn’t in luck, she shook the consultant’s hand and followed her from the waiting room alone.
She spent the next hour being poked and prodded as she laid, half naked on the table of a CT scanner, radiologists moving her arms, asking her to shuffle on the bed until they were satisfied with her position and, by the time she was able to get up, her back was so sore she was barely able to pull the top of her scrubs over her head, she was definitely going to need to ask her GP for another prescription of the painkillers she’d only just managed to wean herself off.
She pulled her hoodie back on and left the ward, somehow managing to keep herself together until she made it to the roof, barely stepping out into the cool air before a tear rolled silently down her cheek.
She ignored her phone vibrating in her pocket as she sat on the stairs, her head falling into her hands as she tried to get herself together, tried to compose herself so she could go back to the ward, so she could tell Serena that she was fine and Serena would believe her.
After a few minutes sat on the stairs Bernie's back began to protest, already painful from laying flat on her back for so long with her arm stretched above her head, so she stood, trying to stretch slightly without causing herself any more pain as she walked over to the edge of the roof, leaning against the railings as she watched the people below her coming and going.
She didn't turn round as she heard the door to the staircase creak open, knew it would be Serena, knew she'd have come looking for her when she didn't come back to the ward, when she didn't answer the calls Bernie knew were from her.
“Bernie” Serena said softly as she approached her, “are you…” She didn't finish her sentence, knew that if she did Bernie would just lie to her, would tell her she was okay when she was anything but, “I'm sorry I got caught up in theatre, I was hoping it would just be a simple job but it burst and I couldn't leave Morven on her own, I'm do sorry Bernie.”
“It's okay” Bernie hoped Serena would assume the quiver in her voice was because of the cold wind and not because of the tears she'd cried, “Raf told me you were in theatre, offered to take over but I'm an adult. I should be able to go to my own appointments without you holding my hand.”
“I know” Serena said softly as she gently reached out to put her hand on Bernie's back, but you're allowed to be scared" she told her, “I know that you like to be in control of your life, and that this is a huge thing that takes away that control, I understand that you're probably feeling overwhelmed, and scared and out of your depth right now, but that's okay” Serena reassured her, “you don't have to hide that part of yourself Bernie, not from me.”
“This morning made it all seem so real” Bernie didn’t turn to look at Serena, her fingers curling around the metal bar in front of her, the cold metal against her palms grounding her somewhat, “and I know it isn’t going to be easy, so if you want to leave, if you want me to leave then just tell me” she said, keeping her gaze fixed on an undefined spot in the distance, “don’t feel like you have to stick around just because of...everything, if you don’t want to…”
“Bernie” Serena interrupted, “I love you, I’m not just here because you have cancer, I’m here because you’re my partner, you’re my best friend. Because I love you. If you want to spend some time back at your apartment, if you need your own space then I understand and that’s okay, but I won’t be walking away, not unless you ask me to.”
Bernie slowly turned towards Serena but didn’t say another word, didn’t need to as Serena closed the gap between them and wrapped her arms tightly around Bernie as Bernie’s walls finally broke and she began to sob. Serena didn’t mind though, didn’t mind at all as she held Bernie close, kissing her hair and murmuring reassurances to her, promising her that it would be okay, that she wasn’t going to leave. “I'm sor…”
“No” Serena interrupted Bernie, “do not apologise to me. You’re allowed to be upset, you're allowed to be scared. You do not have to apologise for that.”
Bernie sniffled slightly as she tried to compose herself, “I, I've had surgery before so the op, it, I think I managed to convince myself that it was just another injury that needed to be sorted. And the infection, that's a risk with any surgery isn't it?” Bernie whispered, but the radiotherapy, that's not…, that's what makes it real isn't it, that's what screams… “
“Say it” Serena gently encouraged, “go on”
“I've got cancer” Bernie whispered, her eyes filling with tears again, “I've got the same disease that killed my mother.”
“Oh Bernie” Serena whispered, one hand around Bernie's waist, the other on the back of her head as Bernie let her head fall to Serena's shoulder, she knew both Bernie's parents had died, but until now she had no idea how. “Do you remember what you told me when you came back?” she asked, gently combing her fingers through Bernie's tangled curls, “you had a small tumor removed, it was graded 1a. That means that it was found as early as it could be. It hadn't spread to your lymph nodes and it was removed with clear margins. You had a full body CT in Kiev, we've both seen the results, but if it makes you feel better, if it puts your mind at rest we can do another one here. If this was a patient asking for their prognosis you'd tell them that it was a good one, the radiotherapy is just a precaution, it's just to make absolutely sure that the cancer’s gone.” She put her hands on Bernie's cheeks and gently lifted Bernie's head from her shoulder, resting their foreheads together and looking Bernie in the eye, “you are Berenice Bloody Wolfe. You are strong, you are tough and you are going to bloody beat this.”
“And you're not going to leave?” Bernie whispered, sounding more vulnerable than Serena could ever have imagined her sounding.”
“I will be by your side every single step of the way. I'm not going anywhere.” She reached up to swipe at Bernie's tears with her thumb, “and once your radiotherapy is all done we can book ourselves that holiday and get away from this place for a bit to recharge.”
Bernie smiled through her tears and nodded, “I love you” she whispered, “and I'm sorry, that I walked away, that I went to Kiev and didn't, didn't think of you, I, I'm just sorry.”
Serena smiled and gently kissed Bernie's lips, “I love you too, and it's in the past now, neither of us can change what happened so let's leave it there?”
Bernie nodded, “okay.”
“Good” Bernie nodded, “now, when you're ready, why don't we go down to Pulses? I think a coffee and a medicinal pastry might be in order.”
“Doctors orders?” Bernie smiled, wiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her hoody.
“Very much so” Serena smiled, wiping away the last of Bernie's tears with her thumbs.
“Does that mean you're paying?” Bernie asked cheekily.
Serena laughed and rolled her eyes, “it's a bloody good job I love you Wolfe, but yes, I suppose I can pay.”
Bernie pecked Serena's lips and entwined their fingers, forcing a smile onto her face, “then let's go.”
|
The master assassin is angry, you can see it in the dark flash of his eyes and the tense set of broad shoulders as he stalks away but abruptly halts after just a few feet. You could have sworn that you heard incensed muttering under his breath but with his back turned you cannot be sure.
Facing you once more, Ezio rolls his shoulders and allows the smallest of growls to escape his lips as he readies himself for another attack. Feet apart and knees slightly bent, you can see his grip tighten on his sword in preparation.
You do the same.
Ezio sharply tugs the white hooded cowl of his assassin robes down, tanned face a mask of frustration. Dark black hair which is noticeably greying at the temples ruffles in the slight breeze.
Removing the cowl was a mistake; it forces him to squint against the late afternoon Tuscan sunshine.
The assassin’s stance is slightly off, you notice. He is clearly getting tried and discouraged, angry at being unable to master the new techniques quickly.
There is no chance to correct him, for the umpteenth time, as he suddenly moves forward sloppily, footwork all wrong. He is making it too easy to beat him.
Ezio lunges forwards with his blade aiming for the centre of your chest. His wild opening move is parried easily. Another backhanded swipe is effortlessly defended. A quick follow up lunge by you and the tip of your blade touches his right shoulder that is drooping slightly and unprotected.
Another point for you.
He is getting worse as the day draws on, not better, and his temper is beginning to show for it.
In a string of colourful Italian cursing, Ezio drops the rapier onto the dusty courtyard before swiftly and violently kicking it away. The metal clanks across the ground until it disappears into a cluster of bushes.
You give him a look that clearly states he is acting like a child but he only sneers in response and marches off.
You watch broad shoulders retreat as he calls over them, not bothering to look back, ‘I am done for today.’
Well that is just fine by you. He was becoming miserable company anyway. This training was for his benefit, not yours. If Ezio wants to act like a spoiled child then you will let him.
Retuning to your own combat practice in the dusty courtyard of the Arezzo assassins den you try and push your own angry thoughts and frustrations out of your mind. Instead, you take out your vexations on the various stuffed straw dummies littering the training area.
Everyone had been excited that the legendary assassin Ezio Auditore da Firenze had been coming to visit and would be taking up residence in the very faction you were currently staying. It would be quite an opportunity to meet such a man and perhaps even pick up a few new skills.
All reports suggested that Ezio was charming, strong and above all, a brilliant assassin. Not to mention incredibly attractive, with smooth olive coloured skin and dark raven hair and eyes. He was a man that knew this however. Although he was lauded as one of the leading assassins of the age his predisposition for flirting and womanising was also well know.
Unexpectedly Ezio had turned out to be quite sullen and slightly moody. A few of the other assassins chalked this up to long travel and worry over Templar attacks in the area, not to mention the very high expectations from a group of new overzealous recruits. A few had suggested demonstrating the new techniques imported from France to your mentor with the hope of showing him something new in terms of combat styles.
The practice had been the final straw; all hope of improving his mood with a little workout vanished quickly.
After a quick meal you head out to the courtyard for a little more practice. In a few years’ time you have every intention of being head of this guild faction.
Ezio had disappeared after your disastrous training session but no one seemed to be making an effort to locate him, allowing him cool off in his own time and happy his sour demeanour was not polluting the den.
Sunlight is fading rapidly even in the late summers evening. The braziers lit to provide light also unfortunately heat the surrounding air making the workout all the more difficult. It takes very little time for a small trail of sweat to trickle down your spine and breath to come hot and heavy.
‘You fight well.’
Startled, you turn towards a rumbling male voice. A tall figure is just barely visible in the shadow of the building. Ezio leans casually against the wall with arms and feet crossed watching your practice. You are not sure just how long he has been there and are reminded of just how good an assassin the man is, even you never heard him coming.
‘Thank you.’ You reply shortly, before turning your back on him and facing the straw dummy once more.
Ezio pushes away from the wall and this time you hear him approach your position.
‘Shall we pick up on the training from earlier?’ His voice is deep, smooth, but there is also an edge of challenge in it.
‘I thought you had given up on the sword.’ You tease, goading a reaction from him. His jaw tenses but he remains stoically silent for several moments.
Finally, ‘My apologies, I was perhaps being unfair earlier.’
‘Perhaps?’ You challenge.
The assassin closes dark eyes and shakes his head silently almost appearing as if he is fighting back his temper.
‘I have travelled far and I am tired. But it is no excuse to take it out on you. I apologise.’
At least he was more sincere this time. You incline your head in acceptance and kick a rapier in his direction.
Ezio bends to retrieve it somewhat stiffly. He has been an assassin for some time and isn’t getting any younger. Perhaps he is not picking up this new training as quickly as he would like or as easy as younger men, and this lapse in ability is telling on him. It must be difficult try to meet so many people’s expectations, to worry about potentially disappointing fellow assassins fed on stories and legends, worrying about friends and family and having to deal with Templars at every turn.
Assuming an attack position, sword raised, Ezio moves forward quickly.
You shake your head, still all wrong. He hasn’t been paying attention to anything you have told him about his technique. The tip of your own blade catches Ezio in the arm. The assassin moves, attempts to dodge at the last minute, but it’s not far enough or fast enough. Another point is yours as you hit his shoulder, blade sliding along his armour with a metal on metal clank.
The assassin growls angrily and throws his sword to the dust floor. Gritting his teeth he looks over at you with a pained expression.
‘Ok, so what am I doing wrong?’ He sounds just a little defeated.
‘Your range of motion is non-existent. Your back and shoulders are too tight and you are not moving as fluidly or to the extent you need to be able to pull off these moves.’
Ezio gallantly shrugs his shoulders. You are not sure whether he is disagreeing, or agreeing with you, and just doesn’t know how to fix it.
‘You have clearly spent too much time working on your strength, you have a lot of muscle and bulk in the upper half of your body, no doubt for easy climbing and scaling of walls but it’s no good if you want to be quick and fluid.’
You motion towards a bench that has been laid out for spectating.
‘Here, sit down and take your vambraces off.’
Ezio scowls and complains, dark eyebrows furrowing. ‘Why?’
Out of patience you give him a pointed look, ‘Just do it.’
Eventually he slides onto the bench loosening the armour and padding in place around his neck, shoulders and arms as he does so. He is left in nothing but a thin white undershirt on the upper half of his body. The garment is loose and billowy but small damp patches cling at the base of his back and under his arms.
Standing behind him you slide the palms of your hands over his shoulders. Ezio recoils at the touch.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Sit down and shut up.’ You reply.
He turns around again, back to you, muttering under his breath.
‘Don’t worry I’m not going to hurt you.’
There is a small scoff at your reassurance, as if such a feat were impossible.
‘You have held your shoulders for so long in certain positions that you have shortened all the muscles. You no longer have the full range of motion needed to make the kinds of moves for this fencing style.’
‘This is not necessary.’ Ezio rumbles lowly, trying again to shirk away from your touch. You only tsk and drag him back towards you. The assassin only puts up minimal effort at a continual struggle.
Sliding your palms over his shoulders you can feel the pleasant warmth of him through the loose shirt and the smoothness of his skin. Muscles bunch and tense under you automatically and you can feel the power of his movements, the strength, even in these tightly coiled muscles.
‘Let me know if anything hurts.’ You babble as you begin kneading fingers into his back attempting to massage out the hard lumps that make up his tense shoulder and neck muscles.
After a few moments Ezio lets out a startled gasp as your thumb digs firmly into his right shoulder blade.
‘I’m sorry does that hurt?’
The assassin shakes his head, dark hair rubbing along the base of his neck and tickling your fingers slightly. It was a lot softer than it looked.
‘No, it doesn’t hurt.’ He admits rather grudgingly before exhaling hard.
After several minutes massaging you can finally feel the tension gradually leave his body as Ezio allows himself to relax, no longer suspicious of your touch.
Working stiff fingers into the tight knots of tension in his shoulders and neck release small shivers and groans from the man in what you can only assume is pleasure.
Ezio's breathing has slowed, the deep gentle rhythm is all the fills the now black night sky. His head droops down until his chin rests on his chest and you would almost think he was asleep apart from the few small jerks that occur every time you hit a particularly sensitive spot.
Dragging your thumbs over his skin, slowly and methodically you massage, until Ezio’s arms and neck are hanging more freely and most tension seems to have left his upper body. Your actions are beginning to work, even if it is only slightly. Instead of hard rock, the muscles in his back feel a lot more like firm putty as the build-up dissipates.
‘You must get a lot of headaches,’ you comment offhandedly, ‘and pains in your shoulders.’
‘Why do you say that?’ Ezio’s voice seems a little distant, relaxed, practically on the very of drifting off to sleep.
Gazing down at the dark head bent over, you feel a small pang of compassion for him despite his general huffy demeanour for the last few days. Sorry for the loss of his family, for the hard life he had experienced, for the endless fight for the assassins guild. Ezio had been run ragged for a very long time and is expected to for a while to come; there are people who need him.
‘Because your shoulder and neck muscles are permanently tense and are likely to cause ongoing problems, which, by the way, are only going to get worse the older you become.’
Shoulders move slightly under your touch, you assume that the assassin shrugged but he makes no comment.
Nearly a half hour must have past but you really hadn’t noticed the time, it gives you a small rush of satisfaction to be able to help a fellow assassin and to at least partially solve some of Ezio’s problems.
Working through shoulders and down his spine, you finish off at the small of his back, pleased at the small whimper escaping his lips as you work over the base. You smile as Ezio flexes under you rolling his upper body under your touch.
Satisfied that is about all you can accomplish tonight, you step away from him with one last caress of his back with the palms of your hand.
‘Well that’s about all I can do for now, although you may wish to get that done regularly or at least take on board some of the new combat techniques to stop yourself falling into old habits. Remember and thoroughly stretch out all your muscles, often and frequently.’
Ezio nods gently, rising slowly from the small bench he was sitting on and rolling his now thoroughly massaged shoulders.
‘Thank you. That does feel better.’ He still doesn’t sound entirely happy about being proven wrong but his tone has improved a little and his face is pleasantly relaxed so you are willing to forgive him.
Picking up his discarded sword, Ezio gives it a few practice swings.
He raises a challenging eyebrow. ‘So, do you want to try this again?’
Glancing around the assassins den courtyard you notice that the area is almost fully dark. All the braziers have burned low and whilst still giving off a gentle orange glow they are no longer enough to provide sufficient lighting. Perhaps calling it a night would be best, training practice in the dark was likely to cause unnecessary injuries.
Still…you want to see if your work has improved him at all.
Picking up your own discarded sword you allow the cool hilt to trail through your fingers, adjusting your grip as required. Getting into fighting position Ezio stands a few feet from you and does the same, guard up, stance a little too wide but it is still better than it was. He is holding his own sword better too, shoulders low and loose.
As you both take a few gentle practice swings in each other’s direction you notice that the master assassins form has certainly improved but his range of motion is still a little stiff and he has a habit of falling back into his trusted old habits. It will clearly take some time for this old dog to learn new tricks, however he is at least improving a little and while you manage to get a few hits on his body Ezio manages to successfully avoid quite a few of your attacks.
Now this has become more of a challenge and you relish the opportunity to show off just a little. Lunging forwards quickly, Ezio spots your attack and deftly defends pushing your sword out of the way.
That is ok; you were not expecting to hit him with it anyway. You get closer, allowing the sweeping motion of his blade on yours to pull you towards him while aiming an elbow to his face. You want to see if he can anticipate a hand to hand attack combined with the weapons and new style.
The tip of your elbow almost connects with his jaw but the assassins back turns sharply with his own elbow coming up quickly to block and by chance connecting with your lip. Momentum already carrying you forwards, Ezio just has time to place one hand on your sword arm and another around your waist. For a few moments the pain in your lip explodes on contact but it is soon replaced with a feeling of weightlessness as you are thrown bodily over Ezio’s hip, his own weight riding yours to the ground.
You find yourself landing hard on your back and blinking up at the dark starry sky. The warm press of Ezio’s body is flush against yours and he grunts heavily in your ear as he lands on his knees but still essentially sprawled on top of you.
He grimaces, dark gaze finds yours. A quickly glance over your face before settling firmly on your mouth.
‘I’m so very sorry.’ He mumbles, looking incredibly guilty.
‘I’m fine.’ You say automatically. You suppose you had a lot worse in training before…broken fingers, bruises, cuts, scrapes; all were normal.
‘You were so close and I saw your fist and I just reacted instinctively-oh, you are bleeding!’
‘Don’t worry about it, nice to see you aren’t letting your skills go soft.’ You try to lighten the mood but now that he mentions it, you can taste the coppery metallic tang of blood in your mouth and your grin causes you to grimace in a small stinging pain.
Ezio gets unsteadily onto all fours, the distractingly warm weight of him no longer pinning you to the ground.
‘Here let me get you something for it.’
With his movement, you are able to wriggle out from underneath him, getting up and on your feet quickly before the assassin can offer you help.
Touching your lip, it comes away smeared with red and you split blood tinged saliva onto the ground.
‘I’m fine, honestly. It’s only a cut lip.’
Carefully getting to his feet Ezio inclines his head in your direction but still doesn’t look convinced.
Still looking a little sheepish, he collects the discarded swords and puts them back in their display. You try and engage him and offer another round of practice but it would seem that training was over and the assassin doesn’t want to continue.
You bid Ezio goodnight amidst numerous further apologies and head to your room to get cleaned up.
Back in the comfort of your own room it feels so good to shed off heavy armour and scratch the small indents in your skin where buckles have been pulled too tight.
Your lip is stinging a little from earlier and each sip of water only worsens it. But it is not so bad, you have had worse. You can, however, feel a nice large bruise forming on your right hip where you were unceremoniously tossed over Ezio’s shoulder and landed hard on the ground.
You stretch out thoroughly, working tired muscles until loose and supple.
A loud knock at the door startles you from your contemplation of a nice hot bath and Ezio strolls through the door after a brief pause, without even being asked to enter.
‘Scusi, I brought this.’
The assassin holds up a small glass bottle, waiving it in his hands. He seems oblivious to walking in on you in a state of near complete undress. When you say oblivious what you mean is that he makes no comment on the fact, but you still watch his gaze dip down and sweep over every inch of bare skin.
Ezio’s gaze wanders back to your face and meets your own unashamedly as he attempts to conceal the fact he was enticingly staring at you in practically nothing more than underwear. It was definitely an appreciative look and you don’t miss the small sweep of his tongue wetting his lips.
Easing gently into the room the assassin softly closes the door behind him.
‘I brought this from the medic, he says the ointment is very good on cuts and grazes.’
‘Thank you, but I really don’t need it.’
In a few strides Ezio is suddenly only a few inches away. Before you can protest one hand has a strong grip on your jaw tilting your head upwards, the thumb and forefinger of the other peels back your cut lip for his inspection.
After a careful examination he comments, ‘You were right it is not too bad.’
He doesn’t move, still standing close enough for his warm breath to caress your face and slightly dust worn and male sweat smell to assault your senses, you want to back away but also want to stand your ground at his invasion of your personal space.
Ezio carefully releases your stinging lip, but not for long. You don’t even get a chance to pull away as he dips two fore fingers into the jar, peels back your lip again, and slides the salve coated fingers into your mouth. The slightly greenish coloured gel is soon being spread delicately across your gum.
Making a face you wiggle out of his grip, fighting not to spit out the concoction.
‘That tastes disgusting.’ You state forcefully, wrinkling your nose.
Ezio smirks at you. ‘Don’t be a baby.’
You are busy trying to get the horrendous ointment out of your mouth that you almost miss another sweeping gaze of your body. This time however, it doesn’t seem in the least sexual.
‘I may have to go back for something else, the doctor said it worked on cuts but I am not sure about bruises.’ He indicates the large dark circle already forming on your hip. It is already the size of a very large hand. You sigh at the mark, just great.
The assassin holds a hand across his chest and bows slightly, ‘I apologise again.’
You sigh, prodding at the tender skin to gage just how must this is going to hurt tomorrow. It’s just a rather large bruise; you shouldn’t require anything for it.
‘You don’t need to.’
‘I’m not in the habit of hitting women.’
‘Glad to hear it, but considering we both have work to do and training to accomplish then you may wish to conveniently forget the fact I am female. Injuries are part of the job. I hit men all the time.’
Ezio grins, his mood lightening. ‘Why am I not surprised.’
You scowl at his mocking, still reeling at the almost overpowering taste of aloe vera and yarrow from his supposed medicine.
Moving closer, the assassin playfully threatens to add more of the gel to your cut lip and you try to wriggle away but find yourself trapped between his body and the edge of the bed.
‘I am sorry. And thank you for earlier. I do not know why you did but my blade arm is feeling much better.’
‘I’m glad to have helped.’
He gives you a small playful smile, it is too…disconcerting after the bad attitude you have had from him today. He is too close you realise with a panic, the heat from his body is almost over powering and full pouting lips seem only inches from you.
You suddenly realise what Ezio is doing as large male hands slide to your hips and he presses even closer. The candle light in the room almost renders his shirt transparent, tanned muscled skin and dark hair shimmering just under the very thin fabric.
‘Would you like me to return the favour?’ Ezio’s voice is a low seductive murmur.
‘Sorry?’
The assassin’s lips quirk in a small smile and eyes flash in mischief as he gently bits his lip, it is almost coy.
‘I’m sure I could master massaging quicker than the fighting techniques.’
Thumbs slide under your vest, brushing along your skin. The brief contact and press of his calloused fingers sends pleasurable little jolts to your nerve endings. The hair on the back of your neck automatically stands on end from this simple ghost of a caress and the muscles in your stomach flutter slightly.
The offer is tempting, he is a good looking man, but you are not falling for his charm. Ezio has only been her a few days and trying to seduce women into sleeping with him already. He could have picked any other assassin here but you wonder why he has decided on you after the less than pleasant day you have both had. You shake your head and give a small push against his chest to get him to back off.
‘No thanks.’
Ezio backs away, dark eyebrows raised. He looks surprised and you can’t help but laugh at the expression.
‘What is that look for?’
He shrugs. You hadn’t realised a simple movement of shoulders could show such hurt feelings.
‘Nothing. Are you turning me down?’
‘You arrogant…man.’ You inflict as much distaste into that one word as you can. ‘You sound as if that doesn’t happen a lot.’
The assassin gives another wonderfully gallant shrug and his lip quirks mischievously, ‘Not often.’
You smile at his confidence and ego, shaking your head slightly in humorous disbelief.
Ezio wets his lips gently, you watch the movement out the corner of your eye and you will admit the scar across his top lip does have some appeal for tracing your tongue along…you physically shake those thoughts from your mind. Was he actually pouting? Did he really think he was irresistible? You will admit he is an extremely good looking man, physically impressive, strong features and dark complexion. But you have spent most of today in some form of argument with him. It has been a long and tiring day. You need to relax.
On second thoughts…what on earth were you doing? A quick round of intense sex with a very good looking man would be the perfect way to relax. It’s not as if you are planning on marrying him or anything and the master assassin will likely be gone by the end of the week…
Ezio is still hovering beside the bed, his back is to you as he seals the lid onto the small jar of medicine. You scan your eyes over his figure, those strong muscles you got to massage earlier; they did feel rather nice, lean hips, long legs and a very tight arse encased in very tight leather trousers…
He could be the perfect way ease out those tense muscles. Why the hell not? Hopefully his legendary skills in the bedroom meet with your approval more than his fighting did.
Ezio seems surprised at your nearness as you approach, running a palm over his arm upper arm. The muscle flexes instinctively under your fingers. He just has time to sit the small bottle on the table before you push him on top of the bed. His eyes are wide but not as wide as the grin on his face as you crawl onto the bed after him.
‘Does this mean you have changed your mind?’
He laughs a rich deep and throaty rumble as your murmur ‘shut up’ and slide your body along the length of his.
Hands automatically encircle your waist pulling you closer as you stretch yourself on top of him, lips seeking contact. Ezio's lips are as soft as they look and just as tasty, but the slight scrape of beard tickles your chin and top lip. You pull back scratching the area. He chuckles as he strokes his chin saying, ‘It has its uses.’
You raise your eyebrow at him, was he implying what you think he was? He only flashes a mischievous grin and says, ‘I’ll show you later.’
With that to look forward to, you return to the exploration of the master assassin’s mouth and suppose you will get used to the facial hair.
His tongue deftly starts a sensuous slow massage of yours, eliciting noises of pleasure from low in your throat. You hum against his mouth in pleasure and Ezio strains upwards, trying for more forceful contact but he doesn’t quite have the leverage.
Interlacing your fingers with large weathered palms you pin Ezio’s arms above his head. He chuckles at your forcefulness but lets you continue awaiting your next move.
You let your lips wander from his full mouth, across his taught jaw and down his neck, enjoying the small little pants he makes at the contact and the rather desperate straining upwards when you withdraw your mouth.
You release his hands long enough to sit up and pull your vest over your head, Ezio’s eyes darken as he stares at your bare breasts. He pushes up from the bed wrapping arms around you as he buries his head between them. Delicately licking a trail along the valley of your breasts Ezio kisses around them before sinking his teeth into the fleshy mound of one. The action has you bucking against the front of his body. His tongue tortures your nipples, gently flicking with the wide flat pad of it. Your fingers tangle in his hair tugging gently, forcing his mouth deeper onto your breasts, wanting him closer, more touch, more stimulation.
Sucking your right nipple between his lips, the assassin rolls it gently making sure the peak is firm and hard under his touch. Very gently he takes it between his teeth and tugs until the tissue stretches slightly between you and leaves you moaning and wriggling part in pleasure and part in pain.
Large hands cup your backside drawing you closer. You are already about as close as you can get, rubbing back and forth across his lap. The erection pressed hard between your legs is only separated by a few layers of flimsy cloth but Ezio seems determined to get even closer.
Your hips buck back and forth, the rough laced up leather front of his trousers is stretched tight across his groin. The material brushes your clit even through your own thin underwear. It is soon stimulated and swollen and wetness floods between your legs with every stroke.
You need more, you want your bare skin against his but the feeling between your legs has created an overpowering need to cum. Increasing your speed across his lap you gently pull aside your underwear, just enough to have the bare hood of your clit grate over the firm leather fastening across Ezio’s crotch. He leans back against the bed, pushing his hips upwards to help, allowing you free reign to ride his body.
Hands wander to your thighs, thick fingers digging in firmly enough to probably leave bruises tomorrow to match the rest. Ezio grasps your hips pulling your body back and forth along the front of his with increasing urgency.
His eyes are hooded and completely black, lost in his own pleasure and eagerly watching where your body joins his. He wets hip lips, eyes following the gentle bounce and sway of your breasts in front of him.
The crotch of Ezio's clothing is soaked with your own arousal and your clit feels swollen and abused from the harsh leather but you can’t help move just that little bit faster as your own orgasm approaches.
Collapsing onto all fours you can barely catch your breath as your orgasm washes over you in convulsing waves of pleasure radiating from between your legs. You shudder above the assassin while his hands carefully caress your thighs, arse and back, anywhere he can reach.
Ezio buries his head in the crook of your neck, lips tracing the curve of your shoulder as you moan in his ear and enjoy your moment of ultimate pleasure. You must be a mess, you muse, sweat tricking down your back and between your breasts, dust covered hair and thighs damp with excitement.
Ezio murmurs something against your skin in low dark whispers that you can’t quite make out, but by his tone you know it is something sexual. His hands skim your curves; it seems he has no problem with the state of you at the moment.
The satisfaction of your orgasm doesn’t last long as lips trace your neck and throat. The tingle of the assassins kisses flows all the way down between your legs and your body is more than ready to have its pleasure from him again.
Pushing him back down you help wiggle Ezio’s trousers off those toned hips. The leather is tight and clings to his skin, heat and sweat making you both need to peel the fabric downwards. Inch by inch of olive skin is revealed until finally naked he is stunning. You had expected age to wither the assassin’s body but he is still toned, muscled. A little paunch around the middle but there was worse on much younger me. Old scars litter his body, some pink and shiny, others dull and white. Hair across his chest and travelling down his navel is much like that on his head, still dark and thick but with the odd smattering of grey. Ezio’s thighs hang open loosely, balls gently resting between them whilst his cock, already hard and straining, points skywards. No wonder he is a hit with the ladies, you muse, carrying that thing around with him. Ezio is an impressively endowed man, not enough to feel threatened and risk pain, but enough to know you are going to feel very smug and full with him inside of you.
You want to touch him. You have a sudden need to lick your lips and clench your thighs together in anticipation. Wrapping your palm around the solid base of his cock you squeeze firmly. He is so warm compared with the rest of his body, it’s almost unnatural how warm a man’s erection becomes, you wonder if your body feels like that to him when aroused. Ezio’s breath hitches in his throat and he squirms on top of the bed as you run your thumb up and down the length of his cock. It is incredibly hard, firmer than the toned muscled of his stomach and even biceps, but the coating of velvety soft skin gives it a touchable strangeness.
Sliding your hand up and down the length, slowly, teasingly, Ezio pants and wiggles, his hips thrusting upwards trying to move faster muttering rapidly under his breath so that you don’t make out the most of it.
You just reach over swiping the head of his cock with your tongue, the briefest of contact, before the assassin urgently tugs on your hair and drags you away. Growling, he kisses you, tongue sliding into your mouth with a practiced ease as he rolls you over, pinning your body under his. It distracts you from the disappointment you can’t roll that taught skin around your mouth, taste the salty tang of his skin and you slip the most intimate part of his body between your lips. Ezio has none of it, his mouth begins a slow assault of your body, along your jaw line, neck, and collarbone. He lavishes attention on your breasts until your nipples are hardened peaks and standing to attention. He was right, the soft scrape of his beard tickles all the way down your body. He takes a gentle bite out of tummy flesh that leaves you giggling and trying to wriggle away but his upper body keeps your legs pinned.
Anticipations builds low in your stomach as the assassin descends ever lower. You know exactly what he is doing and where he is aiming for and you are squirming in desperate want. Your hips are thrusting upwards in encouragement as he parts your legs wider. You want him to touch you, dive right in as your exposed clit is screaming for attention.
Ezio take a long slow time trailing gentle teasing kisses back and forth along your hips and just above your pubic bone, your hips, your thighs, even the crook of your legs. His beard brushes your pubic hair and lower across the folds of your pussy leaving you whimpering for more. He smiles, the smug git, you can see him grin as he turn his face between your legs.
Giving up on teasing, Ezio places fingers on your outer lips and spreads gently, exposing the pink hood of your clit. His tongue descends, wet and slippery, gliding over your skin with ease.
Hips automatically buck upwards trying for more contact, the caressing rhythm of his tongue feels wonderful but something is missing. You already got yourself off rubbing against this body. There is an ache; a need to have him pulled close, hips crushed against yours and his body buried inside you as deeply as possible.
Your fingers run through his hair gently, tugging. Ezio’s eyes roll up to meets yours from between your legs. He uses the brief moment of intimate eyes contact to slide his tongue lower and inside your eager body. The action tears low moaning form between your lips and you can see the humour sparkle in those dark eyes.
You tug him upwards again with more urgency and this time he stops what he is doing. Ezio allows himself to be pulled up your body, your arms curl around his biceps manoeuvring him until he covers you.
‘Please, I need more.’
He nods in understanding, lips seeking yours. You drink the taste of your own body from his him as his large hands grasp your thighs, pulling your lower body closer to his waiting cock.
The very tip of his cock slides between your legs, probing back and forth through the wet folds of your pussy. He bumps your clit with every movement and your hips buck in excitement and frustration. You need him inside you.
Ezio pulls your legs higher, enough that they are draped over his forearms. He leans forwards to kiss you as he sinks the full length of his cock into your body in one swift movement. Your body is curled around him, knees practically at your chest as he pushes forwards in a steady even rhythm. The angle allows for an incredibly deep penetration and your body tightens around him in time with his strokes.
The weight of the assassin’s body pushes against you as his hips and back flex, you are slowly being pushed up the bed and need to brace palms above you against the headboard to stop you both sliding and bumping heads against the wall.
Ezio chuckles, a deep rumble from low in his chest as a particularly forceful thrust practically leaves you both against the end of the bed.
‘A different position perhaps.’
He releases your hips, allowing them to gently fall flat back against the bedding. His cock disappointingly slides from you but he is wet and glistening from your arousal and still straining towards you.
You have a few moments to think about how you want him. On all fours above you, Ezio seems a slightly confused as you wriggle out from under him. He kneels, sitting back slightly against his heels watching you move. His palm encloses around his shaft and teases a few strokes.
You kneel in front of him on all fours, backside pointed at his cock.
Ezio grins as his hands wrap around your hips, pulling you into position. He is inside you in a quick movement, this time his hips move more forcefully and erratically pushing forwards into your body with a lack of rhythm. This position lets you fuck him too, pushing back against his hips so that your bodies impact with a rather brutal slap of skin against skin.
It doesn’t take long for the gradual build-up of impending orgasm to tighten firmly in the pit of your stomach. Every strong thrust tears a cry from your lips, you try to be quite, lord knows who can hear you elsewhere in the assassin den but you can’t help yourself. Who cares who hears you anyway; all that is important is climax and the continuing relentless push of Ezio's thick cock into your willing body.
His breath is heavy behind you, soft grunts issue low in his throat. Ezio’s hands are clammy against the skin of your hips as he uses his hold to pull you back against him and angle just right looking for the little sweet spot that will bring you the most pleasure.
You sneak a hand down between your legs, you are so close, and the pressure between your legs from his movement is slowly filling you like a cup of water approaching the brim. Your fingers slide easily over your wet and swollen clit edging you closer to orgasm.
Behind you Ezio's hips push forwards firmly. The strength in his body is evident and muscles are a tightly coiled bundle of energy. You nearly giggle as you end up face down on the bed after a rather forceful thrust, fingers still teasing your clit and arse sticking up in the air.
A warm body covers the back of yours, the assassin’s lips at your neck. Your body is encased by his, no escape and you wouldn’t want to. His hips continue their rough thrust into you, back arching on every stroke.
A deep masculine groan in your ear and you can feel the quiver of thighs pressed tight against you. Ezio’s hips still and warmth floods between your legs. It doesn’t matter that he has already cum; you are too close now, there would be no stopping. Your fingers continue enthusiastic massaging of your clit, already pulsing and quivering all on its own. A few strokes more is all it takes, combined with the erotic noises you hear from the man who just took extreme pleasure in your body and the thought of hot sticky cum dripping down your thighs from your pussy is enough to have you screaming into the mattress below you.
Finally able to raise your head from being buried in the covers, the light of the room almost hurts your eyes. God you can barely move and that is not just because of the assassin still pressed firmly against your back, milking the last amount of pleasure from being buried deep inside you while his body softens.
Ezio moves finally, lying back and practically sprawled over the bed. He is panting heavily and a small smirk plays across his features.
Your limbs feel like lead, there is not an ounce of tension left in you after that orgasm. You lie beside the master assassin regaining your composure. That was certainly the best warm down to any training session you have ever had.
There is a fine sheen of sweat across Ezio’s brow and down his chest. His hair clings around his temples, the rest of it in disarray, but his face is pleasantly relaxed, the fine lines around his eyes and mouth loose.
You doze beside him while you regain some of the feeling in your lower limbs and will your muscles to stop quivering in post orgasmic bliss. Ezio smirks at you.
‘Did I meet with your approval?’
‘Perhaps.’
He raises a dark eyebrow in mock offence.
‘I would need more testing.’ You tease.
He pulls you closer to him so that you are snuggled under his arm and suffocated by the warmth of his body.
‘Gladly.’ He purrs against the top of your head.
After such an intense round of steamy sex and the work out in training earlier today you are suddenly feeling very stick and dirty. You need to get cleaned up. You gently nudge Ezio who seemed to be threatening to fall asleep.
‘Go run me a bath.’
Ezio snorts, ‘And why would I do that?’
‘Because you still owe me for being an arse earlier and helping you with that massage. Plus if you are very good you can join me.’
His lips quirks but you can see the look in his eyes. He makes a show of pondering his decision but it’s clearly already made.
He rolls off the bed with surprising speed. It makes you think he might just have the stamina for round two after all and might not be as an over-the-hill assassin as you originally thought.
Ezio is perfectly comfortable wandering away from the bed totally nude and you enjoy the fine play of muscles just under the skin as he pads to the next room.
Stretching, you can feel the gentle ache between your legs that intense orgasm and sex leaves you. It is remarkable how much better your bruised hip and cut lip feel. Sliding from the bed you head to the bathroom where can hear the gently slosh of warm water and are eager to join the man in there. |
I woke up the next morning and I saw YoonYoon looking at me with his tired eyes. He smiled his pretty smile at me. I felt my cheeks warm up from his smile and the way he was looking at me. He only smiled more.
"Good morning my pink baby," YoonYoon whispered in his morning voice.
"Good morning..." I whispered, covering up my pink cheeks. YoonYoon laughed a little and kissed my forehead.
"Hey guess what baby?" YoonYoon asked.
"What, YoonYoon?" I answered.
"YoonYoon's taking SeokSeok out shopping today," YoonYoon said in happy voice.
I gasped and squealed in excitement.
"Shopping with YoonYoon!" I cheered. YoonYoon laughed a little and kissed my forehead again.
"Let's wash up, eat, and then go, yeah?" Yoongi asked. I nodded happily and started getting out of bed but Yoongi's arms around me stopped me from going anywhere. I whined and looked at him again with a grumpy face.
"I haven't gotten my morning kiss yet Seokie," Yoongi said, raising his eyebrow. I giggled and pecked his lips. I wriggled my way out of his arms and got out of the bed. I skipped my way to the door with my tail flicking around happily, not caring that I didn't have my pajama pants on.
I went into the bathroom, going to the toilet to pee before flushing and going back to the sink. YoonYoon came in and wrapped his arms around my waist. I smiled and got my toothbrush and toothpaste. I started brushing my teeth while YoonYoon was kissing my neck and shoulders. I finished brushing my teeth and washing my face and turned to look at Yoongi.
"Your turn now!"
"Yes it is, Seokie baby."
Yoongi removed his arms from around me and starting brushing his teeth. He finished brushing his teeth and turned back to me with a smile. I smiled back. He took my hand and led me downstairs to the kitchen. He lifted me up and placed me gently on one of the kitchen counters. I shrieked a little at the coldness of the granite counter top against my bare thighs.
Yoongi smiled a little and headed over to the fridge, taking out the milk carton. He heated up the milk and went to a cupboard and opened it up, revealing all my milk bottles. He took them all out and stood them up on the counter next to me.
"Which one do you want today?" Yoongi asked with a soft smile. I looked over the bottles, trying to choose between the pastel purples, blues, pinks, and greens.
After a few moments, I pointed to a clear bottle with a baby blue cap that had small white hearts along the side. He took all the bottles except for the one I chose and put them back in the cupboard. Yoongi took the one bottle and filled it with the warmed up milk before handing it to me. I took it happily and started drinking the milk.
"Waffles today?" YoonYoon asked, getting out pans to prepare breakfast. I nodded happily and continued drinking. Yoongi started to make the waffles, making the batter and pouring it into the waffle maker as I watched.
-----------------
Soon we finished breakfast and we went upstairs to change into "outside clothes" YoonYoon called them.
Yoongi said that I could wear his clothing since all I really had was the pajamas and I didn't mind. I was actually looking forward to wearing his clothes because his sweaters look really comfy.
YoonYoon dressed me up in a white t-shirt and big grey hoodie and black skinny jeans. Yoongi wore a black hoodie with light blue ripped jeans. The sleeves of the grey hoodie fell past my fingertips and the hoodie came down to cover my butt.
"Do I look okay?" I asked Yoongi, a little unsure about myself.
"Of course you do, you look more than okay. You look beautiful. Especially since you're wearing my clothing," Yoongi responded with a small smile. He looked through a drawer of the nightstand for something before turning back to me. He had a collar in his hands.
I looked at the collar with curious eyes. YoonYoon unclasped the black collar and put it around my neck. It felt really tough and it strained my neck.
"Y-YoonYoon?"
"I'm sorry baby but you have to. Or else the pound is going to take you away. We'll buy you a nicer one today yeah? A pink or white one?" Yoongi asked. I nodded the best I could. Yoongi smiled before taking my hand and leading me out of the room and downstairs. He helped me into a pair of his sneakers. After putting his own shoes on, YoonYoon opened the front door and led me to his silver car parked in the driveway. He helped into the passenger seat and buckled me in before getting into the driver seat and buckling up. Yoongi started up the car and started driving to what I assumed was the mall.
-----------------
Yoongi led me through the large building with all the shops inside. I looked around in awe at all the colors and all the people, hybrids and humans. I saw a shop nearby that sold cute pastel clothing. I tugged on YoonYoon's arm and pointed at the shop. We started heading to the shop.
I looked around the whole shop with my mouth wide open, all the clothes looking very cute and just my style. I wanted all of them but I couldn't spend YoonYoon's money like that.
I went around picking out a few clothing items and showing them to YoonYoon for approval. He approved of all of them and I smiled widely.
"Daddy can I try them on?" I asked, not forgetting about the small deal we had about the names.
"Of course you can. Want me to come with you?" Yoongi replied.
"Yeah! But not in the room, waiting outside of the room," I said, specifying how I want him to wait.
"Sure Seokie," Yoongi chuckled. I walked off toward the fitting rooms and the lady showed me to a room I could change in. YoonYoon took a seat on the bench outside as I went into the changing room.
I changed into all the shirts and shorts and shoes and showed all the little outfits to Yoongi. Yoongi complimented each one and said that they all looked good on me.
"Can daddy buy me all of this please?" I asked, showing him the small pile of clothes I picked out. He nodded with a smile and I cheered.
"You know, you could wear that outfit out. Like you could just keep those clothes on when we walk out and go home," Yoongi said. I thought about it and agreed.
I stayed in my current outfit: a pale blue dress shirt with white ruffles and frills around the collar and cuffs, white bloomer shorts that cover the upper half of my thighs, white knee socks with light blue stripes, and black lace up shoes. I also had a plastic lavender flower crown on with pink ribbon at the ends and a thin white collar around my neck.
YoonYoon and I went to the cashier and YoonYoon paid for my clothes. I thanked him multiple times with kisses on his cheek and he didn't complain.
"Any other stores, baby?" Yoongi asked, holding my hand. I shook my head, deciding that I spent enough of YoonYoon's money for the day.
"Well YoonYoon has to go to the bathroom so stay here please? I'll be really quick," YoonYoon said, sitting me down at a bench in front of the bathrooms. I nodded and sat quietly. Yoongi smiled and walked off into the bathroom.
I sat on the bench quietly while swinging my legs. I looked around and saw a lot of hybrids around the area. There were puppy hybrids and cat hybrids and fox hybrids. They all looked like normal people other than their tails and ears and their collars. I was still looking around when I heard a voice speak from behind me.
"Well would you look at this kitty. His clothes look ridiculous. Don't you think, Tae?" |
You woke up to the sound of your phone buzzing, searching for the device you saw it was a video call from Nino.
"Yeah..." You responded rubbing your eyes as they adjusted to the light of day.
"Dudette we were wondering if you'll be coming to the Liberty, Luka is going to perform a song that the two fo you composed. Luka, tell Y/N to come!" Nino grabbed Luka so he will fit on the frame.
Luka could believe his eyes, to see you so relaxed and barely awake made his heart skip a beauty if anything you were a natural beauty in his eyes.
"No I'm not going, I got grounded so I'm staying home to rearrange the library." You wrapped your covers around your head and gave them a sad smile.
"Did you really get that much in trouble..." Alya came into view, she looked concerned.
"Yeah, even if I did finish early I still have lots of other punishments my mother gave me. Plus my dad is at home and he's inspecting how well I do the chores. "
Luka's heart sank a bit, are your parents really that harsh on your mistakes? Are they the reason why you didn't want to join the band in the first place?
A knock at your door caused you to yelp in surprise.
"Y/N hurry up the library isn't going to clean itself!" Your father's booming voice was heard from the other side.
"See ya guys, have fun." You gave them a small wave before hanging up.
As the call ended Luka's face couldn't hide his disappointment, it was true that Kitty Section was going to play the song the two of you arranged but it all went to waste if you can't see it. But what caused such a harsh punishment?
"Nino, Alya, do you know why Y/n got grounded?" Luka asked.
"We went to her house and Marinette broke an urn that had her great-aunt in it, so Mrs. L/n told Y/n not to bring such a big group like us or Marinette back again. Mrs. L/n gives the same vibes as Adrien's father but she's more passive-aggressive about it." Alya told him.
It was little information but he could deduce that indeed your parents did have a stronghold on you. Was that the underlying reason why you said no to his proposal?
"Nino, could you please record the band playing? I want to send it to Y/n." Luka spoke, Nino nodded at the simple request. "Thank you, I really wanted Y/N to see it live, maybe I'll perform it for her one day but it will have to wait..."
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
With all the buzz from the music festival, you couldn't help but think that today was a good day to steal the trafficked gems. The group of people who contacted you about their predicament didn't want to end like one of their friends who failed to mine the emeralds earlier that year. With enough information, you were able to pinpoint their next trip to get the jewels extracted from the group.
'It's both smart and sloppy to have the jewelers trade inside the store...'
You thought to yourself, it was one thing to have a warehouse to do all the illegal trades but this was both practical and controlled. Meaning there was no room for error.
After a few hours, Paris was filled with loud music from all sides, it was the perfect opening for the smuggler to enter the store. Using the front entrance was out of the question for you, you hand no choice but using the fire escape.
Knocking one by one the security personnel on the roof had little warning of your actions. Everything was calculated to the smallest detail... that is until you saw the Effiel tower get hit by... speakers?
"Great..." You muttered, entering the secured building you needed to close everything down before the transaction ended.
Checking to see if everyone was down you spotted the safe the hid all the gems and money. All that was left if to take them out of the building with the documents and cash.
'Maybe a little treat for myself...'
You couldn't help your sticky fingers as you saw the next collection of jewelry sitting idly in the office. It was for the next fashion expo, but they deserved a better fate than being an accessory for the rich.
After analyzing the pieces you decided to take them into your bag, there was nothing that could track them back to you. Plus it will be an early present for your mother when you see her the next time around.
The beeping of your earpiece gave you a bad taste, it wasn't supposed to beat unless there was bad news.
"Dove to Magpie, the superheroes are now with the villain we estimate you have around 10mins.
You huffed at the time crunch, moving the gems will be an easy task but you disliked being pressured to finish the job quickly. Luckily today was a busy day for the company in more ways than one. Which meant lax security if you had the correct uniform.
On cue, you took the delivery motorcycle set for the escape. Without much worry, you rode to the nearest checkpoint to get clear of the heist.
"Papers please..." The tired security asked as he looked at you, "All set but you'll have to wait till Ladybug does her thing."
Waiting for the signal clearance was going to be a hassle since the lockdown included most of the streets in Paris. Through your vizor helmet, you looked at the small TV the security guard had, it was broadcasting the superhero due fighting a weird villain.
"Honestly these are the only things that make my job less boring..." The guard spoke to you, you nodded eagerly.
"It makes my job harder though..." you faked an accent and the guard nodded at your statement.
"Miraculous Ladybug!" The screen yelled, everything went back to normal as Ladybugs engulfed the city.
"Alright see you next week..."
After a few miles around the city of Paris, you finally got to the shop the motorbike belongs to. Faking to go out to another delivery you disposed of the bike a few miles later.
Another job well done.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
"Today we had another villain run around Paris but the true scoop is the illegal emerald trade that has been going on for years in this prominent jewelry chain..."
The reporter's voice was rampant in all the screens as the music festival became background noise, everyone had too many questions on how could someone capitalize on such an event.
"All we have for sure is the link sent by Magpie assuring this was indeed their doing. Our station was lucky enough to have a written note from the thief! Not much is said other than the details of why this operation took place. Here's the document, it states:
Dear people of Paris, I work alone and all those robberies are not my doing. The link sent to your phones come from my own discoveries, don't trust anyone otherwise. Only the links sent to your phone and the letters given to these outlets.
"We also have news that Magpie left a little gift with the letter, sadly the Parisian police took it as evidence. But they did leave this giant graffitied bird, according to specialists its a Magpie! The police also found this adorable letter addressed to the CEO of the jewelry chain. For now on we will give you updates over the internet, Magpie themself has given us the true link to their antics please fo-"
Adrien paused the video as he arrived at your house. His father gave him permission to go see his friends perform and he wanted to share that experience with you as well.
Ringing the bell he came face to face your father.
"Adrien, it's nice of you to visit, are you here for Y/n? If so I'm sorry to say she's grounded..."
"I know that Mr. L/n but our friends are going to play a song Y/N helped compose and I want her to hear it. Could she please come with me just this once?" Adrien asked your father.
"Under one condition... you come over for dinner next week!" Your father exclaimed Adrien couldn't help but agree to his request. "Now then Y/n is in the basement go get her."
Adrien sprinted to meet you, it was his turn to come and save you even if you didn't need saving you will be his first priority. His feelings for you started to deepen from that day on...
---------------------------------------------------------------------
"So you bought these earplugs to lessen the noise of the band?" You asked Adrien as you looked at the items in your hand. They looked like small plugs you have seen your uncle wear in family reunions. Regardless you put them on and found them quite comfy to use.
"You said loud noises made you anxious so I brought these just in case."
You pinched Adrien's cheek in response to his actions, it was nice of him to remember that small detail.
"Thanks, Adrien!" You gave him a hug, to which he happily returned back with such force that he twirled you around a bit. The two of you laughed at the sudden outburst of affection.
"Y/n! Adrien!" Ivan's voice was too far to hear due to festivals happening around the place.
"Adrien is hugging Y/n?!" Mylene's loud whisper caught the attention of everyone on the boat, in a snap everyone was watching the scene unfold.
Marinette couldn't believe her eyes, you and Adrien were laughing as he held you in a tight hug. Not only that but he offered you his arm to interlock with yours as the two of you made way to the ship. Jealously fueled her mind, what took
"Hey, guys we're finally here!" Adrien exclaimed as all of his classmates huddled to the two of you, curious eyes at the sudden affection they witnessed.
"Y/n I thought you were grounded?" Alya asked, still skeptical at your sudden appearance.
"Y/n's father gave her permission," Adrien interjected, you only nodded at the sudden attention. "Plus she shouldn't miss the song she composed!"
You blinked at the sudden attention, from the looks of it neither Ayla or Marinette bought the story. Meekikly hiding behind Adrien you were debating if it really was a good idea to come here after all.
"I'm glad you're no longer grounded Y/n, come sit over here we have a spot for you." Luka's warm smile brought you to ease as you took the seat he offered to you.
Seeing Kitty Section rock out brought a smile to your face, even more when you saw Adrien play the keyboard part you composed. After every song, you clapped in excitement from the energy the band oozed. It was the first time you've seen a band, most of your time was filled with either rehearsals or training.
Not long after you found yourself dining on the pizzas your classmates bought to celebrate the festival.
"What's that on your ear Y/n?" Mylene asked when she spotted the earplugs.
"Adrien brought these noise reduction plugs. I get really anxious with loud noises..." You said sheepishly.
"So... you didn't listen to the music or what we told you?" Marinette interjected, causing your classmates to whisper among each other.
"I heard the music and when you guys spoke to me I was able to read your lips. Sorry to cause you guys trouble but I'm just really bad with sounds..." You scratched the back of your neck at the sudden peering eyes, it was still something you needed to get used to but it felt different when it came from people your age.
"Dudette that's so cool! How can you read lips?" Nino's enthusiasm broke the awkward air around your earbuds.
"My cousin is deaf, so we had to rely mostly on lip-reading when he couldn't sign some phrases. After a while, my cousins and I developed the habit to read lips in case we wanted to pull pranks on each other." Taking a bite out of your pizza you saw how your classmates were impressed with that small little fact.
"Y'know we don't know a lot about you Y/n..." Alya thought out loud causing you to stiffen and the possibility of telling your life story to strangers.
"I think Y/n will share that when she's ready." Luka remarked, if you didn't know better you would bet he was either a mind reader or knew enough body language to tell how you felt about the subject. You peacefully played with a loose strand of your hair as you thank the world for people like Luka.
"I'm not that special. I'm just Y/n L/n, who's in love with all forms of art." Your sudden declaration caught the ears of many. Some gave you doleful looks and others looked at you with more intrigue.
"Well anyway I think we should get going before your dad comes looking for you." You turned to Adrien who caught on and followed you out of the ship.
Once on dry land, you waived at your classmates' goodbye. Adrien and you decided to walk to your house and later call his driver to pick him up.
"Y/n, I think you're special. You've brought me many joys and freedoms to my life. Even now I'm happy to just walk with you." Adrien told you bashfully, you thanked the low lights of the streets because he couldn't see your red face.
"T-thanks that's sw-weet of you..." The sudden confession caused you to stutter a response. Out of everyone you couldn't believe he would praise you. "But really there's no need to praise me that high, I'm happy enough to be a shoulder you can lean on. You've grown on me a lot."
Now it was Adrien's turn to blush, your words impacted him profoundly enough to cause his heart to skip a beat. After Marinette and Chloe, you were the third girl he considered a true friend, but deep down he knew you were more than that to him.
"Would you like to come over and play videogames tomorrow? Nino asked me to come over but it'd be nice if you were there..." His words trailed off.
"You mean you need your golden ticket huh?" You pinched his cheek teasingly as you laughed at his weird way of asking you to help him out.
"Is that a yes?"
"Anything for you."
Adrien swore he was living a beautiful dream when he saw you smile at him.
|
As Sarah kissed him tenderly, one of Jareth's hands found its way to the back of her head while the other wrapped around her waist and pulled her closer. When their lips parted, Jareth covered her face with soft kisses. "Jareth…"
"Yes Precious?" He asked as he kissed along her jaw and down her neck.
She leaned her head to the side, giving him better access to her neck. "The things you suggested in some of my dreams…" She paused as she let out a tiny gasp as he bit the bottom of her ear.
"What of them?" His voice was deep and husky as he continued exploring and tasting the exposed skin of her neck.
"Do you really want to do those kinds of things to me?" She managed to ask before she moaned feeling his tongue caress the visible tops of her breasts.
Stopping his exploration of her body, Jareth lifted his head to look her in the eyes. "I want to do all of that and more." He kissed her roughly, sucking on her bottom lip before pulling back. "Everything I've done or suggested to you in a dream, I want to do them all to you." He kissed her again. "I want to see you bare, wet, ready and waiting for me." His lips kissed her cheeks. "I want to feel you lose yourself to my touch." His mouth traveled down her neck, licking, kissing, and nibbling. "I want to bury myself so deep in you that we are practically one." His hand pulled her shirt to the side allowing him to see the soft flesh of her shoulder. "I want to feel your body spasm around me repeatedly as I bring you to your peak over and over." He gently bit and sucked on the skin above her collarbone, leaving a large mark.
Sarah closed her eyes and moaned as his hands and mouth found every sensitive spot. His touches were soft and sensual and with the added sound of his voice telling her exactly what he wanted to do to her, she found herself putty in his hands. She knew she was already wet for him and she didn't know how much more teasing she could stand. "Jareth." His name came out almost as a growl as she moved to straddle him. She started quickly unbuttoning his shirt as her lips covered his in a searing kiss.
His hands grabbed hers and stopped their progression. "Relax love." He whispered as he tried to slow her down. "We have all night. No need to rush."
"I want…no, I need you." She pleaded as she tried to once again remove his shirt.
Lifting each of her hands to his lips, he kissed them tenderly. "I feel the same Precious, but I don't want our first time to be done in a rush." He kissed her wrists and placed her hands on his shoulders. "Before we get too far I need to know something, Sarah."
Sarah took a deep, ragged breath and calmed herself. "Alright, what do you need to know?"
"Other than our time together in your dreams, have you ever done this?" He asked softly.
"If you're asking if I'm a virgin, the answer is no. I've had sex a few times other than in my dreams." She responded.
Nodding, he kissed her forehead. "Understood." While he wasn't thrilled to know he wasn't her first, he was slightly relieved he wouldn't have to hurt her.
Seeing the mix of emotions wash over his face, Sarah held his head in her hands and made him look her in the eyes. "I know it's not the same in dreams, but if it makes you feel even a little better, you were the first."
"I was?"
Nodding, she kissed the tip of his nose. "I'll admit the first few times I dreamt of having sex with you was mostly because I was sexually frustrated. I was a hormonal teen and who better to imagine doing all kinds of naughty things with than the sexy villain of my youth. I had no idea you were really there."
"I figured that much. Although it was interesting to see you try to seduce me." He smirked.
"I wasn't… well not intentionally."
"Oh? So the skimpy outfits, the constant leaning against the wall in seductive poses, and licking your own lips weren't done to entice me?"
"Well, maybe a little." She admitted.
"And what of your choice of clothing tonight?" He asked as his hands ran over her ass.
"You can thank Tammi and Dani for this." She replied. "They refused to let me leave the dressing room at the store until I agreed to wear something sexy." She ran her hands through his hair as she spoke, her fingers lightly massaging his scalp.
Pulling her tight against him, Jareth smirked. "Now why would your sweet roommates want you to be sexy for that absurd party?"
"I think they wanted me to entice a certain Librarian that they believed would be attending." She answered as she softly ground her hips against him.
"And do you plan on following through with this scheme of theirs?" His hands were sliding under the back of her shirt and caressing every inch of skin they touched.
"Oh I believe things are going far better than even they hoped for, wouldn't you agree Mr. Kingsley." She said teasingly as she rubbed her nose against his.
"Do remind me to thank them later." He whispered before kissing her softly. "While you look stunning in the clothes they helped you pick out," He pulled her shirt up and over her head. "I believe you will look ravishing with them on the floor." He tossed the lavender blouse behind her and it landed near her boots, which he had removed when he first brought her in the tiny apartment. His hands began to slowly unfasten the bustier as his lips covered hers in a tender kiss. Soon it too landed on the floor and Sarah was left completely nude from the waist up.
"Jareth…" she sighed his name as he gently cupped her breasts.
He smiled at the look of pure joy on her face as he ran his thumbs over her hard nipples. Her head fell back as she moaned when he pinched them. Leaning forward, he took advantage of her exposed neck and nipped and sucked on it gently, not caring if he left marks. "So sensitive my dear." He whispered as he continued his caresses. "One would think no one has touched you like this before."
"They haven't…." Sarah's breathing was heavy and her heart was racing. "Only you…"
His smirk grew large as she lost herself to his touches. "I thought you said you've done this before?" He teased before licking her ear. "Were you fibbing?"
"No…." she shook her head.
"No what Precious?" He was enjoying himself a bit too much, but teasing her was so much fun, especially when she had trouble responding to him vocally.
He stopped moving his hands and simply kissed down her neck as he waited for her to answer. "They were rushed…" She closed her eyes and tried to calm her breathing a bit so she could explain. "They were clumsy, painful, and not…" She stopped as he pinched her sensitive buds again.
"Not what Sarah?" His lips kissed her chest and his tongue ran along the valley between her breasts.
"You. They weren't you." Sarah said as she gripped his shoulders, her nails digging in slightly. "It didn't feel anything like what you're doing now. Please Jareth," she pleaded, "don't stop."
"I have no intention of stopping now love." He assured her before he took her left nipple into his mouth, his tongue rolling all over it. As he lavished her left breast with licks, kisses, and occasional bites, his left had made sure her other hand wasn't ignored. Meanwhile, his right hand rubbed up her thigh slowly.
Sarah was so memorized by what he was doing to her breasts that she didn't even realize what he was doing with his other hand until she felt his fingers start to rub her through her tights and panties. She moaned loudly as he stimulated three of her most sensitive areas at once. "Jareth." She called out his name over and over.
Releasing her breasts, he kissed her as he continued to pet her center. "Oh Precious, your moans are music to my ears." He told her softly. He could feel her dampness even through two layers of clothing. "So wet my pet." She whimpered when he pulled his hand away from her. "Shhh love. I'm not done with you yet." He kissed her tenderly, his tongue sliding into her mouth to caress hers. Pulling back, he peppered her face with sweet kisses and allowed her to regain control of her breathing. "Can you stand?"
She looked at him with a confused expression but nodded. "I think so."
"Good. Stand for me." Sarah did as he asked and slowly stood up. He took her hands in his and let his eyes wander over her body. "So beautiful."
"Not bad yourself, even as a human," Sarah told him as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "So why did you want me to stand?"
"So I could do this." His hands slide around her and unzipped her skirt, letting it fall to the floor. "Much better." He grinned.
As he started to pull down her black tights, Sarah grabbed his hands. "Not so fast Goblin King." He tilted his head with a confused expression on his face. "You need to lose a few articles of clothes before you remove my last ones."
He chuckled. "Very well Sarah. What should go first?"
Smiling, Sarah returned to her previous task of unbuttoning his shirt. He watched her as her fingers unfasten button after button until she reached where his shirt was tucked into his pants. She pulled it until the dark blue fabric was free from his pants. When she had undone the last button, she ran her hands slowly up his stomach and chest, her eyes never leaving his. She pushed the shirt off his shoulders and he pulled his arms out of the sleeves. Sarah made quick work of his belt and soon had his slacks unfastened and unzipped. She knelt before him and gave him a coy smile. "Lift your hips." He did as she asked and soon she had his pants on the floor. She took each leg and lifted it out of his pants before removing his black socks for him.
As she sat between his legs, she couldn't help but notice the large bulge in his grey boxer briefs. "See something you like Sarah?" He questioned.
"Perhaps, unless that's a sock." She teased.
Standing, he grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. Pulling her flush against his body he let her feel for herself how hard he was for her. "I assure you that is no sock, my pet."
"Mmmm" she moaned softly as his hands firmly squeezed her ass. "Then I definitely see something like and want."
"Then you shall have it." He said before kissing her deeply. While his tongue danced with hers, his hands slowly pushed the black tights and her black panties down. He pushed them as low as he could and then broke their kiss. "But first I'm going to do something I've been longing to do."
"Wha..what are you going to do?" she asked as he kissed down her neck.
"You'll see." He responded as he kissed down her chest and stomach. As he knelt before her, his hands pulled her remaining clothing lower and lower. As his lips caressed her upper thigh, Jareth lifted her left leg and removed the tights. He massaged her foot gently before placing it back down and lifting her right one. He repeated the process and tossed the tights and her panties on the floor with the rest of her clothes. Looking up at her, he smiled. "You're even more radiant than what I saw in our dreams." He rubbed his cheek against her leg as he slowly spread her legs with his hands. "A meal fit for a king." He looked up into her eyes, his dark and lust filled. "Shall I devour you?"
Sarah simply nodded, as he throat was suddenly dry and his gaze had her captivated. As he kissed and licked her thighs, Sarah closed her eyes and ran her fingers through his blonde hair. "Jareth, please."
While the urge to tease her more was tempting, he was done being a tease. He was too close to what he wanted for so many years to delay any longer. After a light bite to her thigh, he licked her lips slowly, her wetness already seeping out. He held onto her legs to help support her as his tongue explored every inch of her folds and found her sensitive bundle of nerves. Sarah pulled on his hair and cried out as he massaged her clit. Pushing his tongue into her, he groaned feeling her nails scraping against his scalp. The vibration from his groan only served to increase the pleasure he was giving her. Pulling out, he rolled his tongue around her clit and sucked gently as he slowly pushed one finger inside her.
Sarah's knees were feeling weaker and weaker as the pleasure he was giving her increased. "Jareth… I'm…I can't…" When she nearly collapsed, he caught her and laid her on the bed. Before she could recover he was between her legs once more, his tongue licking her in long, slow motions. "Mmmm feels so good." She was practically purring.
Pushing two fingers in, Jareth suckled her clit and smiled when he felt her hands in his hair again. Thrusting his fingers in and out of her, he scrapped his teeth over her clit softly causing her to buck her hips against him. He smiled as she wrapped her legs around his head cried out his name. As he continued using his tongue on her clit, he added a third finger and quickened his pace. Soon he felt her muscles tense and spasm. He slowed his fingers and after she rode out her orgasm and released her grip on his head, he licked her fingers and her clean.
When he climbed up to lay beside her, Sarah was breathing heavily, her eyes closed and a pleased look on her face. Chuckling lightly, Jareth brushed her hair back and kissed her neck. "You're not going to sleep on me are you?"
"You mean I'm not dreaming already?" She grinned. "That was incredible. It didn't feel anywhere near this good in my dreams."
"Well in dreams all I can is act it out. It's up to you to imagine the actual feel since I'm not physically touching you. Yet another reason I had to come find you." He told her as he kissed her shoulder. "I needed to taste you for myself and gods are you sweet. I think I'm already addicted to you."
"If I had known it would feel that good I would have called for you a lot sooner." She gave him a soft smile as she rolled over to face him.
"And it's not over yet Sarah." He said before kissing her passionately. "I need you." He whispered.
"I'm all yours Jareth." She said sweetly as she caressed his cheek. She watched him stand and remove the last piece of clothing he was wearing and observed him with interest as he opened the top drawer on the table by the bed.
Holding up the item he had retrieved he shrugged. "I normally wouldn't worry about such a thing as I can use magic to protect you from becoming pregnant, but well I'm human and short on magic at the moment." He explained nervously.
Smiling she sat up and took the condom from his hand. "It's fine Jareth. I'm touched that you planned ahead. Honestly, the thought didn't even occur to me to have protection. I guess I just feel that safe with you." She opened the wrapper and slipped the open end over his fully erect penis as she pinched the other end between her fingers. Slowly she rolled the condom over him until it covered his entire shaft. Laying back and resting her head on the pillow, Sarah smiled at him with her hand held out to him in invitation.
He stood there smiling at her for a moment before he joined her on the bed. Climbing over her, he positioned himself between her legs and gently rubbed his tip against her opening. "Ready Precious?" He asked as he gazed into her eyes.
She lifted her hips towards him and pushed the tip inside. "Please Jareth, don't make me wait any longer."
He leaned down and covered her lips with his as he slid inside her slowly inch by inch giving her time to adjust. When he was fully sheathed within her, he moaned and rested his head against hers. "You're so tight Sarah." She moaned as he pulled back until only the head was inside. He wanted to thrust into her hard and fast, but he also wanted to make this as enjoyable for her as he could. So he slid back in slowly, going only a little faster than before. He repeated this several times, going faster each time until Sarah begged him to go faster. He happily fulfilled her request and thrust deep into her. Rotating his hips each time until she cried out telling him he had found the spot. He continued thrusting into at that angle earning a loud moan or her screaming his name each time he hit that spot. He could feel himself getting close. He wasn't sure if it was being human that had decreased his usual stamina or if it was simply the joy of finally having his Sarah, no matter which it was he felt better than he ever had and only hoped he could hold out long enough to give Sarah the same bliss.
"Jareth…" she chanted his name as she clung to him, her nails raking up and down his back leaving red marks. Just as before it felt 20 times better than her dreams and 1000 times better than when she had sex with someone else. Sarah could feel the tightness in her abdomen growing and knew it wouldn't be long before she came again. "Close…" she mumbled as she wrapped her legs around him.
Wanting her to come with him, Jareth worked his hand between them and used his fingers to stimulate her clit. "As am I love." He kissed her and continued thrusting hard and fast. "Come with me, Sarah." He told her and a moment later he felt her muscles tighten around him and spasm as she had her second orgasm, which was enough to send him over the edge. He called her name out as his body shuttered and his seed spilled into the condom. It felt odd to him, but he wasn't going to complain because it was still the most incredible thing he had ever felt.
After the last wave of pleasure washed over them and their muscles relaxed a bit, Jareth rolled over on to his back, completely out of breath. Not ready to be completely separated from him, Sarah rolled over and snuggled next to him, her head resting on his chest. "That was…."
"Phenomenal." He finished for her.
Nodding, she ran her hand over his chest. "Good word."
He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her forehead. After his breathing slowed down a bit, he smiled at the woman in his arms and kissed her cheek. "I have to say though you look gorgeous after you climax. You simply glow with beauty, my love."
Blushing from his compliments, she kissed him tenderly. "I'd say it was because of you working your magic, but you claim to be human. Although with how wonderful you made me feel I'm beginning to question that."
Laughing lightly, Jareth rubbed her back soothingly. "That was all me, no magic involved." He kissed her softly and simply enjoyed the feel of her naked flesh against him.
Sarah felt better than she ever remembered feeling. She smiled to herself as she thought about it. There she was, naked and in the arms of the Goblin King. It wasn't a dream or a fantasy. He was really there and they had just had the most incredible sex, better than she could even imagine. She closed her eyes as she began to feel tired and knew she would be safe in his arms for the night.
Seeing her close her eyes, Jareth squirmed a little. "Uh Sarah, I have a favor to ask before you go to sleep."
Opening her eyes, she sat up and looked at him. "Is everything alright?"
"Well its just that thing is beginning to get a bit uncomfortable…." He motioned to the filled condom on his slightly limp but still rather large member.
"Ah, got it." She giggled a little and jumped up to go to the restroom. Her legs were a little wobbly, but she managed to walk to the bathroom and retrieve the toilet paper. After cleaning herself up a bit she hurried back out to Jareth who looked a little annoyed.
"Really Sarah, I ask for assistance and you giggle and go relieve yourself?"
Shaking her head she tossed the toilet paper at him. "No, I went to get something to clean you up with your highness." She said mockingly.
"Oh." He picked up the toilet paper and watched as she slowly pulled the condom off. Taking the paper from him, she tore a bit off and used it to wipe off the semen that had dripped out. She took her time and cleaned him thoroughly before taking the used toilet paper and condom and dropping them into the trashcan.
Returning to his side, Sarah resumed her previous task of using him as a pillow. "There all better now."
He smirked and shook his head. "Much better, thank you, my dear." He kissed the top of her head and then rested his chin on it. "Going to sleep?"
"Hmm, I think so." She replied sleepily. She covered her mouth as a large yawn escaped. "You better be here when I wake up." She warned.
"Fear not Precious. I shall be here when you awaken and even after that. I'm not letting go of you anytime soon." He told her.
"Good I have a lot of questions for you after my nap." She snuggled closer and closed her eyes again.
"And I will happily answer them." He rubbed her back and hummed quietly until she was fast asleep and then he too soon succumb to his exhaustion and joined her in sleep. |
Bilbo settled himself into and overly large (to him) chair and curled his shaking fingers around the cup of tea Elrond had so generously provided. How did one go about explaining a situation like his? Because he was certain saying: well you see Lord Elrond, orcs attacked the Shire and I’m pretty sure every hobbit except us is deceased. Also, I’m pretty sure you can go ahead and declare hobbits extinct, seeing as the only remaining individuals are males, would go over soooo well. This had to be handled with a bit more finesse than that. Bilbo took a deep breath before throwing himself into it.
"As you have no doubt guessed, this journey was far from social in nature."
Lord Elrond sipped his tea with elven grace after which he replied:
"Indeed, though it is rare for hobbits to travel, it is unheard of of doing so with such young ones. In fact, I believe it hasn’t been done since the wandering days."
"It hasn’t. But this, much like the wandering days, is a dire situation which required such things. You see there has been and attack on the Shire. "
Losing his elven composure, Elrond said in a bewildered tone:
"An attack on the Shire? But the past winter was quite mild, it cannot have been wolves like the fell winter. Who would attack hobbits?"
Bilbo sighed.
"It was orcs…"
"Orcs? Orcs attacked the Shire… Oh dear."
They both sat in silence. The air in the room was thick with sadness. After a time, Lord Elrond spoke once more.
"Is there… Is there anything left?" It was a well-known fact that hobbit could do very little to protect themselves, especially in the face of orcs. An orc raid would have been devastating.
"No", was the only reply he received.
"I will send troops to help the survivors and look after the other settlements…"
Bilbo interrupted him before he could continue. His voice was colder then Elrond had ever heard.
"Don’t bother, when I said no, I meant it. There is nothing left. No survivors and no settlements."
The silence that followed was even heavier than the first one.
"And what of the orcs?"
"They have been dealt with." The glint in Bilbo’s eye telling him exactly who had done the dealing. Taken aback, Elrond simply stared at Bilbo bewildered.
"But how!?"
"You will find, Lord Elrond, that I am a far deadlier hobbit then when I left." Lord Elrond simply continued to gape.
"On that note, I do feel the need to wipe Arda of every orc that inhabits it, well much like those vile things have done to hobbits. I imagine you understand the sentiment. As such, I will be joining your hunting parties whenever they go on small expeditions as I cannot leave Frodo and Sam for too long. "
The Lord of the last homely home did indeed understand the burning hatred that inhabited the hobbit. He felt much the same about his wife’s assailants. But he simply could not allow such a vulnerable creature to put itself in harm’s way.
"I understand that you may have had the ability to take down an orc or two, but I simply cannot in good conscience allow to leave with one of my hunting parties. It’s far too dangerous. Think of your children."
"Then perhaps we should set up a small demonstration? If I can defeat on member of the teams usually sent out, then I shall win the right to accompany them, if I do not, I will forget the idea, no harm done."
Elrond sighed, he knew how determined the hobbit would get. He would most likely sneak out alone if he refused him and that would be far more dangerous.
"If this is the only way you shall abandon this foolish idea, then so be it. I shall tell my men to do no lasting harm and have a healer on hand."
Bilbo answered with a smile that was all teeth.
***
The training grounds were calm and mostly empty at this time of day. Which was nice thought Bilbo, the elves he was about to beat would probably not like for this to get around. It would be like beating his first ranger, their surprise would be intensely hilarious. Elrond looked grave and resigned as he summoned one of the hunting parties. Their faces were priceless when he told them what they would be doing. It was as if he had just asked them to beat up a child. Which, in their defence, he looked like to them. With none of them stepping up to volunteer, Elrond chose the one he knew to be the weakest and told him to get into position. It was with a concerned voice that he told them to begin.
3.5 seconds is the time it took Bilbo to have the elf on his arse with a sword to his neck. The elves looked on, blinking as if their eyes were deceiving them. The beaten elf stared up at Bilbo in utter confusion.
"Do you yield?" Bilbo said in a monotone voice as if all of this bored him terribly. That’s when all hell broke loose.
A high pitched battle roar sounded not too far away. Recognizing the voices as that of his fauntlings, Bilbo broke out into a run towards them. Soon sounds of scuffles and fighting were heard. He had thought they would be safe here. Had an orc followed them? Had be left one alive? How could there be an attack in Rivendell, why weren’t the twins protecting his boys!? That’s when he came onto the scene.
Elladan, Elrohir and Arwen were all staring dumfounded at the portrait before them and Bilbo couldn’t help doing the same. Laughter bubbled up in his throat. There, before him, were his fauntlings viciously attacking a bewildered Gandalf. Sam had one arm the wizard’s neck and the other was busy tugging out his hair, while Frodo Hung from his beard.
"Boys… boys… BOYS!!" Bilbo shouted, he was rewarded by three heads swiveling towards him. "Just what are you doing?" He tried to keep his voice steady and calm as laughter threatened to erupt. He was receiving a certain satisfaction from seeing the wizard like this. Bilbo thought it was only fair after what he had done. His fauntlings ran towards him and hid behind his back.
"Papa Bilbo! It’s the evil dragon-wizard, you have to stop him before he steals princess Arwen!" Exclaimed Sam. Bilbo snorted before kneeling down in front of the boys.
"Boys, that isn’t the evil wizard, that’s Gandalf the gray."
The two fauntlings stared at the newly named wizard in awe.
"Oh he’s the wizard from your quest!! But, what kind of good wizard wears a gray cloak? Shouldn’t he wear white?"
***
Bilbo hummed as he tucked the boys into bed. After their misunderstanding with Gandalf was all cleared up they had hounded the wizard for the rest of the day in hopes of seeing magic. Bilbo was happy they were still safe, he only had so many places he could turn to. He made a note to search for the ring’s significance as soon as possible.
But alas it was not to be. Life moved on at a rapid pace and a routine had set in. Bilbo would go out with the hunting parties every day while Sam and Frodo had their lessons and would come back at night thoroughly exhausted. He would then spend time with the boys, bathe them and send them off to bed. Sometimes they would have nightmares and join Bilbo in his bed. Sleep was a rare luxury when one had two little fauntlings. As it was, it took three months before Bilbo had time to go to the library.
He walked through the dusty isles in search of a volume on magical jewellery. He would start large then narrow it down. It took him a few hours to track down a promising volume. What he found there was rather disquieting. He had been carrying the one ring of Sauron. He had been carrying and using the one ring of Sauron for almost two years. Yavanna’s tits, why did these things always happen to him?
***
Many, many miles away, deep in the lonely mountain, a raven flew to a perch in a rather lavish study. This wasn’t just any raven arriving in any study. No this was the King’s personal raven arriving in his study. And tonight, the Raven brought grave news. Indeed, he had been sent with a formal letter of apology for one Bilbo Baggins of the Shire. Only, there was no Shire, not anymore. It had been burned to the ground, no survivors remained. The king dropped his head into his hands and wept bitterly for his fallen friend. |
'Hello there! What are you looking for today?'
Hazel blinked at the entirely unfamiliar girl behind the desk in the front room of Ollivander's, temporarily blindsided. She was young, probably just out of Hogwarts, wearing a bright smile and a peculiarly muggle-looking tee shirt, round face framed with a wild mess of dirty blonde hair. The girl was apparently minding the shop alone, Hazel didn't see Ollivander anywhere, couldn't feel the song of his mind hidden waiting in the cluttered little room...though it was possible she couldn't hear it through the dense, giggling clouds of wands sitting idle — it was very noisy in here, on a magical level, despite how still and calm it looked.
Actually, now that Hazel looked closer, she wasn't entirely unfamiliar: her wide eyes were an unnatural, gleaming silver almost identical to the creepy wandmaker's.
As surprised and confused as both Hazel and Mum were, Ted answered first. 'Hello again, ah... It was Zoë, right?'
The girl wrenched her eyes away from Hazel, with what looked like undue difficulty — Hazel hissed a curse to herself, fought to draw her magic close against her, hold it from wandering away. (Damn lilin mind powers were such a bloody pain to control, like trying to walk around doing things while constantly cupping water in her hands.) 'Oh! Mister Tonks? Dora's dad?'
'Such is my burden to bear. I see you did end up going into that apprenticeship after all.'
'It took quite a lot of wheedling and begging but, yeah, here I am.'
A quick round of introductions followed. To do the thing properly, Zoë Ollivander, who was apparently the creepy wandmaker's granddaughter — somehow Hazel hadn't thought of Ollivander as the sort of man who had children, it was a weird thought — stood up and came around the desk, approaching a more appropriate distance for polite conversation. Which, Hazel would much rather she hadn't done that: her soul was very pretty, a twisting maelstrom of throbbing power and ethereal, wandering melodies, chaotically intertwined, it was seriously bloody distracting, it took all the self-control Hazel had to keep her own magic to herself, to not...reach out for it, to dive in and wrap herself up in it, like snuggling into a very comfortable bed with warm fuzzy blankets, it was just...
Being a lilin was hard.
You know, other teenagers need to learn to control their hormones too.
There was quite a large difference between suppressing the urge to up and snog someone and the urge to eat them. Weird soul magic eating, but still, not the same thing.
It sort of is the same thing, actually, lilin are just bloody weird.
Also, the obvious innuendo.
Hazel smirked. She hadn't meant to make that joke, took Mum doing it as another sign she was...doing better, she guessed. She'd been a bit odd for almost a year now — and that was before she'd been panicking about Hazel's weird lilin illness there, and her extreme discomfort with their lilin relatives existing, and all the screwing around. (She realised Mum still had very human feelings about sex and stuff, but it was honestly baffling, and just tedious to deal with over and over.) Apparently she was getting used to it, which could only be a good thing.
She had been isolating her thoughts somewhat — not even intentionally keeping them private, it was sort of just a consequence of trying to hold in her sexy lilin magic — so Mum probably didn't get any precise details. But she still caught that affectionate exasperation anyway.
'So, what are you coming in for? I mean, you must have a wand already,' Zoë said, turning back to Hazel (the music of her mind dulling somewhat as Zoë shored up her occlumency), 'should have only gotten it a year or two ago, right? I can't imagine something's gone wrong with it already.'
'Yes, well, it was never quite suited for me in the first place, was it?' Hazel pulled the thing out, giving it an awkward little wiggle. Even without trying to actively channel any magic through it, it still felt bloody uncomfortable, little sparks of interference shivering down her fingers. It hadn't been a perfect match when she'd gotten it, no, but it'd gotten much worse when she'd met the sky. She'd only tried to use it once, immediately given it up as a bad, bad idea. 'This was always sort of a rental. Ollivander told me to come back later...though he didn't actually tell me why. I didn't know I was a lilin at the time, you know, had no bloody clue what he was talking about.'
To be fair, he probably didn't know you didn't know.
But if he thought Hazel had known what she was, not talking about it like a normal person made no bloody sense.
Unless he was under the impression the Tonkses hadn't been informed, and didn't want to out you. It does sort of make sense, from a certain point of view. However irritating it is.
If Mum was annoyed with him anyway, why was she bothering to defend him?
I'm just saying, there's no reason to be snippy with him when you get to talking to him about it. It wasn't malicious.
Hazel grumbled to herself — most kids didn't have to deal with their mother nagging them from inside their head, Mum never let her have any fun.
As though you don't ignore my advice eighty per cent of the time anyway.
She did not! Maybe, like, sixty...
Mum mentally rolled her eyes, retreated a bit to force Hazel to focus on the conversation. Tee hee.
Zoë looked momentarily confused, blankly blinking at Hazel's useless wand, before her eyes widened, her lips parting in a silent oh. 'Right, I doubt lilin magic works with wands intended for humans very well. You just met the sky this summer, I'm guessing.'
'Wait, how do you know about that?' Hazel had gotten the impression lilin (and veela) didn't tell humans these things...
With a little shrug, Zoë said, 'I don't, really. I have no idea what it is, I just know it's a thing that happens to the People, that their magic is changed afterward. It's used as an extreme case in a few texts on personal magical development, but all the writers were human — if they had known any of the details, they hadn't written them down.'
'Oh.' Well, okay, that sort of made sense. Lilin had been around forever, it wasn't exactly a surprise researchers might have deduced they went through some kind of metamorphosis, even if they didn't know anything about it. 'Right. Anyway, yeah, that happened just last month. This thing worked sort of okay before that, but it's completely useless now.'
One of Zoë's eyebrows ticked up a notch. 'You went a whole month without coming in for a replacement?'
'It wasn't a whole month, just a couple weeks. And I was in bloody Egypt for most of it, I've only been back in the country for a few days. Also, wandless magic.' When it came down to it, most of the magic she used day-to-day she just did, she only needed a wand for the big stuff. Besides, she'd been rather busy learning special lilin fire magic, and also just...getting used to not being human anymore. She'd been busy, okay.
No call to be so defensive, Hazel. There was a subtle mocking shade to the thought, barely there but sort of hard to hide when their minds were touching.
Hazel knew that. Shut up.
'Right, well. None of our pre-made wands will be any good with lilin magic, you'll need a custom one. Grandfather's in the workshop right now, come on.'
In the back of the room, hidden behind rows of stacked up boxes of wands, was a thin door, narrow enough they had to go single-file, coming into a surprisingly large room, bigger than the one in front, the ceiling rather higher. (It had to be expanded, Hazel was pretty sure this place was wider than the lot the shop was on.) All along one wall were dozens and dozens of lengths of wood at various stages of preparation — some were carved down to simple impressions of wands, but there were a few rough branches seemingly hacked straight off of trees. Another wall was filled with cabinets floor to ceiling, each one marked with little chicken-scratch labels, the wall at the back lined with equipment, much of which was foreign, but she did recognise tools meant to carve runes into wood, though much more miniaturised than she'd seen before. Dozens and dozens of runes were worked into the stone floor — from the look of it, wards to limit interactions with ambient magic, a circle in the middle that looked really similar to duelling wards, containing any magic cast inside of them, and spots here and there in the rest of the space marked with...analysis spells, looked like. It looked like a script to pick apart a magical field and project an image of it into the air around the object it was analysing, automatically, neat.
When they walked in, the elder Ollivander was sitting in a chair by all the big pieces of wood, chopping off the little twigs and slicing away the bark of a lengthy branch. With a bloody knife, because a lot of this stuff was done by hand, apparently. It was obviously an enchanted knife, each stroke taking off more shite more easily than it should, the resulting cut smoother and more even, but still a knife.
Ollivander didn't look up as they walked in, spoke with that drifting, airy voice of his while still focused on his work. 'Hello again, Mister Tonks, Lady Potter. I take it the time has come to make you a proper wand.'
'I guess. Did you know I'm a lilin the whole time?'
'Of course.' Though he said it naturally, automatically, he stilled a moment after, his peculiar, too-large silver eyes blinking. He slowly turned to stare up at her, his normally loose hair being tied back making his look of blank surprise more obvious than it might have been otherwise. 'Did you not?'
'No,' she said, the word coming out more as a grumble than proper English. 'I don't think anybody did! I had no idea until Blaise sodding Zabini told me, a couple months into first year. How could you tell, anyway?' Hazel realised she sounded a bit...childishly petulant, but come on, this whole not-being-human thing would have been much easier if people had just bloody told her, really...
'I've not always run my family's workshop.' Ollivander set his branch aside, stood up to start drifting toward them with that odd absent grace of his. His magic was very much like his granddaughter's, light and drifting, almost eerie, but they were both just so soft and colourful and pretty, it took some effort for Hazel to focus on what he was saying. 'After my apprenticeship was completed, but before my uncle retired, I wandered the world for a time, funding the trip by plying my craft here and there, observing the techniques of other wandcrafters and experimenting with new ones of my own. I spent a number of months with veela communes in France and Illyria, and later visited the People's ancient homeland in Armenia. I crafted no small number of wands during that time, mostly for veela children but occasionally for others. I am quite familiar with the feel of a lilin's magic, before they meet the sky as well as after.'
Okay, well, fair enough. 'Did you know my mum was Flightless too? 'Cause, she had no idea at all, you know.'
'I hadn't put that together at the time, no, though it is obvious in retrospect.' Ollivander cocked an eyebrow a centimetre, a shadow of a smile crossing his face. 'Unless you prefer to dwell on history long past, perhaps we should get to the matter at hand, yes?'
Hazel huffed. Fine, fine, she guessed it didn't really matter. She was still annoyed, though.
A little bit of shuffling around, and Ollivander had her standing over a cluster of runes on the floor, one of the enchantments to analyse magic and such. He activated the thing with a wave of his hand, glowing shapes of twisting colour appearing in a halo around her. It was a meaningless rainbow fog to Hazel — she couldn't really see her own magic the way she could other people's, but that's not what it looked like to her...not that Hazel was sure what colourful music would "look" like in the real world — but it must make sense to the professionals. They peered at the lights around her, humming and muttering to each other. It was hard to tell, they were hardly even speaking in complete sentences, but she got the feeling Ollivander was testing his granddaughter somehow, waiting for her to come to the proper conclusions. After saying something about unicorns and deciduous trees, they were both slinking off, the elder poking around the cabinets and the elder to grab an armful of roughly wand-shaped lengths of wood.
In this little pause, Hazel leaned past the colourful lights around her to find Ted. 'Er, Dad?' Calling him that was still slightly awkward because, well, she'd never actually had someone to call that before, and she wasn't entirely sure that when she said it she meant the same thing people thought she meant when she said it, because feelings things were bloody complicated and confusing and people could be very bloody strange about family, but she also wasn't sure how much of that was everybody else being silly and not really her problem, so she just tried to ignore it. 'I think this might take a while, if you wanted to run down to the Archives instead.' He probably did have work to do, after all.
'Oh, sure. You know where to find me?'
'Mm-hmm.'
Ted wandered off to leave Hazel with the Ollivanders, though not without ruffling her hair first — Hazel pouted at his back, but didn't even bother trying to sort it again, her hair was always bloody hopeless.
She meant, she probably could get it to behave if she wanted to, but that would involve a lot of potions and charms and shite, and that just sounded like far too much time and effort for something she really didn't care about that much. Besides, if she did actually start trying, then Gabbie Delacour would inevitably win at the trying-to-be-pretty thing, and that was just unacceptable. She'd rather not play at all than play and lose.
(Hazel could practically feel Mum rolling her eyes at her, despite not actually having eyes to roll.)
The process of figuring out the wand thing was comparatively simple, if slightly weird. Ollivander would take one of the bits of rough, unpolished wood from Zoë — she was having trouble holding on to all the blank pre-wands she had, she'd grabbed like a dozen of them, kept nearly dropping them — wrap a long silvery unicorn hair he'd pulled out of a cabinet around it, then press the thing into Hazel's hand, wrap her fingers around it. (There was obviously some kind of isolation charm around the unicorn hair, odd and slippery.) Gazing at the glowing shapes around her, he'd cast a few wandless charms, little bursts of song and colour splashing across her, the halo around her shifting in response. And then he'd take it back, wrap the hair around another bit of wood, try again.
The silence eventually got awkward, Hazel asked a question just to have something to do with herself. 'If you're just gonna use normal wand parts, why won't one of the normal ones out there work?'
'Because your wand will not be quite ordinary when it's finished.' Ollivander paused for a moment, peering at the glowing shapes around her, shook his head and reached for another bit of wood. 'Lilin are similar enough to humans that the traditional wood-based wand will work perfectly fine — they are not like, for example, goblins or elves, who typically require instruments formed of stone or metal — but the character of their magic is altogether different. Humans are peculiar among magical beings in that our innate magic is universal in a way others' simply are not; we may be inclined toward one form of magic or another, but this is a preference, not an exclusivity. While other beings are often far more restricted, humans are unique in that we can learn to channel whatever forms of energy we wish, if some rather more efficiently than others.
'Of the three magical catalysts I prefer to work with, veela and lilin both will find they will only have any success with one. Phoenixes are, of course, given to the light, and as such veela will find any spell they cast with a phoenix-core wand will manifest distinctly light in character, which may cause charms that are not intended to be such to fail; lilin, on the other hand, cannot use phoenix-core wands at all. Dragons, despite their wild and violent natures, are magically neutral, and as such a dragon-core wand will produce only light-tinted magic when wielded by a veela, and dark-tinted by a lilin, with all the complications that presents. But unicorns, being deeply ambivalent creatures as strongly steeped in the dark as they are the light, their magic can neutralise or augment the natural character of a veela or lilin as necessary — though, of course, the script carved into the wood must be altered to accommodate this process.'
Wait, was that true? About unicorns being deeply ambivalent, or whatever. Hazel had thought they were light creatures.
They are and they aren't. In old ritual and nature magics, unicorns were seen as symbols of both, sort of. They were closely identified with the moon, light themselves but of a kind inseparable from the darkness around them. And, well, unicorns are one of the few non-being creatures that can actually cast magic, and it can be either light or dark — intensely one or the other, but never in the middle.
That was sort of...weird. She'd thought, with the whole only going near someone pure of heart...thing...
One needn't be light to be pure of heart — I've actually gone out into the Forest to ride unicorns with Cassie, and you certainly couldn't call me light.
Hazel got a mental image of Mum riding a unicorn through the Forbidden Forest, jumping and dipping through the trees with her hair streaming behind her. It was simultaneously sort of badass and, just, completely ridiculous. How do you ride a unicorn, anyway...
Carefully.
She snorted. But okay, fine, wasn't there a whole virgin thing? Had Mum ever had sex by then?
Yes. With Cassie, in fact.
...Oh.
The virginity thing is a misunderstanding anyway, due to admixture with Continental Christian cultural ideas. It's not as though having sex does something to your magic a unicorn would be able to feel.
And it's also a misunderstanding that a unicorn won't approach someone who isn't pure of heart. They might, however, violently slaughter anyone they feel is a threat. Hence, dark.
Right. Okay, that...sort of made sense, she guessed.
I still think it's sort of weird anyway, but Ollivander is the expert with this stuff.
Yeah, true.
While Hazel had been distracted by unicorns being weird, and the fact that Mum and one of her lovers back at Hogwarts used to sneak out into the Forest to...shag under the stars and ride unicorns, apparently, because Mum was just completely ridiculous sometimes, Ollivander had been going on a ramble about how wands lilins could actually use were different than normal ones. Something to do with the enchantments on them being different...somehow? She didn't know, she hadn't been listening. Mum being adorable but also kind of insane schoolgirl lesbians with the editor of the Quibbler's little sister was far more interesting than wandlore babble, sue her.
But, whatever was going on, she'd apparently missed something, because Ollivander was giving her a patient, expectant sort of look, Zoë trying not to smirk. 'Er, sorry?'
'I was saying, Your Grace, that we will need to attune the internal magic of the wand to your own somehow. The easiest way to do this is with one of your hairs.'
'Oh!' Hazel reached up to her head, working at isolating one of the things — really, talking like it was so serious, it wasn't that big of a—
'A true hair.'
She blinked. 'Huh?'
I think he means a feather.
'They're not really hairs, you know, they're definitely feathers. Calling them hairs is just sort of confusing.'
Zoë outright laughed — apparently, she agreed, giving her grandfather's back an exasperated sort of look, shaking her head as she chuckled to herself. 'Whatever you wish to call it, it is of you, Lady Potter. The magic forcing you into human form, no matter how instinctive and flawless it may be, leaves traces that would interfere with the operation of your wand. If you would like to change in private...'
Oh, well, he did kind of have a point: the dress she was wearing right now hadn't been lined to shift with her, she would have to take off her clothes. (She could just do it, of course, but that would kinda tear her dress apart, and then she'd have nothing to wear leaving the shop.) And normal people did get kinda weird, when you just take your clothes off in front of them. She still didn't entirely get why, yes, but she did understand it was a thing. So, yeah, if she were going to do that, she should go off somewhere by herself for a minute, if nothing else the Ollivanders would be more comfortable that way.
Mum was trying to hide her faint exasperation, faded from familiarity, but she wasn't doing a very good job of it.
But she didn't think she actually had to shift back all the way. 'No, that's okay, I should be able to just...' Frowning to herself, Hazel ran her fingers along the underside of her arm. See, she wasn't actually human anymore, technically, this wasn't her arm — she didn't even have arms, she had wings now. She always had feathers, even when she was human-shaped, they were just...hidden, sort of. She should still be able to get at them, even while human-shaped.
She just had to...sort of...reach through herself, and...
Hazel slowly dragged her arm through the air, reaching for that lilin fire magic stuff, but didn't let it wash all the way over her like it usually did, just...holding it, kinda. Leaving it stuck in her arm (wing), black and purple flames flickering in its wake, she reached into the fire, cool and tingly on her fingers, but she touched nothing but air. She tried again, pushing a bit more magic into it, and she actually felt her feathers this time, soft and smooth against her fingertips — which was kinda weird, because she couldn't see them, just a smear of black and purple fire trailing behind her arm — but only barely, slipped past before she could get a grip on any. So she put a little more power in, and went faster, snapping her hand out and—
'Ah!' Hazel jumped, her hand clamping over her arm by instinct, hissing through her teeth. Okay, that hurt, way more than she thought it would, the dull, warm pain of a blunt hit with a worse bit in the middle, like someone had stabbed a hot needle into her skin and then punched her in the same spot, it was awful, why did she do these things to herself...
Perhaps casting a numbing charm first would have been a good idea.
Oh, now Mum said it, when it was too late to do any good, thanks for that.
Shaking her arm out, the stinging pain only slowly fading away, Hazel bent over, snatched the feather up from where she'd dropped it at her feet. 'Right, will this one do?'
Ollivander was giving her a...not quite judgemental look, but something close, calling her a bloody idiot with his eyes in the most polite way possible. But he didn't say anything, taking the feather from her, everything about the way he moved humble and respectful. He turned her feather around in his hands, eyes slowly trailing over it, sparks of magic flickering in the air. 'Yes, this one will do nicely, I believe. If anything, I might need to script in a down-tap.'
'...What?'
'Lilin are magical beings, and their feathers have magical properties of their own — rather like phoenixes, if not quite so intensely and of a much different character. In fact, it is perfectly possible to build a wand around a lilin feather alone, though the range of spells it could produce would be somewhat more narrow, and would be quite temperamental in the hand of a human mage. When used in conjunction with another core, I would usually recommend avoiding taking a flight feather, as they tend to be the most intensely magical. Between the power in the feather, the unicorn hair, and whatever you provide to the spell, it is possible so much magic could be forced into the wand it would be incinerated from the inside out. A down-tap would, essentially, vent any excess magic into the environment, preventing such a thing from happening. Maple has a high tolerance to begin with, so it's not particularly likely, but better safe than sorry.'
Oh, so that's why that hurt so much — she'd gone and plucked out one of her own flight feathers, that probably wasn't good for her. Actually...it wasn't that bad, was it, she didn't have to wait for it to grow back or anything, did she?
You have dozens of the things, I'm sure it won't make that much of a difference. I doubt you're going to fall out of the sky just because you're missing one.
No more than Hazel usually fell out of the sky, at any rate.
Mum grumbled at the back of her head. (She was still less than comfortable with Hazel's default landing strategy.)
But anyway, 'If it'll be that much of a problem, we can get a different one. Though, you'll have to pluck it out for me — I don't exactly have hands like that, and trying to pluck one of my own feathers out with my mouth sounds, just, really awkward.' Might be better if she were a veela, but lilin had somewhat shorter beaks, closer to but not quite like owls, sounded hard.
With a firm shake of his head, his hair shuffling, Ollivander waved it off. 'No, no, it is not difficult to manage. There are advantages to scripting a down-tap into wands — it tends to filter out some of the interference in high-register spells, for example, helps them come out a little cleaner. Some other wandmakers include it as part of their standard script, but I find it is too much effort for too little return. Most wizards, after all, will cast spells powerful enough to even notice the difference very rarely, if ever. I do often include it in my personal wands, if the mage in question is especially powerful, or habitually casts the sort of magic that might call for it. Needing it to prevent the wand from bursting into flames is unusual, of course, but I rarely craft wands with two core materials.'
'Right, well...okay.' Ollivander was the expert, after all. 'Let's be really sure it's not going to do that. Having your wand burst into flames in your hand sounds...bad.'
Ollivander smiled. 'I will take every precaution, milady.'
When it came down to it, finding notorious mass-murderer Sirius Black was very, very easy. Hazel didn't do it herself, of course, if she didn't have Mum in her head she probably couldn't have. But theoretically it should be just as easy for anyone who had known him very well at all to do the exact same thing. Not that, from the way most people talked about him, it seemed like very many people had known him very well at all, still.
Or, at least, anyone who knew him at all should be able to do the same thing, but nobody in Britain studied shadow magic. Because Britain was silly and boring like that sometimes.
They waited for a night when Dora wasn't home and Andi and Ted had both gone to bed at a somewhat reasonable time in the evening. Mum took over and, a dozen memories of Sirius flicking just under the surface, cut into the fabric of reality with a blade made of light and shadow, took a long step through nothing and everything, appearing somewhere else a very brief but immeasurable time later.
And they were standing in a copse of trees, the summer night warm and sweet. Right in front of them, sitting on the ground and leaning against a tree, pouring over a damp and filthy issue of the Prophet, was Sirius Black.
Supposedly, anyway, Hazel didn't think he really looked like Sirius at all. She'd never met him before, but she had seen pictures, caught a few glimpses from Mum's memories, she knew what Sirius looked like. This man just kind of looked like shite. He was very dirty, skeleton thin, grimy and torn prison robes hanging off of him, his hair a matted mess of filth and tangles that made Hazel's hair look perfectly tame and manageable by comparison. His skin was slightly cleaner than his hair, probably gotten wet at some point, but that just made how horridly thin he was more obvious, inhumanly pale, even a slight yellowish tinge to him. Which, Hazel was hardly a healer, but she knew enough to know there was no way in hell that was a good sign.
Sirius jumped at her appearance, cursing and scrambling for his wand. He didn't quite get it pointed at her — and where had he found a wand anyway — before he paused, blood-shot eyes wide. 'Lily? But, but you're dead, I— What are you?!' he shouted, angry now, his wand shooting off shimmering black sparks.
Hazel could feel the dark magic wafting off him, cold and bright, but she was less than intimidated — as fucked up as he was right now, she could probably take him without even drawing her shiny new wand. 'To answer those in order: no, not Lily; I am very much not dead; asking someone what they are is very rude, especially when the person you're asking happens to be your favourite goddaughter. And here I went out of my way to find you and everything, so mean.'
For long seconds, Sirius could only stare up at her, apparently shocked into silence. But then, before Hazel could practically blink, he was on his feet, choking out something that included her name at some point (missed the rest), arms clenching tight enough around her she could barely breathe.
Hazel, somehow, managed to hold back the overwhelming urge to curse him. She spent the next few seconds trying to force herself calm, fighting against the hot tingles threatening to crawl across her skin — if she shouldn't curse her godfather, she probably shouldn't set him on fire either. 'So, er, yes,' she muttered, awkwardly patting at Sirius's (thin and too cold) back with one hand, 'hugging now, that's...nice. Could we not do the hugging, maybe?' She'd never met this bloke in her life, honestly, this was just...uncomfortable.
It didn't really sound like Sirius was listening. He was saying something, she didn't really hear what, about being so relieved she was okay and he'd missed her and she'd gotten so big and he was sorry he hadn't been around, that sort of thing. Said it into her neck, which was, just, eurgh...
This was probably a bitchy thing to do, but he wasn't listening, and she was not okay with this, so he'd just have to forgive her later. Hazel reached for his mind — tones orange and blue and silver, oddly...vibrant and sharp, but not pleasantly so, it was hard to explain — and she pushed, forcing a mirror of her own discomfort — her skin crawling, her throat tight and hot, feeling all too twitchy and brittle and bad — into him, making him feel what she felt.
With an odd yelp, Sirius released her immediately, skipping back a step. 'Sorry, I didn't...' He shivered, arms moving to hug himself before he, seemingly, forced them down again. 'That was you, right? In my head, that, whatever that was, that was you.'
Rolling her shoulders, as though casually trying to straighten her dress (but actually trying to shake off her lingering unease), she said, 'Yeah, that was me. Sorry about that, but I don't really do hugging, and you weren't letting go.'
'No no, that's fine, I— That was awful, how did you not just curse me?'
'Self-control, Sirius, get some.'
He barked out a laugh, sharp and surprisingly loud. 'Right, so, erm... Hi?'
Despite how annoyed she still was, her skin hadn't quite stopped crawling, she felt a smirk twitching at her lips. 'Hi.'
'You really are a lilin, then? I read about that, since I broke out, but I wasn't... I mean, I didn't know Lily was Flightless...'
'Yeah, she didn't know either. It's this whole thing.'
'Ah.' They fell into awkward silence then, Sirius just sort of staring at her, wide-eyed and smiling. He'd folded his arms behind his back, by the look on his face holding himself back from hugging her again. Which she greatly appreciated — not only did she not do hugging with practical strangers, but he also hadn't had a bath in over a decade, and he smelled like it. 'I thought someone might find me here, just, didn't think it would be you...'
She blinked. 'What do you mean?'
'Do you...not know where we are?'
'No idea. I just shadow-walked straight to you.'
'You just—' He coughed, sounding almost like a laugh but not quite, his face twisting with a rueful smile. 'Aren't you only thirteen, how the hell did you learn to shadow-walk already?' He didn't actually sound that surprised.
Hazel shrugged, and pointedly didn't answer the question. 'Is this a place I should know?'
'Yeah, we're right behind...' Sirius trailed off, a grimace of pain flickering across his face. 'I don't know why I... Come on, I'll show you.' Leaving his newspaper abandoned at the foot of his tree, he turned, walking deeper into the trees.
Er...okay.
Before long, they came to a brick wall — not particularly high, coming to about Sirius's shoulder or so, visibly crumbling in places, very old. Sirius tapped his wand against the stones, temporarily transfiguring them out of the way and up into an arch. With a long, hissing breath, as though preparing himself for something unpleasant, he stepped through. She followed a couple seconds behind, walking into...
...a graveyard?
Ah, hell...
What? Did Mum know where they were?
This is the graveyard behind that little church in Godric's Hollow.
Okay? She meant, she didn't get what the deal was. It was pretty enough, she guessed, everything all very old, with the trees and bushes everywhere, and the thin starlight leaving everything thin and shadowed and all dramatic. But she didn't get why Sirius and now Mum were acting all—
Wait. Godric's Hollow. Didn't they used to live in Godric's Hollow, back during the war?
Yes. I was uncomfortable with the big fancy manors and townhouses and everything, so Jamie bought a little cottage out here. We both died in it a couple years later.
...Well, that was morbid. Which, morbid was appropriate, she guessed, since they were walking through a bloody graveyard right now. Just, what was Mum getting all weird and uncomfortable about, and Sirius so quiet and...
You'll see in a second, I'm sure.
She did, in fact, see in a second.
When she caught up to Sirius, stopping in front of one particular gravestone, white marble, Hazel blinked at the thing for a second before belatedly remembering she had known this was here. Andi had mentioned it, ages ago, shortly after Hazel had moved in. She'd said a few times they could go visit if Hazel liked — not suggesting they should, just saying it was a possibility if Hazel wanted to — over the first couple years she'd lived with them. They never had, though. Hazel thought it was just kind of...weird. She meant, her father was gone, and Mum lived in her head now, she didn't quite understand what the point of going and standing over their corpses was supposed to be. Eventually Andi had stopped bringing it up, and Hazel had just...forgotten.
The second after she made out the epitaph, Mum shook with the mental equivalent of a derisive scoff. Which, Hazel didn't exactly disagree — seemed like being murdered by a dark lord was sort of the exact opposite of defeating death. Though, Mum had pulled one over on him...
It's not that, I just think it's ridiculous Dumbledore put a bloody Bible quote on this thing.
...Dumbledore?
Who else? He took control of the Potter estate almost immediately, he would have been in charge of the arrangements. Maybe he was trying to apologise, doing something muggle.
Er, what would he be apologising for?
Because this is another thing he plain ignored our wishes about — I convinced Jamie we should be cremated. The burial and the headstone must have been Dumbledore, because it isn't what we planned. Mum did feel quite annoyed about it, but in an almost exhausted way, as though she hadn't really expected anything else of Dumbledore and was just tired of this shite by now.
Which, Hazel did vaguely recall Mum being annoyed, when Andi had told her there was a grave to visit — an actual grave grave, and not a memorial of some kind on a Potter property somewhere, which would have been acceptable. Why had Mum convinced Father to have them cremated anyway, didn't mages usually bury their dead?
Normally, yes. But, spend as long as I did fighting a war against people who like to do black rituals involving their enemies' corpses, and you might feel it prudent to take precautions.
Also, I thought it possible I might become a revenant, so, just in case.
Hazel didn't think she knew that one.
To oversimplify things somewhat, a very special kind of ghost. Sometimes, a person who dies a violent death might return to possess their own remains and, mad with rage, seek revenge. They're not very rational creatures, often killing dozens of innocent people in a directionless rampage on the way. Especially if they were powerful mages in life, revenants are very dangerous and very difficult to kill, but burning the body soon after death can prevent them from rising in the first place. I thought it wise, given the circumstances.
...Okay, good point, that sounded damn scary. Not that it actually could have happened, though, Mum was with Hazel so she couldn't have gone possessing her own corpse.
The original Lily still could have.
Hazel wasn't convinced Mum wasn't the original Lily. But fine.
It didn't take very long for Hazel to just start feeling...really uncomfortable. She meant, she really didn't get the point of the whole grave thing. She just thought it was...sort of strange? She realised where she was standing right now, that her parents' bodies were right under her feet, but... That was sort of surreal, she guessed, but she didn't see why she should really feel very much about that. It wasn't like they were in there — Mum was in her head, and her father was gone. Their empty shells meant nothing to her.
But they obviously meant rather a lot to Sirius — which, there was another reason this just sort of uncomfortable. Sirius had fallen to his knees in front of the marker, and was, just...kind of falling apart, really. And it was awkward, because Hazel really didn't know what to do with herself. She didn't understand this whole mourning thing, and Sirius was pretty much a perfect stranger, and she didn't really do hugging, and she, just—
She was just going to wait for him to stop crying. He'd pull himself back together, eventually, right?
...Right?
...
Maybe she should have brought a book.
'Hazel, would you happen to know anything about this?'
She blinked, glanced up from her breakfast. Andi was standing across the table, holding the Daily Prophet up to her, folded so she could make out the headline.
Sirius Black Innocent?Peter Pettigrew Found Alive, DLE Reopens Investigation
Hazel might have been able to keep the smirk off her face if she really tried, but she didn't see the point.
Holly ran a hand through her hair with a sigh, leaving her head looking ruffled and lopsided, short blonde and brown strands sticking up all over the place. 'Are you sure about this, Hazel? You don't have to go. Or, you don't have to go alone — we can go back and get Andi...'
Trying to hold in the urge to roll her eyes, Hazel nodded. 'I'm fine. Really, wasn't this whole thing your idea?'
'The whole thing was Black's idea. I'm still not sure how I feel about it.'
That was fair, Hazel was a bit baffled and uneasy herself. But it was really too late to do anything about it now.
If for no other reason, Holly already had accepted the invitation to the meeting at the Malfoys' on her behalf — cancelling the day of, only a few minutes before she was supposed to be there, would be something of a faux pas, to put it mildly. For much the same reason, no matter what doubts she might have had about it, Holly had had no choice but to accept. Andi and Mum had both agreed, when you get an invitation to tea from the heads of the Inghams, the Monroes, and the Blacks — Most Ancient Houses all, three of the five surviving Founders — you didn't simply turn it down, not without a very good reason.
Recent history made it even more complicated. Lady Monroe had led the charge against Dumbledore in the Wizengamot over the last decade or so, using his failure where Hazel was concerned as one of her talking points. So, ally, at least by convenience. Lady Ingham was the most vocal among the opposition over the whole...can't let a lilin inherit a Noble House thing; she had a history of pushing for greater rights for nonhumans, in fact, even for lilin in particular — she'd been one of Zabini's most consistent supporters from the beginning. (Her father had even been part of the challenge to overrule Dumbledore and let Mirabella Zabini go to Hogwarts, apparently.) So, ally, ideologically. And Lady Black, well, the only other Black around was Sirius, Hazel's nodhathir, and it was sort of an open secret that Hazel and the Tonkses were harbouring him. So, ally, formally across a few generations now.
They hadn't admitted to anything, of course, about harbouring Sirius, but nobody had really asked either — the DLE had made it clear that Sirius had probably been innocent of all charges, and they expected him to be fully exonerated, so they were intentionally avoiding putting anyone into a position where they might incriminate themselves protecting him in the meanwhile.
(Which, that was strangely considerate for the Ministry, but the DLE was being run by Amy Bones, she was a reasonable sort — if she weren't, Hazel would probably be on trial right now for...accidentally almost killing Susan through weird lilin sex magic shite, so. There's that.)
Hazel didn't really want to go — going to have tea with three noble ladies, two of whom were like three to five times her age, sounded absolutely boring and awful. But Mum was curious what this was about, and so was Andi and Holly, so...
Really, Holly wasn't waffling on whether Hazel should go at all, she'd been pretty clear she supported this little meeting when she'd first brought up the idea. She just wasn't certain she was comfortable with Hazel going alone...which was fair, she guessed. Hazel was only thirteen, and wasn't exactly the picture of the proper young noblewoman, to put it mildly. That, and...well, she was going to the home of a known Death Eater. (He claimed he'd been magically compelled, but nobody with half a brain believed it.) And, one of the ladies there was the daughter of Bellatrix bloody Lestrange and the fucking Dark Lord...or was claiming to be, at any rate. (Mum had her doubts, but she hadn't any better explanation for where Carina Black could have come from.) It wasn't unreasonable to have some mild concern for her safety.
But there wasn't really anyone she could bring with her. Holly herself wasn't an option — the point of a proxy was to have her speak for Hazel when she couldn't be present, both of them going to things like this meeting was just sort of strange. Normally, Hazel would have gone with Andi, but given her personal history with the House of Black in general and Lady Malfoy in particular...yeah. Ted and Dora were unacceptable by extension. And, well, Hazel just didn't have anyone else, that was it. Severus, she guessed, but justifying his suitability as an escort to other people would be difficult, to say the least.
Of course, she wasn't alone — Hazel was never alone. But Holly didn't know about Mum, and she shouldn't tell her either.
'I'm sure it'll be fine. I'll tell you all about it when I get back.'
Holly let out a little grunt, glaring at the flames flickering in the hearth. 'You've gotten the usual analysis charms down wandlessly, right?'
Hazel rolled her eyes. 'Yes, yes, I won't eat or drink anything without checking it first. Paranoid, much?' Not that she actually needed to cast formal spells to tell if something was potioned, she was sensitive enough she'd feel the magic on it. Mundane poisons, of course she couldn't feel those, but families like the Malfoys avoided non-magical...solutions just on principle. And they tended to be much slower acting, she could always take a broad antidote when she got home just in case.
Now who's being paranoid?
She didn't mean she was going to, she was just saying.
Holly looked less than amused. 'You're walking into Lucius Malfoy's house, Hazel. I think some caution is perfectly justified.'
'Yeah, I get it. I will be careful, I just don't think it's necessary.'
'Let's hope you're right.' Holly let out a long sigh, high and breathy. 'If this is just about the estate, don't sign anything today. Bring it back and have Ted go over it first.'
Sometimes Hazel wondered at how easily people forgot she wasn't a fucking idiot. She understood she was still practically a baby by magical standards, but honestly...
Carefully clenching her magic close to her skin — lilin-fire tended to have strange interactions with enchantments in general, it could fuck up a floo pretty badly — Hazel stepped through a swirl of green flames, skipping to a halt across gleaming white tile. (Even holding on to her magic she always ended up being accelerated more than was normal, but at least it'd been a while since she'd landed flat on her face.) Hazel glanced around quick, finding herself in a perfectly ordinary receiving room — white ceramic and pale wood, the opposite wall dominated with an overlarge tapestry stitched with the silver and blue crest of House Malfoy, a couple plain sofas for those less comfortable with floo travel to gather themselves before moving deeper into the manor. Otherwise, the place was empty and austere, exactly as Hazel had expected, these things always were.
Hazel had just vanished the ash spotting her clothes when the door clicked open. She hadn't ever met her in person, but Hazel recognised Narcissa Malfoy well enough from pictures here and there over the years — the familiar sharp and dramatic Black face, that silvery streak charmed into her dark hair (apparently a Malfoy thing, had started doing it upon her engagement to Lucius in Mum's sixth year), short and thin like most purebloods (though still taller than Hazel, everyone was taller than Hazel). Hazel was, as often happened with mages, surprised by just how young she looked — she had to be, what, thirty-one? a little older? Somehow she always forgot, with how Malfoy seemed to be bloody everywhere, had fingers in all the pies, that she was barely an adult by magical standards, and she looked it.
After the expected pleasantries, while Malfoy took her cloak as was appropriate — Hazel had, in fact, only worn one so Malfoy could hang it up, rich people were weird — Hazel abruptly remembered that, when Malfoy had been just a little bit older than Hazel was now, she and Mum had shagged a bit over the course of a month or so. Which was an odd thought, she'd nearly forgotten about that. She remembered thinking it was bloody weird at the time, in a how the hell had that happened? kind of way, and she was thinking it again now. Because, Malfoy just seemed so...prim and proper and...very pureblood noblewoman-ish, it was very hard to imagine.
I believe I asked you to never bring that up ever again.
And Hazel was certain she'd never agreed to that.
Once she did have her cloak off, one of Malfoy's eyebrows ticked up, giving her clothes a dubious glance. Which, sort of understandable, she wasn't really dressed as would be expected — the loose trousers and tunic she was wearing were really more suited to dueling than high society tea. This one hadn't been her call, she honestly didn't like wearing trousers much, she avoided it whenever possible. She assumed that was a lilin thing. She'd noticed lilin (and veela) rarely wore anything that could be considered restrictive by any stretch of the imagination. Both sexes avoided trousers, actually — Hazel even skipped knickers whenever she could get away with it, she didn't like the way they clung to her, uncomfortable in much the same way trousers were. But Andi (and Mum) had suggested it, just in case something went catastrophically wrong and she had to fight her way out. (Which was ridiculous, everyone was being so silly and paranoid.) Not that she even agreed on what they considered appropriate for such a situation — if she were fighting for her life, she really didn't see why she should care whether or not the people trying to kill her could see up her skirt...or at any time, really, but it was especially silly in life-or-death situations. But it was easier to just go along with it, even if being dressed like this did make her distractingly uncomfortable, her neck and her arms tingling, her legs twitching with the restrained urge to move. It was annoying, but not more annoying than the silly argument she would have gotten dragged into.
She'd weaseled out of wearing knickers under this, at least. Andi, of course, hadn't been in the room while she'd been getting dressed, so had no idea, and Mum had grumbled about it, but really, these trousers were loose enough it wasn't like anyone would be able to tell, what difference did it make?
(Mum had learned by now that trying to convince Hazel there was ever any good reason to wear knickers was pointless, if it hadn't clicked by now it simply never would.)
At least, she assumed the odd look was because she wasn't dressed how Malfoy would expect — Hazel was keeping a...mostly okay hold on herself, and the song of Malfoy's mind was muffled almost entirely behind solid occlumency, it probably wasn't Hazel's sexy lilin magic being sexy. Whatever it was Malfoy was thinking, she didn't say anything about it. 'You are the first to arrive — we're not expecting Bríd and Ciardha for another ten minutes at least. But Carina is already waiting in the solar, if you'd like.'
'Ah, sure. Let's do that.' Might as well get what was probably going to be a supremely uncomfortable introduction out of the way.
Malfoy didn't quite give her a disdainful sneer, but it was a near thing.
I hope you didn't expect her approval — Narcissa always was a stuck-up little bitch.
Oh, she hadn't, Hazel never expected approval from noble types. And, if she was always such a stuck-up little bitch, why did Mum fuck her, then?
I'm not going to answer questions about that no matter how many times you ask.
But come on! It was just so fascinating, how could Hazel not be curious about it?
Honestly, Hazel, pay attention.
Not that there was a whole lot to pay attention to at the moment. Malfoy led her silently through the manor, which was... Okay, to be completely honest, Hazel hadn't been sure what to expect from big old pureblood manors. She didn't think she'd ever been in one before — which was kind of funny, because she did own one, technically, she'd simply never had a reason to go there. If she'd been asked to guess what they should be like, this was pretty close to what she would have figured. Everything was big and open, with way more unused space and higher ceilings than was really necessary, with huge bloody windows everywhere, everything whites and silvers and pale blues, light enough colours the sun had everything practically glowing, everything very fancy and very orderly and very, very clean. Honestly, it was sort of hard to imagine anyone actually lived here — it looked more like something out of a bad science fiction film, or a museum or something, a place too clean and too perfect to actually be in use by real people.
She meant, didn't Draco grow up here? He was such a little shite, she was sure he must have made a mess of things enough it couldn't possibly be worth the effort to keep everything so... Just seemed kinda weird.
Though, the place was bloody huge enough there could be parts of the manor that were a horrid fucking mess and nobody would ever know. Still.
Eventually Hazel was led into a room that seemingly couldn't decide if it was inside or outside. It was furnished, with comfy-looking padded armchairs and coffee tables and lamps and whatnot, but it only had two solid walls, the other two and the ceiling clear glass, the space filled with sunlight — and a cool, pleasant breeze, let in by sliding aside several of the big panels in the wall, leaves gently rustling. Leaves, because there were bloody plants in here, bushes lining the entire outside wall, some of them flowering in reds and blues and yellows (out of season, because magic), there was even a tree in the middle of the room — a...cherry tree? she was pretty sure all the little pink blossoms meant cheery tree— which was just...
Okay? It was nice and very pretty, of course, but it seemed really impractical...but stupid rich purebloods, what did Hazel know.
Sitting in one of the poofy chairs was a girl Hazel recognised from pictures in the Prophet as Carina Black. She had the same slim profile most of the old pureblood families did — Mum actually had a slapdash theory connecting how thin and tiny certain purebloods tended to be with their fertility problems — but rather tall for one, so far as Hazel could guess with her sitting, with the same wavy black hair Sirius had. Other than that, she didn't really look much like a Black at all, the face too soft and rounded, the eyes too light. Taking after her father, presumably...not that anyone knew what the Dark Lord had originally looked like anymore.
Hazel noticed all that, somewhat absently, but it wasn't the physical stuff that had her attention — from all the way across the room, she could feel Black's magic, easily. She was powerful, very powerful. Her magic was intensely dark, but not in the same way as lilin — crackling and crawling like fire, yet somehow soft and smooth to the touch — no, more like a thunderstorm an instant from striking, a moody stillness holding back by a hair sweeping wind and soothing rain and violent lightning. Even through her occlumency, it was a shivering maelstrom of blacks and whites and golds, a twisting, chaotic chorus that was at once intimidatingly beautiful and — Hazel knew, somehow, instinctively — deadly.
Well. Hazel was gonna go out on a limb and say the story about being Voldemort and Lestrange's kid was far more plausible than they'd assumed at first.
Mum didn't answer, too focused on Black, tense and uneasy. But Hazel could feel she didn't disagree.
After a brief introduction, Malfoy bowed out, leaving the two of them alone. (Which was slightly odd, the hostess not sticking around...but, she guessed, it was technically Black's party, she just lived in Malfoy's house.) With a blank attempt at a smile — it didn't reach her eyes, but it was soft enough, she was clearly trying to be nice — Black tilted her head toward one of the other chairs, said, 'Have a seat, Hazel.'
Oh, they were doing first names? That was fine, Hazel honestly found the formality rules the purebloods liked so much pointless and just silly. She hesitated a couple seconds, took one of the chairs at an angle from Carina's. (If nothing else, if she were sitting next to instead of across from her it was easier to avoid staring at her too much — or not enough, she was awful at feeling out what exactly was appropriate.) She patiently sat through a round of pleasantries, accepted some coffee, brushed off shite about food, which, come on, she'd only had lunch like an hour and a half ago, people were ridiculous.
Though, when she learned there were chocolate biscuits...for some reason — weren't those rather muggle-ish? Eh, whatever, she took some anyway, because Hazel still acted like she was eight years old sometimes, especially when there were biscuits and/or chocolate involved.
They then settled into a long, awkward silence. Carina kept glancing at her, but she didn't say anything, and Hazel...
You should maybe try to make conversation, and not just sit here munching on biscuits.
These biscuits were great, okay. But, all right, what the fuck was she supposed to say? She meant, she knew virtually nothing about this person — pretty much just her parents' reputations, and that was hardly a good conversation starter — and she still wasn't great at conversation in general, even with people she did know, and what the hell did you even say to the person whose father killed your parents? She thought a bit of awkwardness was expected here, really.
She's not really responsible for that.
Of course not, Hazel wasn't saying she was — Mum was in her head, she knew that. She was just saying, it was uncomfortable, she had no bloody idea how to handle this.
I can't blame you, but the longer you just—
'Well, this is uncomfortable.'
Hazel snorted out a surprised laugh. 'Ah, yeah, you can say that again.'
A smirk twitching at her lips, Carina drawled, 'Well, this is uncomfortable.'
'Pah, dork.' Oops, she'd spent too much time speaking foreign languages, apparently — that had come out in...Provençal? She didn't think it was proper French, she'd first heard it from Camila and she slipped in stuff from other languages without thinking. Moving right on from her little slip, 'You better get used to it, you're gonna get a lot worse at Hogwarts.' She assumed Carina was going to go for her NEWTs, anyway.
Carina ticked up an eyebrow. 'Yes, Draco did mention how hard of a time you had there.'
'He should know, he was partially responsible for it.'
'I don't doubt it — he's a self-righteous little fop, always has been.' She shrugged. 'But no, I'm not going to Hogwarts. It's simply not practical to self-study through NEWTs, but given the circumstances Hogwarts doesn't seem the best option. I don't imagine Dumbledore would make it easy for me, either.'
'Oh, well, no, probably not.' She hadn't even thought of that — shite, she couldn't imagine how Dumbledore was handling the Carina existing thing, paranoid old bastard. 'Er, Beauxbatons?' That might be...awkward. She meant, the place was big enough they probably wouldn't run into each other that much, but...
The faint smile on Carina's face fell away, leaving her flat and cold. After a short moment just staring at Hazel, she sighed, setting down her coffee to rub at her cheek a bit. 'I really don't know what to say, Hazel.'
...Okay? 'About what?'
Carina's hand dropped, she fixed Hazel with a blunt sort of look. 'You know what.'
'Oh. The Voldemort thing.'
A corner of her lips twitched. 'Yes, the Voldemort thing. I don't want us to be this...strained — I was planning to angle for a good working relationship, at least, before this trial business came up — but I don't know what I can do about it. I'd apologise if I thought that would help, but... Well, how am I supposed to apologise for my father murdering your parents back when I was a toddler?'
'You're not supposed to, really — it's not like it was your fault.' Hazel shrugged. 'Besides, my mum got him back for it already anyway.'
'I don't think that's how it works, Hazel.' Her voice held only the barest hint of amusement, mostly covered with a decent attempt at perfect seriousness.
'Whatever. How about we just pretend the whole parent-murder business isn't a thing until it goes away?'
'Is that the sort of thing that goes away if you ignore it?'
Shrugging again, Hazel took a bite out of another biscuit, using her moment chewing to try to think of what the fuck she could say. 'Well, if it were actually the parent-murder thing, probably not, but that's not it really. I figure, literally the only thing you know about me is that I'm a secret lilin whose mum blew up your dad, and literally the only thing I know about you is that your dad is a crazy Dark Lord who killed my parents and your mum is a sadistic psycho. The awkwardness about the parent-murder business is that it's only the parent-murder business. Yeah?' That was oversimplifying things a bit, but she thought she had a point. Sort of. Maybe.
Carina was seemingly trying and failing to not smile at that, the expression thin and twitchy but not suppressed entirely.
You are completely ridiculous.
She believed Mum meant she was completely hilarious. At least, she thought she was funny, anyway. And also perfectly reasonable and logical, she was super-smart, okay.
See, completely ridiculous.
Shush.
'No, I'm not going to Beauxbatons. My aunt has contacts at Durmstrang, we decided that would be...more comfortable, I suppose.'
Hazel blinked, thrown off by the abrupt change of subject — they were ignoring the parent-murder thing, apparently. 'Ah, if you say so. I really don't know anything about Durmstrang. Other than how it's definitely a school of dark magic that teaches bad people to be super-evil murderers, of course.'
'Oh, of course, we mustn't forget about these undeniable facts.'
The two of them were in the middle of a perfectly pleasant conversation about how silly it was that nobody got wandless magic — neither were surprised the other had a talent for it, since both Mum and Voldemort had been known for it and these things were often hereditary — when the rest of their guests showed up. However much later that was, Hazel hadn't been paying attention. Draco's mum escorted in the two ladies they were missing before promptly backing out again, leaving the four of them alone in the room
(Which was slightly weird, Hazel assumed there was some politics thing going on she didn't know about.)
Hazel had met Lady Ciardha Monroe all of once, and very briefly at that, on the way out of her first (and only) Wizengamot session. She'd been...what, seven at the time, so she didn't remember it too well, but she still sort of recognised her. Shrouded in the typical expensive robes in blue and black, the lady was little and severe, her pointy face, framed with the usual shimmery black pureblood hair, seemingly set in a perpetual glare. She had to be sixty-something — which, Hazel realised, meant she might well be older than everyone else in the room combined — though with magical aging being what it was she didn't really look it, obviously older than the rest of them but not really middle-aged either.
(Apparently she was named after the famous Ciardha Monroe, which was...slightly odd. Hazel was pretty sure the famous cursebreaker had been a bloke, and she hadn't realised the name was unisex, but okay.)
Bríd Ingham, Hazel knew, was technically not the Lady of her House — the current holder of the title was her great-grandmother, but she'd been acting as her proxy in nearly all matters for a few years now. The Inghams were a rather non-traditional Noble House in a lot of ways — despite being one of the few remaining Most Ancient Houses, making their family one of the oldest institutions in magical Britain, literally older than the very idea of Britain itself — so their representative wasn't quite what one might expect. She didn't look that different than a lot of purebloods, with a similar pointy face, but her hair was noticeably lighter than the so-ubiquitous black, her eyes a sharp green (though more natural than Hazel's, that probably wasn't blood magic). And she was dressed very odd for a pureblood noblewoman — dark trousers, tunic smeared green and gold, remarkably plain jewelry mostly composed of thick bands of...what looked like silver and iron, of all things. She looked roughly of age with...what Mum was supposed to be, anyway — Mum though Bríd had gone through Hogwarts three or four years ahead of her, couldn't remember for certain — moved with a sort of swaggering slouch, seemed to have a resting smirking face, which...
Well, between the three ladies in the room, Hazel was already getting the impression Bríd Ingham was the closest to her sort of person. First impressions, but still.
Another quick round of introductions — apparently they were still just sticking to first names, which, that was convenient — more pouring of coffee and tea and passing around of biscuits. There was a bit of small talk, which Hazel neither cared about nor really understood. The topic they ended up spending most of the time on was to do with some scandal going on in some other noble family, which, okay, it did sound amusing enough, she guessed, she just didn't know anything about any of the people involved so didn't really care one way or the other.
Eventually Carina tapped a knuckle on the table, both of the older ladies glancing at her. 'We do seem to be boring our young friend here, so perhaps it's time we get to the matter of the day.'
Hazel shot her a doubtful look. 'You're not that much older than me, and I doubt you care about that silly society shite much more than I do.'
One eyebrow raised, Ciardha said, 'Say what you think, why don't you.'
She wasn't sure if that was supposed to be a real suggestion, but Hazel did anyway. ''Kay. If this Eira girl wants to get rid of it, that seems like her own bloody decision, and everyone who doesn't like it can piss off and maybe get fucked.'
Bríd chuckled, throwing Ciardha a smirk. 'Well, you asked.'
'Yes, I suppose I did.' With a less-than-subtle sense of exasperation, Ciardha turned to Carina, clearly putting the topic and Hazel's incivil opinion on it behind them. 'I understand you're considering a response to Fawley's challenge against Hazel's legitimacy.'
'I don't know what Carina here has told you, Hazel,' Bríd said, gently, 'but you're losing the House. We'll try to fight it, sure, but we'll lose. Nobody honestly believes your mother defrauded Lord James intentionally, but Fawley is a tricky bastard — the court is filled with self-righteous arseholes, that doesn't help either.' In longer sentences, it was more obvious Bríd had a slight accent, the barest hint of Gaelic on her English.
Hazel shrugged — she had assumed as much. People had been whining and screaming ever since the whole being a lilin thing had gotten out, she'd gotten the impression they'd take any excuse they could find to kick her out of the Wizengamot. If they hadn't found a "legitimate" one, they'd probably have just made something up.
Though, Mum still found the one they'd found very annoying, grumbling in the back of her head all over again. Which was fair, she was being tried for fraud after she'd been "dead" for over a decade and therefore couldn't defend herself. And it was very easy to defend herself: all she had to do was demonstrate that she'd gone into their marriage in good faith, which was simple enough to pull off if she just consented to be questioned under truth spells. But, since she was dead, Fawley and his people could claim she'd obviously been meaning to trick James somehow, since she must have known she couldn't have children with him — that part was true, actually, she simply hadn't known that clause about a good faith effort to make babies or whatever was even in there, they'd never talked about it — and without any convenient means on hand to prove their narrative was shite, the Wizengamot would believe what they wanted to believe. And what they wanted to believe was whatever prevented their august super-special institution from being tainted with the presence of a dark creature among their esteemed membership.
So, yeah, she was well aware there was no way in hell this trial was going to end with anything but a guilty verdict. Hazel was certain that, by this time next year, she wouldn't be Lady Potter anymore.
And, if she was being completely honest, she was fine with that. It wasn't like she'd ever wanted to be fancy magic nobility anyway.
'You're right, of course, Hazel will never hold onto the title. But we can deny Fawley the bulk of his victory.'
Ciardha got it first — well, Holly had already told Hazel the basics of Carina's idea, Ciardha spoke first, anyway. 'You want to divest House Potter of its assets ahead of the trial.'
'That's the idea. All the mobile wealth — gold, jewelry, books, enchanted objects, so forth — can simply be moved into a vault in Hazel's name. Personally, not under the family, of course. The rest is more complicated, but doable. I'm sure the manor is legally tied to the House, but I know the Potters have other properties, and a slew of plantations and ranches throughout the hemisphere, dozens of patents, mostly on potions — these can all be moved. Perhaps packaged into a trust or sold at cost into a corporation, though we'd want to be careful writing it up. The Fawleys will try to reclaim whatever Hazel takes with her, once they realise what we've done.'
'Oh, that's positively vicious. I love it.' Bríd's face was split with a toothy grin, eyes sparkling in the sunlight like emeralds. Turning her head to Ciardha, 'What do you think, a shiúr?'
'It's not a bad idea. You'll definitely want to use a corporation and not a trust — the language used in the latter always explicitly refers to assets being held by the House on behalf of the trustee, the Fawleys will simply cancel the contract as soon as they assume control and Hazel will lose everything. Unless... No wait, a trust is better, actually, but one managed by an outside House.'
'How is that supposed to work?'
'Hazel would sell her assets to us at cost — sold one by one, this is essential, to make any suit to return them far more complicated — we'd incorporate them into a trust within one of our Houses. Perhaps, sold piecemeal to all of our Houses, and as many of our allies as we can get into the scheme, the trust formed in contract between all of us, to add a few extra layers of difficulty if Fawley wants to get it all back.'
Bríd clicked her tongue. 'But then we'd have control of the Potter estate, not Hazel. It'd be held in trust for her, yes, but we could rescind that at any time and take possession of all her wealth. We or anyone we bring in.'
'No, no, if it were held in trust between all of us we'd all have to agree to rescind her rights to it, unanimously, which would never happen. In any case, once the dust settles, we can simply transfer control of the trust to Andromeda — or Hazel herself, I suppose, but I assume she'd become a Tonks after losing her name, so.'
'Why not just sell it all to the Tonkses in the first place?'
'I doubt Andromeda could afford the fees and taxes she'd incur bringing in all that wealth at once. Hazel could simply reimburse us from her accounts, but the Tonkses would be forced to go into debt — Hazel could then immediately pay off the loans, but that would incur more fees. If we simply pass over the trust after composing it...'
'...any taxes and fees could come out of the trust itself and the Tonkses won't have to pay anything, I get it. So, why don't we build the trust inside House Potter, skip the intervening steps?'
'If the trust were formed under Potter law, Fawley would have a relatively clean case to repossess it, but if we split it all between dozens of sales and—'
'—right, it'll be prohibitively complicated to sue for. Did you have anyone in mind to—'
'Wait, wait, wait.' The two older ladies cut off, all three of them fixing her with blank, surprised stares. It was almost like they'd forgotten Hazel was in the room at all. (They'd probably assumed she hadn't anything to contribute — she was only thirteen, and barely at that, so, fair.) 'How about we not do all that?'
A short silence, heavy and awkward. 'I'm sorry, what are you saying?'
'Can't we just...let the Fawleys have it all?'
Hazel...
'I know my father is...well, my father, you know, legitimised me and everything or whatever, and I get the Fawleys are full of shite, but...' Hazel sighed, shaking her head. 'I don't know what I'm saying. This is all, you know, Potter stuff, things Potters have invented or built or bought or whatever, over generations and generations, and, well, I'm not a Potter, not really. Not by blood. I can't help but feel that...well, this Fawley girl, the one that's claiming the title, she has more of a right to it than I do. The Fawleys may be arseholes, but they are related to James, their families share history going back who knows how long, and... I think, they deserve to have it, more than I do. None of it's mine, not really.
'Besides, I don't want it anyway. I'm not a complicated person, you know, I don't need very much to get by. I wouldn't even know what to do with all that shite. If the Fawleys want all the Potter stuff, I'm inclined to just let them have it. We don't need to do all this, I– I don't want to.'
There was another silence, all three ladies staring at her with a polite sort of shock.
Finally, Ciardha drawled, 'That's...noble of you, I suppose.' Hazel was mostly confident that wasn't sarcastic, but it could be hard to tell with purebloods. 'Are you certain, Hazel? I only mean, we have very little time to act — once the trial proceedings kick up and the Potter accounts are frozen it'll be too late to do anything.'
Hazel nodded. 'I'm certain.'
Hazel, you really should think about—
She had thought about it.
Jamie wanted you to have it all, there's no reason to feel guilty for—
Projection, much? Hazel didn't feel guilty about, what, taking all of his stuff despite not being biologically his. Well, okay, maybe a little bit, but it wasn't the largest part of it. Mostly, she just didn't care about it. She meant, she didn't...need...things? She'd been being completely serious when she'd said she had no idea what she'd do with it all. If she did keep the Potter stuff, it would just...sit there. She wouldn't do anything with it, not really, it was completely pointless keeping it. The Fawleys clearly wanted it far more than she did, she didn't see why she shouldn't just let them have it.
It's yours, Hazel.
So? That didn't mean—
'You're just going to let them win?' That was from Carina, giving her a very odd... She was confused, clearly, fixing Hazel with a steady stare, as though she were some alien creature doing something incomprehensible, or a puzzle frustratingly unsolved. 'You don't even want to fight, just...give up?'
Oh hey, that's convenient, Hazel was just getting to that. 'But see, it's not giving up, really. I get that having all this shite, being filthy rich magical nobility or whatever and everything that comes with it, I get that that's valuable to other people. But it isn't to me. Why should I put a whole bunch of effort into securing a "victory,"' making quotes with her fingers, 'that has absolutely no meaning to me, for things that I don't want? See, it's not really giving up if I don't really want to "win" in the first place.
'The fight itself, and having to figure out what to do with all the Potter shite for the rest of my life, is more costly to me than the potential rewards are worth. I only win by not fighting at all.'
Carina stared at her for another moment, slowly blinking. Then, strangely, her face split into a smile, bright and cheerful — oddly bright and cheerful, it seemed completely disproportionate to what they were talking about. 'Right, I get it. I wouldn't have thought—' She broke off, lowly laughing and shaking her head to herself. 'I get it. Okay.'
... Hazel could only assume Carina must be thinking about something else, because that reaction made absolutely no sense at all in context.
'If I might give some advice, Hazel?'
Tearing herself away from the oddness that was Carina Black, Hazel turned back to Ciardha. 'Yeah?'
'I believe it might be wise to take some of the Potter property with you. You may want for little, and all your needs are provided for right now, but I would not be surprised if...' Ciardha hesitated, just for a second, face tense with a repressed wince. '...if you have difficulty supporting yourself after you graduate.'
'Oh. Right. Racism and needing to eat are still a thing.' Hazel shrugged — honestly, it hadn't even occurred to her to consider what she might need ten, twenty years down the line. She was thirteen, okay, give her a break. If it really came down to it, she could probably find a person (or couple or whatever) who would be willing to put her up — being a lilin and all, that shouldn't even be difficult — but she definitely shouldn't rely on that. 'I'm assuming you had suggestions in mind?'
'You should at least siphon off a few hundred galleons to cover expenses you'll have in the short term — paying for your education, for example — with a bit of a margin in case any emergencies come up. I'd arrange for, what,' she said, turning to Bríd, 'seven hundred, at least?'
Bríd shrugged. 'That's not a lot, but I suppose if it's only for educational and medical expenses...'
'Right. And you'll certainly want a place to live.'
Hazel almost slapped herself. Somehow, it'd completely slipped her mind that having somewhere to stay besides with the Tonkses or whoever she might be shagging in the future should maybe be something she might want at some point over the course of her entire bloody life...
This is why thirteen-year-olds generally aren't trusted to make decisions like this on their own.
Yeah, okay, she was getting that now.
'I understand you wouldn't be interested in the more...opulent properties Noble Houses tend to accumulate, but I'm certain the Potters will have something more modest available.'
'Hold that thought,' Carina started. 'I suggested Holly prepare a portfolio of all your House's assets — did you bring it?'
'Yeah, give me a second.' Hazel narrowed her eyes, reaching for her magic. With a flex of thought, a teeth-grinding snatch of music in discordant blacks and oranges, the folder Holly had given her was snatched out of shadows to appear on the table. Ciardha quickly snapped it up to start flipping through the dozens of pages inside.
While she sorted through all the Potter shite, Bríd said, 'You'll want to check the family vault in Gringotts and the wardrooms in all the major properties.'
'What for?'
'Blood. It's the easiest shortcut to key people into a family's wards — I wouldn't be surprised if a few samples were taken from you shortly after birth, preserved and tied into wards at several different locations. I don't imagine you want the Fawleys getting their hands on a vial of your blood.'
'Right, no, that's a good point. Hold on.' Hazel whipped out her new wand quick, conjured a sheet of parchment. She probably could have done that wandlessly, but it took rather less effort to do it this way — especially since she now had a wand actually properly matched to her, it was surprising how much easier that made...well, everything. With a freeform illusion, Hazel made a note to check for any samples of her blood that might be sitting around. (She could conjure ink, but that seemed like too much work when a simple illusion would do.) 'Okay. What else?'
'You'll want to go through the vault and the manor and sort through the enchanted items your family own. I don't doubt some of them are very useful, you might want to keep them.'
'Hmm.' Hazel did make a note about that, but she wasn't entirely sure she agreed, so she worded her note more neutrally. 'Okay, then—'
Shite, the library.
What?
Censorship laws on magical texts are comparatively new, and most of the old families have plenty that would be illegal to print or buy in the modern day. The Potter library in particular...
'Oh, there's the library.'
One of Carina's eyebrows ticked up. 'What about the library?'
'The Potter library has a fair number of texts on soul magic and blood alchemy that would be rather difficult to get elsewhere.' Hazel felt her lips pull into a smirk. 'Actually, it was from references to white vengeance rituals in books the Potters owned that my mum put together the thing she blew up your father with.'
Carina let out a brief, low giggle — which was an odd reaction, but Carina was sort of odd. 'Ah. Right, well, you might want to hang on to those. Given Lord Fawley's politics, I wouldn't be surprised if he'll have them destroyed as soon as he gets his hands on them.'
Which, considering any method they'd use to make a new body for Mum would have to be blood alchemy by definition, yeah, keeping them was a good idea.
We should go through all the Potter books as soon as possible, to see if anything's useful.
Hazel made a note of it.
'This should do.' Ciardha had made a couple piles of sheets, closed the folder on the rest to slide back to her. 'Here,' she said, holding up a thin bundle of parchment, 'are the properties I recommend you hang on to. This top one is a townhome in Anacal na Caoimhe.'
Er...the school?
The town the school is in.
Oh. Right. Had she been there before?
No, you haven't — Andi avoids bringing you out in public for too long, you might have noticed. It's a rather nice place, though. Big, by magical standards, but nice.
Hazel might have had more to ask about the town, but she should probably be paying attention to Ciardha right now. 'It's not far from the Academy, a nice part of town, but the property isn't particularly extravagant. It was originally the home of a fifth son of the Lord some generations ago — two levels, three bedrooms, according to the assessment here with rather plain modern furnishings. It appears to be a modest home, by the standards of our class. However,' she said, lightly tossing a few pages, pasted together, onto the table in front of Hazel, 'it has been uninhabited for some decades — you may want to hire someone to prepare the place for your arrival before you lose control of your gold.
'I also recommend you hold onto this one,' Ciardha said, holding up another few pages. 'It's an irregular parcel of land, several square miles along the Sarmatian Dacides—'
What the hell was—
A mountain range in Romania.
Ah.
'—plantation, but it looks like development was abandoned early in the process.'
'Er, so, why would I be holding on to this one, then?' She wasn't planning on running away from Britain, so...
Ciardha's lips tilted into a crooked smile. Turning a page over, flipping it around to face Hazel — not that she could read it from here — she said, 'It appears a portion of the land is being leased to a number of magical families...and a veela clan. According to this, at last count you have five hundred thirty-six human tenants and one hundred and thirteen veela. Given Lord Fawley's politics, should he learn there are veela living on his land — which is not guaranteed to happen, I'll grant you — he will quite likely evict them.'
That...was a good point. 'Can't we just give it to the people living there?'
'You certainly can. But the process of handing it off will likely take some weeks — at the very least, you should hold onto it until everything has settled down.' Ciardha tossed this bundle of parchments on top of the other. 'Now these,' she said, holding up another stack, 'are patents for a number of potions — healing potions, mostly, though there's one cosmetic in here too. Taken altogether, the royalties the ones I've selected bring in a bit over three and a half galleons a month on the average.'
'Er...and how much is that exactly?' Honestly, Hazel hardly ever bought anything, she had only a very vague idea how much a galleon was worth. A lot, yeah, but...
'It's enough for most people to live on, especially given that your housing and education will already be covered. So long as you don't indulge in too many luxuries and no serious unexpected expenses come up, theoretically, you shouldn't need to work a day in your life. Theoretically.' Ciardha dropped these parchments on top of the rest. 'It's not exactly the most comfortable of margins, far less than I would normally set aside, but if a modest living is all you want this should be sufficient.'
Before Hazel could think of anything to say, Bríd jumped in. 'Wouldn't it be better to overshoot what she'd need, just in case the Fawleys sue for some of it?'
Ciardha shook her head. 'I don't think they will. If Hazel were to take everything she could, obviously the Fawleys would try to get it back, but this is really a very small portion of the Potter estate. It'll be a message, of a kind — they'll understand that she could have taken more, and consciously decided not to. The Fawleys may respect that, they may not, but if they don't...'
'...we can make sure everybody knows about it, and the Fawleys will end up looking like shite, yeah, I got it.'
Hazel hadn't seen any evidence the Fawleys cared about looking like shite.
The two situations would look very different to the public eye. If you took the larger portion of the estate, and the Fawleys pressed a suit to get it returned, to ordinary people this would just look like the nobility squabbling over their obscene wealth like usual. If it's just a few small things, on the other hand, then they look extremely petty and vindictive, and you come off sympathetic just by comparison. It probably wouldn't play badly with their peers, but to everyone else? Sabotaging their reputation with the commons too much would have serious political and economic consequences, it's very likely the Fawleys wouldn't pursue it out of fear of a backlash.
She wouldn't think people would give a shite. She meant, people were very irrationally angry about the whole...being a lilin thing? She assumed everyone would be on the Fawleys' side.
The majority of the nobility are angry. You haven't been paying attention when I read the Herald, have you?
Er...no? She always did that in the morning, Hazel was hardly conscious half the time.
Right, well, the commons are already irritated with the Wizengamot for how they've been talking about you — and me, of course — since this whole thing came out, the Prophet just parrots the dominant narrative in the halls of power. The Light Common Houses probably side with them, but they're a minority. It's not at the point they're actively doing anything about it, but if the Wizengamot tries to completely beggar you they might. The Fawleys won't risk it.
Well, okay, Mum was the expert. Or, more of an expert than Hazel was, at any rate...
'—start planning out the sales and draw up a contract for the trust.' Hazel was queued in by Ciardha directly addressing her. They had all been talking, she'd missed a bit there but it didn't sound like anything too important. 'We won't be formalising anything right now — if nothing else, you shouldn't sign anything before going over it with your solicitor.'
Hazel held back the urge to roll her eyes, by a hair. Okay, yes, she understood that she was barely thirteen, and Ciardha (and Bríd) were grown women, and had been doing this sort of thing for decades by this point, but really, why did everyone keep assuming she was a bloody idiot? Of course you didn't sign any complicated legal arrangement like this without having someone who actually understands what's going on look at it, honestly...
'But first I... You are certain, Hazel, that this is what you want to do? You don't have much time to change your mind.'
'No, I'm sure.' She shrugged. 'I mean, I never wanted to be Lady Potter or any of this shite in the first place. I'm sure.'
By the expressions on all the ladies' faces, they had absolutely zero understanding of that sentiment whatsoever. But that was fine, Hazel hadn't really thought they would. She was well familiar with the idea that other people found her strange, she didn't expect anything else anymore.
Even if Hazel thought she was being perfectly reasonable. And also so very clever and awesome, okay. She was great, obviously. Also these biscuits, Hazel and chocolate biscuits were great.
You are so ridiculous, Hazel.
This was established by now, yes, thank you. |
Lauren K (laurkimsays)
check out 'nation personifications and wars' by hall.. really makes u think
George in GA ( thisawsomguy)
does anyone know if the NPs actually participated in ww1, ww2, etc?
Rosie Amsel (mraudrsgirl)
my grandma is a holocaust survivor so not entirely comfortable w/ 'germany' waltzing around and not having any official backlash
Bao Nguyen (bnguyen_2)
But think about everything these NPs must have witnessed, all the people they have seen come and go... It's sad, isn't it?
성햬준 (girlsgen_fan)
Ok but what about civil wars? like Korea, where there always two or did the personification split or did the past one die and new ones came up? whats the science behind this?
CLINTASHA (hiimchunhua_)
everyone talking politics and im here wondering if anyone wrote that alfred/captain america fic yet
A Deeper Look Into World War 2
By Andrea Santos, Featured Columnist
Jonathan Carver, a historian who specializes in the Second World War, has uncovered evidence that multiple representatives of the former Axis Powers (Germany, Italy, Japan, Austria, etc.) have fought in World War 2.
The greatest piece of evidence is a photograph of a small group of Nazi soldiers, taken in 1942. It shows two men that bear an alarming resemblance to the NP of Germany and the NP of Austria. In addition, a letter by Wilhelm Keitel and a report by Erwin Rommel (both of whom were Field Marshals in Nazi Germany) refer to a man with the surname 'Beilschmidt' which is not exactly too common.
A journal entry of an unknown soldier also describes a 'blond, blue-eyed man named Ludwig. He was of impressive build, and seemed to know the generals well. He held the status that only good birth and high connections could bestow... I wanted to resent him but could not, as [his words] could stir bravery and patriotism in even the most cowardly of men" One cannot tell if this is actually Germany, but the evidence seems to suggest so.
It ought to be obvious to anyone that these NPS are not as blameless as they'd like us to think. They have all (whether directly or indirectly) participated in genocides, wars, and all sorts of crimes against humanity.
People are punished severely for even the most simple crimes, and yet we have murderers roaming the streets of which (until recently) we knew nothing of.
There are people out there that argue these NPs had no choice in the matter. These are the same people that claim NPs are as good as any other human. I call bullshit.
These personifications cannot die. They are shown respect from their leaders and are often personally close to them (take the Royal family of the UK, for instance). So when have they ever made any attempt to restrain their leaders?
People have died during wars to protect others because that is what's right. Have the NPs ever done anything of the sort?
These NPs do not deserve the treatment that they get. None of them are blameless, none of them are without blood on their hands.
Keep that in mind the next time you're tempted to defend them.
Politics Just Got More Complicated
Rahim Abdel, CNN
The newfound knowledge of the existence of nation personifications has added a whole new layer to politics. Many have reached out to these personifications, both on social media and in person. While most are either in hiding (as a result from backlash from racial groups, covered here) or simply refuse to speak on the subject, a number of nations have spoken publicly about past and current events.
The idea that the nations reflect the people's opinions are difficult to swallow, especially as nations seem to have a personality of their own- a fact only emphasized by the existence of "human names". However, it does appear that most nations that have spoken seem to reflect public opinion.
Despite this, some nations are unapologetically political in the things they do and say. The representative of the Republic of Korea, otherwise known as Im Yong Soo, made public two days ago that he does not fully support the current president, Park Geun-Hye, although he refused to say why. He also seems to take a fairly lax stance on matters such as relations with North Korea, although it is unknown if he was merely brushing off the question or truly didn't care.
While this comment about the president, who has a high approval rating at the time, did rouse questions from hundreds of Korean reporters as to what is happening behind the scenes, it has not yet spurred investigation and is not seen as valid reason to look further into President Park's position. Even so, this has not stopped a small protest from erupting in Seoul, South Korea's capital city.
Less subtlety, the NPs of Iran and England have both spoken out on several issues concerning their respective nations.
Iran seems fairly supportive of being run by a theocracy, although she was clearly evasive when asked directly about specific rulers- especially Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, who was disqualified from running for office by the religious leaders in the state. She did, however, speak openly about the relations between Iran and numerous nations, declaring that she was "a fan of peace in all forms" and personally believed in progressing the country forward in any way possible. She also criticized a couple of Iranian legislations, one of which was the forced wearing of the hijab, quoting the Quran to argue that it should remain the choice of the women. All comments received backlash from radicals of nearly all political opinions, and Iran has repeatedly condemned them in return.
Just as openly, though perhaps not as professionally, England's NP has revealed through a series of strongly worded tweets and a couple of interviews that he does not hold several politicians in high regard. This list includes (but is not limited to, apparently) Nigel Farage, Prime Minister David Cameron, and, almost predictably, Jeremy Hunt. His comments stirred up a fuss and resulted in thousands also voicing their opinions much more vocally than before, although there are yet to be any major protests. Two have broken out, one in London and another in Glasgow.
Other nations that have spoken about politics, although to a smaller public response. It is easily deduced that despite the remaining controversial atmosphere surrounding these nations, there are enough people listening to what they say to stir up a public response to the criticisms they bring to light
The idea that yet another player in the intricate game of politics has been introduced may prove as difficult to adjust to as the idea of immortal beings walking among us, and makes clear another issue that can arise from their existence.
China was in a bad mood. First, as he discovered yesterday, Wok Town was closed for business. Second, everyone seemed to be disagreeing with everyone else out of spite, not genuine disagreement. Third, it was long past dinner and he still wasn't out of the damn meeting.
It was Saturday, which meant that at least it was the last day of the meeting. Of course they'd all leave with nothing resolved. Just because the issue hit a little closer to home didn't mean the nations would suddenly start working together.
But Somalia was missing, no one had heard from Afghanistan, and so on. They needed to come up with something.
Unfortunately, they represented their people but could not change the attitudes their people had towards them. It definitely didn't help that there were more articles flying around, causing more drama.
There were minor protests still sparking across several countries, although some have died down. There were still countries like England, Germany, and America that were still getting negative attention. Japan was also getting his fair share, though most of it were from citizens of other countries.
The nations themselves were already showing signs of wear. America was blatantly tired, a rarity from the usually overly energetic nation. France was uncharacteristically tense and looked like he would snap at the slightest movement. Japan simply became more reserved ("I didn't even know that was even possible," Korea had joked, but China didn't smile).
Every country was growing tired from the controversy stemmed from the leaks. Even countries China didn't expect to receive much backlash, like Botswana or Chile, were obviously worn out. It was unnerving.
China's own pains had died down for the most part. He didn't know if it was because his people were at peace or he simply got used to the headaches. It was probably both.
Indonesia sat down, her chair grating against the tile floor. It was only then that China released anyone had been speaking at all.
"Any other thoughts?" Germany asked, although his mind seemed to be elsewhere. Actually, nearly half of nations that had gathered were either half asleep or already sleeping.
Germany's eyes also seemed to be focused completely on the clock opposite of him. China couldn't blame him- it was less than an hour before the meeting would come to an end and everyone present evidently needed sleep, or at least a break from the never-ending stream of politics.
Korea, who was on his left, would not stop tapping his foot loudly against the floor and was too engrossed with his phone to notice China's irritation. Brazil, who was at his right, was busy having a staring match with Chile. China looked around to see what the other nations were doing. Russia was asleep, England was absentmindedly humming a Queens song, and Vietnam was reading indiscreetly.
"I said, are there any other thoughts?" Germany repeated. There was an edge to his voice, like he might explode at any moment. Perhaps Italy sensed this, because his hand shot up.
"I know! We can end this meeting now because we're all very, very tired and need rest! And then I can make some pasta because pasta makes everything better and-"
Germany's left eye twitched.
China sighed and wondered how much longer he could last without killing somebody.
Leon Wang (hkisthebest)
sympathizing w/ @taiwanmxiao rn bc these mainland chinese ppl r patriotic af like just cuz an NP exists for HK doesnt mean HK isnt a part of china (who here does wish it wasnt bc i do)
Mei-Mei (taiwanmxiao)
@hkisthebest RIGHT? nothing against china but honestly this is just getting sooo annoying. cuz we function as our own country (u less so but still) why shouldn't we exist?
ALFRED JONES (alfrdthehero)
Guess who's gonna be on CNN next Thursday?! #SoExcited #CNN
Im Yong Soo (originofevrything)
tbh im not japan's biggest fan or anything (who is lol) but can you please not target him on the internet? it's not helping
CNN Breaking News (cnnbrk)
Yes, the NP of America will be on CNN at 8/9 central. Don't miss this interview, which will discuss issues regarding NPs AND the upcoming Presidential election!
Lauren K (laurkimsays)
OKAY NOW I ACTUALLY WANT NEXT THURSDAY TO ARRIVE ASAP I GOTTA SEE MY NATION ON LIVE TV
CLINTASHA (hiimchunhua_)
the real question: wtf does america think about donald trump?
Ivan B (itswhitebluered)
multiple african/middle east countries: get fucking attacked
americans: WOW LETS DISCUSS HILLARY CLINTON OR SOM E IRRELEVANT SHIT
After coming back home from the meeting, China asked if he could move back into his home. His boss refused, and told him to stay in Huizhou for just a little longer. He complied, though it was with great reluctance.
China realized, however, that Huizhou was pretty boring. He was used to the city and going out to enjoy what the streets had to offer. He occupied his time by reading, watching crap television, and scouring the news for more information about the situation in other countries. He'd be lying if he said he didn't care about what happened to his family members, even if they were assholes most of the time.
Maybe that was why he called Taiwan. He didn't expect her to pick up and a part of him wished she hadn't.
"Here to apologize for your shit citizens?" she asked. Taiwan's voice was the same as it usually was when she spoke to him. Somewhat friendly but with a slight edge to it, as if she were on the verge of snapping.
"What?" China said, having no idea what she was talking about. "No, um. I wanted to see how you were holding up."
There was silence on the other end. China wondered if Taiwan was surprised. He never did give her much attention before unless it was political, and if it was political the attention was always negative.
"I'm fine. My people aren't mad at all. Actually, there's been a couple of people asking for my autograph. I'd be enjoying myself if I weren't so worried for everyone else," she admitted. Of course her people would be happy. So many of them wanted independence, and they probably saw their own nation personification as proof of their right to be recognized as their own country.
"Mine were a bit... upset, at first. They're fine with it now, I think. I'm not so sure. I was busy in Switzerland for the past couple of days."
"Lucky," Taiwan said. "I wish I were allowed at world meetings." There was a hint of bitterness in her tone. China hesitated before responding.
"I wouldn't, if I were you," China said, trying his best to keep his tone light. "Trust me, nothing ever gets done and you always leave with a migraine. Besides, you can barely sit still when we have dinner together. How would you manage at a meeting that's hours long?"
"I did before you took my seat at the UN," Taiwan said harshly. Then she sighed. "Let's talk about something else. Anything else."
"Well, what do you want to talk about?" China asked.
"If I ranted for thirty minutes straight about how annoying Hong Kong is, would that be cool with you?" Taiwan said. China smiled.
"Actually," he said, still smiling, "I'd encourage it." Taiwan laughed.
imajoredin-nerd
am i the only one that feels like the whole idea of personified countries is something straight out of a shitty novel? how can IMMORTAL beings that represent a whole population exist? it's ridiculous from both a scientific and (for the most part) religious point of view. i need a logical explanation for this! how did they even come about, anyway? they had to be born from something, and there isn't a single religion that talks about this so there has to be a scientific explanation but there isn't!
im pretty sure im the only one focusing on this and not, like, politics or whatever, but it's so confusing. do nps just appear out of thin air? what dictates their existence? like, why are there two germany's? i get one is prussia or east germany or whatever, but that was dissolved years ago. and why is there only one india? doesnt india have a shit ton of different groups and cultures?
#by this fucking logic hogwarts could be real too #not saying this is a bad thing #my brain hurts rn
92 notes
guns-andshlps
np of america being interviewed about the presidential election next thursday! who else is hoping hes going to go full out w/ bernie sanders support?
#how does the two party system even affect him anyway #bernie sanders #feel the bern
514 notes
riaredeyes
judging from twitter only, italy np is a talkative pasta nerd, s korea is a major k pop fan, america is an idiot, france is totally hot/a bit of a flirt... yeah, this is getting way too stereotypical for me
#nation personifications #just saying #idk maybe im taking social media too seriously
207 notes
alexandcrhamiton
i understand that people are concerned over european nations and the north america nps but can we focus on some other countries for once? according to the news, the np of somalia has been missing for two days now and there's been protests in several middle eastern countries, as well as a lot of unrest in china bc of the nps of taiwan and hong kong...
#but people would rather focus on some dumb american interview #russia np has a fucking point #not saying the usa isnt important bc it is #but this is getting tiring
403 notes
|
All was right with the world. Well, at least all was right in Castiel’s little corner of the world.
Standing at the sink in Bobby’s kitchen, he looked out the window overlooking the back deck where all of the people he loved were gathered. Smoke drifted up in wispy tendrils towards the sky from where Dean stood over the big black kettle grill, a tall glass of sweet iced tea in one hand and a long metal spatula in the other, flipping the two dozen burgers sizzling away on the grate. Benny, Gabe, John, and Bobby sat at the table with partially drunk bottles of beer, bowls of chips, mounds of Hershey’s candy, and a game of Texas Hold ‘Em spread out in front of them. Jo and Sam’s girlfriend Jess were chasing Sam around the yard with a couple of garden hoses. Sam and Jess were home for a short visit before Stanford’s fall semester began in a few weeks. Ellen reclined in a cushioned lounge chair with Grace belly-down and fast asleep on her chest while she chatted with Mary who was giving Beau his lunch bottle.
As soon as everybody had arrived at the Singer homestead, before Dean had even put the burgers on the grill, Benny, Dean, and Castiel had stood in front of their family to make a few announcements. First, Benny had shown off the embossed certificate proclaiming that the Lafitte-Novak-Winchester pack was legally recognized by the United States and the state of Kansas. Then the three of them had bestowed Gabe with keys to their house and a big binder full of copies of the pups’ pertinent information in the event he ever had to act in his official capacity as godfather. Even though the presentation wasn’t a surprise, Gabe had still gotten choked up, which was all it took to make everybody else tear up.
Dean let everybody know that he was going to stay at home with the pups full-time until they started school, and then he’d follow them back to the classroom. Castiel was going back to the hospital when his six months of pup leave were over, but he would start out on PRN status, going in only when the hospital needed him instead of on a regular schedule. Working on an as-needed basis would give him a lot of flexibility during the pups’ first couple of years. They were feeling pretty good with the decisions they’d made about going back to work and everybody was supportive of their choices.
“Guh!” came the little grunt that broke Castiel out of his thoughts.
He looked down at the chubby three-month-old propped on his hip. Max grinned behind his pacifier, reaching one hand up to pat Castiel’s scruffy jaw.
The omega smiled at the pup, holding him up higher so he could see out the window. Pointing, he said, “See all those people, Max? They are the best people in the whole world and they love you and your brother and sister so much. You are a very lucky pup.”
The little boy’s dark eyes followed the direction of Castiel’s finger. Outside, Bobby slapped his hand of cards down on the tabletop and stood up. Max squealed happily when the older alpha, who’d apparently just lost his last Hershey’s Kiss to Gabe, appeared at the window and started making faces at him.
Castiel chuckled and pressed a kiss against the downy soft copper-blond hair covering his son’s hair.
Dean’s shout of “Come and get it!” filtered through the old screen door.
The door’s spring groaned as Bobby opened it to poke his head into the kitchen. “C’mon, son. Gimme the pup and go fix yourself a plate.”
Castiel bounced his son on his hip as he stepped away from the sink. “Maxie!” he sing-songed with a big dopey grin on his face. “You wanna go to Pa?”
Max twisted in Castiel’s hold to reach towards the gray-haired alpha who had been deemed an honorary grandfather to him and his siblings before they were even born. Trying to come up with enough monikers for the people in the pups’ lives had been tricky, but they’d finally settled on Mema for Mary, Grandpa for John, Pa for Bobby, and Nana for Ellen. Castiel was Papa, Dean was Daddy, and Benny was Dad (much to Benny’s chagrin, Gabe had already started calling him Alfie for alpha-dad, hoping it would stick later on). Of course, the pups would probably change all of that when they started talking.
Bobby danced off towards Mary and Ellen with Max tucked up in his arm like a chunky football while Castiel headed towards the grill to claim a burger patty and a kiss from Dean. He stood shoulder to shoulder with Benny at the food table, squirting ketchup and too much mustard into his cheeseburger and swirling the condiments together with a potato chip before taking a seat at the table next to Gabe, who grinned at him over the massive pile of Hershey’s Kisses and Miniatures that he’d won off of the other alphas.
Castiel sat back in his seat taking another moment to himself to watch his family as they good-naturedly pushed and shoved their way through the buffet.
There were going to be many more days like today, where the whole family gathered together to eat and enjoy each other’s company. Before too long, the family would grow. Sam and Jess would get married and bring their pups back to Lawrence. Gabe would find his mate and start his own family that would be folded into the Lafitte-Novak-Winchester pack. Jo would be Aunt Jo everybody’s pups, even though she wasn’t blood-related to any of them. She would be on the fence about having her own brood until a saucy little brunette beta sauntered into the Roadhouse one night and swept her off her feet. In just a few more years, a half dozen or more cousins would be wreaking havoc on Bobby’s backyard with water hoses. Sam would still take part in the water fight, only with the youngest of the family perched high on his shoulders, clinging to his still too-long hair like the reins to a pony.
Maybe Dean would have another pup. Maybe Castiel would. Maybe Beau, Max, and Grace would be their only pups.
As he caught eye of his alpha and omega heading towards the table with their plates laden with food, Castiel knew that they’d easily handle whatever life threw at them next.
After all, they were pack.
|
Kurt's favourite musical is, and will always be, Wicked. He loves everything about it and the only thing he cannot tolerate is when people diss it. When people diss Idina Menzel or Kristin Chenoweth, his favourite cast members in the entire show's run in both New York, London and the international showings, things can get pretty intense between whomever crosses such a dangerous path.
So when a seemingly innocent comment by one Quinn Fabray lauds the likes of another musical rather than Wicked, Kurt feels the need to step in. Clearly, an intervention is needed. It would seem that their taste is severely lacking and Kurt feels that it is his duty as self-proclaimed Broadway fanatic to correct such a wrongful view.
Mr Schuester was asking about suggestions for the winter musical, and was asking about everybody's favourite Broadway classic.
"I personally love Phantom." Quinn stated proudly as Santana gasped. Even she knew not to go there.
"Excuse me, Quinn, but what did you just say?" Kurt calmly said as Tina fanned him.
"Phantom is a great musical Kurt. I love everything about it and it's my favourite. Plus, it's a classic and the longest-running show in history. You can't really beat that, especially not with Wicked. I know you love it, but it's a baby. Plus it's way overrated."
"Girl, are you trying to step on some toes here?" Mercedes interjected.
Kurt stood and addressed the entire room.
"Ladies and gentlemen of Glee Club, thanks to our dear, dear Quinn Fabray, it is time for Kurt Hummel's Seminar on How Not To Be Completely Basic.
Groans scattered across the room, mainly from Santana and Sam.
"You love it, really." Kurt said evenly.
"Quinn Fabray, you have made a very erroneous decision in preferring Phantom of the Opera over Wicked and I am here to intervene and set you straight. No pun intended."
"Kurt, is this really—?"
"No interruptions, please. Hear me out. Stephen Schwartz's Wicked, ever since debuting in 2003 has become one of the most adored musicals ever to grace the fabulous stage of the Gershwin Theatre on Broadway. There is no doubt about it that Wicked is supreme to most, if not all, musicals. Simply put, the face that it lost the Tony Award for Best Musical to the likes of the highly questionable Avenue Q is a complete travesty of international proportions."
Will frowned as he heard Sue Sylvester's favourite phrase being uttered by her male protégé. That was…all kinds of odd.
"Also, the fact that the musical is headlined by two amazingly detailed and wise characters such as my dears Elphaba and Galinda with a 'gah', and later just Glinda, is something that is rarely found in most of Wicked's contemporaries. Most shows, such as your beloved Phantom make use of highly dreadful male protagonists who seem more like antagonists. Don't get me wrong, Phantom is a great show and Lloyd Webber is awe-inspiring, but anybody who is of sound mind must admit that even that falls flat compared to Wicked."
He continued. "I know, it's all just conjecture and a matter of opinion, but I will defend Wicked until my death arrives at my door. Before we even begin to touch on the topic of Idina Menzel versus Sarah Brightman, I am going to sing a selection from Wicked to demonstrate just how relatable its music is. Nobody actually relates to a song about a creepy guy wanting this young girl to be his star so much that he trots her out at every performance and makes sure she's the only one that sings, outshining the likes of the equally talented Carlotta."
He gave a pointed glance to Rachel and then to Mr Schuester.
"Well, not many people. But I believe this is a song that everybody can see a part of themselves in, and no I am not going to be reprising Defying Gravity for you all today."
Hands touch, eyes meet
Sudden silence, sudden heat
Hearts leap in a giddy whirl
He could be that boy, but I'm not that girl…
Don't dream too far
Don't lose sight of who you are
Don't remember that rush of joy
He could be that boy but I'm not that girl
Every so often we long to steal
To a land of 'what might have been'
But that doesn't soften the ache we feel
When reality sets back in
Blithe smile, lithe limb
She who's winsome, she wins him
Gold hair with a gentle curl
That's the girl he chose
And heaven knows
I'm not that girl
Don't wish, don't start
Wishing only wounds the heart
I wasn't born for the rose and the pearl
There's a girl I know
He loves her so
I'm not…that girl.
The applause was short as they knew that Kurt wanted to continue on steamrollering Quinn with his flawless logic.
"That song is about knowing you love somebody but having to watch them choose somebody who is, in your eyes, perfect when you know that you yourself will never attract their attention, but that person can be close to you, but you still feel resentment. Now compare the beautiful themes that run through the likes of that, Defying Gravity, For Good and No Good Deed compared to songs such as Masquerade and Angel of Music. I will concede that her two solo ballads Think of Me and Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again are beautiful pieces are music, but they're not very timeless. The likes of Defying Gravity will live on and on until a musical so groundbreaking comes along that everything else is dimmed in comparison. Of course, I will originate a role in such a musical having composed the score and written the accompanying book. So Quinn, I now ask you to point out one thing which doesn't include the Tony's that makes Phantom a better musical."
Quinn's mouth flapped open and closed again, to both Kurt and Santana's high amusement.
"My point proven. Oh and Mr Schuester, not to completely contradict my points, but can we not do Wicked for the musical. Because we all know that I am the only person here who could pull of Glinda and there's no way I'm being allowed to personify the role as long as homophobia and transphobia exists in these hallowed halls. So I vote for Les Miserables. I can wipe the floor with everyone in my quest to play Marius alongside Santana's Eponine."
Mr Schuester nodded, rendered speechless by Kurt's rapid jabbering. Les Miserables did seem like a good musical and with lots of relevant themes such as war and prostitution.
Kurt looked to Quinn. "I'm taking you to see Wicked in New York, Quinn. You'll soon change your mind." He winked. |
In a way, Neil falls back into the same routine. In most ways, however, he's tired.
He's tired of having someone check what he has before he enters the shower, standing outside the door, and pounding on the door if he's in the shower for "too long", which can be anywhere from two minutes to twenty minutes depending on the day.
He's also tired of "chill time", as his schedule has dubbed it. Under different circumstances, he'd have zero problems spending a couple hours with Todd or Charlie. It'd be fun. Instead, it's painfully awkward and PAINFULLY annoying. He'd given up on actually trying to hang out with them after the first few days, since it was clearly a lost cause, but as it turns out, the alternative isn't much better.
If he's on his phone, it's "what music are you listening to, you shouldn't be looking at that article, I don't think that's a good idea". He's been "banned" from listening to any sad playlists, which is absolute bullshit, but not as bad as reading. If he tries to take out a book, it's "what are you reading, what's that book about, I don't think you should be reading something like that right now".
He tried to pull out Keating's poetry book once and practically got a look of horror. Reading Midsummer went just about as awful. Eventually, he learns to take off random book jackets and put them over what he's actually reading. It works like a charm, convincing his friends that he's been reading Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix for weeks now. Instead, he starts reading Hamlet. It's very good, the right balance of sadly relatable and easy to laugh at. He still prefers the comedies, however.
No matter what he does, in or outside of class, everyone is still constantly staring at him. He has to talk his own ear off and point like crazy around the hall just to distract everyone enough from him and get rid of his food during meals. That's a whole can of worms he does NOT want opened.
As hard as he tries to pretend things are normal (so that everyone else will act like things are normal), there's one thing above everything else that is driving him crazy: every inch of his skin is crawling constantly with the urge to hurt himself.
He really and truly doesn't know how it got this far. He knows that ever since he was little, he's been known to pick and pull at his skin, hair, and whatever else. His father used to scold him constantly for it. "Stop picking at your eyebrows." "You're going to scratch your skin open." "For God's sake, Neil, if you can't keep your hands away, sit on them."
At some point, his mother started renting out a lot of library books that used big words like "trichotillomania" and "dermatillomania", but an eye roll from her husband shot that down pretty quickly. Once he hit puberty, everything got worse, though at least picking at pimples seemed to be something all his friends did.
Once he discovered razor blades, pencil sharpeners, and cutting, it was hard to keep control, but he swore he would. "It's just when I'm feeling really bad, it's just when I'm needing it". What he hadn't calculated, however, was that as his feelings grew worse and worse, "when I'm needing it" became practically once a day, if not more.
Now, he's arguably feeling worse than ever, and pulling at arm hairs is not even close to enough. So, the next day, during library "chill time" with Todd, Neil conveniently forgets his textbook in their dorm.
"It'll only be a second, I'll be right back," he smiles widely, dashing off before Todd can say a word of protest.
Now, look: Neil's pretty sure this isn't what Mr. Keating meant by 'Carpe Diem'. Still, that's what ends up running through his mind as he yanks open the top drawer of his dresser. The only problem is 'Carpe Diem' sounds a bit too fancy for this particular moment.
Seizing the day should be reserved for daring displays of passions; Todd and his poetry, Charlie and his music, Knox and his sketches, Meeks and his mechanics, Pitts and his knitting, whatever Cameron does. Any of them could do the phrase justice. Hell, if Neil were about to try out for another play, he could use that term. However, Neil's current art form is less deserving. 'Screw it' would be a more accurate thought.
Hastily, he finds himself digging through his clothing, lifting pile after pile out of the drawer. He only grows more frantic as there continues to be a lack of what he's looking for.
"Where the hell is it?" He mutters, running a hand through his hair. Looking down, there's only one shirt left in the drawer. He takes it out, revealing a small note written in instantly recognizable handwriting: 'Nice try.' Clenching the note in his fist, Neil slams the drawer shut and storms out of the room.
When he raps on the door, Neil's met with a smirking face. Charlie's smile quickly disappears when he sees Neil. "What's wrong?"
"I know you took them," Neil snaps without thinking. So much for telling everyone he gave them all away. "And you had no right to. I want them back."
Charlie looks at him, face concerned but vaguely confused. Neil grits his teeth together. "I saw the note in my dresser. I know it was you."
Realization dawns on Charlie's face and he shakes his head immediately.
"Give them back."
"You know I'm not doing that, Neil."
He huffs. "Look, I am beyond done with everything right now, so can you please just fuck off? It's none of your business."
"I'm your best friend. That makes it my business."
"Please, Charlie." He sees Charlie wince at the pleading tone and continues. "I need it."
Neil's hopes are dashed the minute Charlie hardens his face. "No. No, you don't."
"You can't just-"
"I can, I did, and I am."
"Just one more time," Neil promises, getting desperate. "I swear, and then I'm done. I'll stop."
Charlie sighs. "That's what you said last time. You know I can't give you back your stuff, Neil."
"Fine. Then give me my money."
"Like hell."
"Charlie."
"I said, like hell."
"I need to. Please, Charlie, I have to, alright? I have to-" Neil is cut off by Charlie placing a hand on his shoulder, which he quickly shoves away.
"Neil, it's gonna be okay. But you have to stick to this." Neil's scowl deepens as Charlie talks. "C'mon. We can watch one of those musicals you like, okay?" When Neil doesn't reply, Charlie places a hand on his shoulder.
Neil's eyes flicker up to meet his. "...Okay."
Charlie hands him his laptop. "Pick whatever you want, yeah? I just need to text Todd you're with me."
Neil's grip on the laptop tightens, but he forces himself to breathe and begins typing. They end up watching some low-quality bootleg of A Chorus Line. Silently, Charlie wonders why they arent watching the official movie adaptation, but elects not to say anything.
About halfway through, Neil appears to fall asleep. Charlie pushes a few stray hairs out of his face, and Neil does his best attempt to stay frozen still. Eyes closed, he hears Charlie turn the video off and stand. He feels himself being picked up and tucked into a bed, then a dip as Charlie lays down about a foot away from him, realizing Neil needs space at the moment.
Even from elementary school, Charlie and Neil were always a fan of sleepovers. Their first ever, at Neil's house, sparked an argument. Neil insisted his guest would not sleep on the floor, even if it was in a sleeping bag. Charlie, in turn, refused to steal Neil's own bed. They ended up sharing, because it only made sense, and they never really stopped. A part of Neil wants to stay exactly where he is, if only because the feeling is so familiar.
Instead, he waits until he's certain Charlie is asleep. He moves a bit, and stops to check. Moves a bit more, checks. Finally, he's out of the bed. He looks back at Charlie, trying to press down the guilt consuming him.
He sifts through Charlie's things.
He pulls out about twenty dollars and pockets it. He's confident Charlie isn't checking. He pulls out his small, black bag. Opens it. Removes a pocket knife, a tissue, and a bandaid. He cuts. Cleans it up. Puts everything back. Gets back in bed, covers pulled up again.
Practically seconds later, he hears Cameron come in and take the bed opposite. Silently, he thanks whatever God may be out there that he timed everything right. His heart pounds, caught between the adrenaline of getting away with that and the shame that he snuck around his best friend, basically his brother.
He doesn't fall asleep. |
The world is too big and too cold and too raw, and Obito just wants it all to stop.
The forest around him was the scene of a battle, once; Obito walks through the shadows cast by the massive trees, fingers trailing over the trunks, and he can feel the echoes back through the weeks and months, the reverberation of pain and screams and grief and bloody victory that left there impressions here. Dark things, heady things, loud things, and they ring inside his skull like they’re never going to fade.
Madara is dead, and Zetsu is elsewhere, and Obito doesn’t know what he wants to do. Doesn’t know where he wants to go other than away, the empty ache of Rin’s absence like a hole carved into his lungs. He can’t draw a full breath, not when she isn’t there to draw a breath as well. Rin, his Sentinel, is dead, and Obito was too late to save her.
The laugh that bubbles from his throat is as jagged as broken glass. Too late yet again, always too late, and he’s never learned no matter how many times the universe has tried to teach him.
There’s a dark stain spread across the roots of a gnarled oak, and Obito crouches down, running his fingers over it. Blood, dry and old, but—
A Sentinel died here. Obito can feel the imprint of her thoughts, the last, desperate attempt to save a Guide behind her, and his hand trembles.
Quickly, he clenches it into a fist, takes a breath and squeezes his eye shut, trying not to think. But the image that rises is all too clear, unfaded by the months in between then and now: Rin, impaled on Kakashi’s hand, on Obito’s hand, with wide, pained eyes and blood dripping from her lips.
Obito had felt it. Had felt her die, that sharp echo that crashed down the bond. Every inch of that last breath sliding out of her, every sharp bit of shock as she fell—Obito felt it with her. It was only a partial bond, what they had, established because she was the only Sentinel on a team full of Guides and neither he nor Kakashi was all that skilled at Guiding, but—
In the wake of her death, it didn’t seem to matter.
Madara’s death is in his head, too. Obito doesn’t want it, never tried to form anything with the old Sentinel, but he woke up in the cave with that bond in his head, tethering him to Madara, and losing that now is gutting, bewildering. He feels like he’s going to fall to pieces, like his head is an empty vessel for every bit of pain and suffering in the world to fill, and he doesn’t know how he’s going to survive it.
He has to. He has to make a good world where people like Rin, sweet and kind and strong, don’t have to die. Promised, even if that promise was made to her corpse under a bloody moon. Swore it, and Obito isn’t worth much but he always keeps his promises.
At the very edge of his senses, life slides past death, and blooms.
Obito stills, startled. This place is halfway to nowhere, an old battlefield and little else. People out here is strange, nothing he was prepared for, and he frowns even as the pull of Kamui rises. Steps, steps again, and the warp falls away to leave him in a dark place. The trees loom like they have teeth, and the ground if boggy, wet beneath his sandals. Obito takes one more step into the darkness and—
Freezes, breath knotted all up in his throat. He feels people, a handful of them, and then—
Sentinel, he thinks, and it curls like desperation in his chest. A Sentinel, unbonded, with a weight to his presence that Obito hasn’t felt outside of Kushina before. He drags in a breath that shakes in his chest, and somewhere on the edge of his senses voices come to an abrupt halt.
“Kisame?” a voice asks, careful, and there’s a long, long moment of silence.
“Go find a place to camp,” a second voice says, low. The Sentinel, and Obito closes his eye. Shouldn’t be so effected—it’s a weakness, and he doesn’t need a Sentinel, that’s what Madara told him. That’s why Madara took over his bond, and kept him in line, but—
But. Gods, Obito wants that connection. Wants that little bit of grounding that will make the press of darkness easier to bear. There are so many terrible things in their world, and Obito can feel all of them when he doesn’t have a bond to shut them out.
It’s stupid. It’s a betrayal of what Madara taught him, but even as footsteps approach, Obito doesn’t move.
The boy who pushes through the draping branches is Obito’s age, or maybe a little older. A Kiri nin, and something in Obito bristles at that, bays for blood like the blood the Kiri nin spilled when they hunted Rin down, but it’s subsumed by the sudden, overwhelming press of a Sentinel’s mind right up against his own. Dark, cool, like deep water, and Obito lets it wrap around him and breathes it in. His body trembles, the sudden lack of pressing death and pain something close to euphoria, and when he raises his head there are bright, luminous eyes watching him carefully.
“This is a strange place for a Guide on their own,” the boy says, taking another half-step forward, like it’s an instinctive, unthinking thing.
Obito hesitates, but the absence of the suffering that’s been boring into his skull for hours makes it easy to say, “I thought being away from living people would help.”
The boy’s mouth curls, something like a smile except it’s full of sharp teeth. “Did it?”
“My Sentinel died,” Obito says, and isn’t sure why he does. “Nothing helps.”
His expression twists, grief and sympathy, and he takes another step, holing out a hand to Obito. “You’re a strong Guide,” he says, low, almost intent. There’s something like surprise on his face. “Most Guides can’t be around me.”
Obito’s laugh cracks in his throat. “I like it,” he says, and it’s a dare. “You cover up all everything I don’t want to feel.”
Another step, and the boy is almost close enough to touch. “I like it, too,” he says, and chuckles, low and soft. “You feel like holding a sword.”
Obito doesn’t know what that means, exactly, but it’s clear the other boy means it as something good. He watches, unmoving, as the Sentinel reaches out, but when cool fingers curl around his wrist he can’t fight a shiver. Like stepping into cold water, an icy shock that clears his mind as he’s swallowed by heavy chakra, and he breathes out, breathes in, looks up.
“I don’t know what to do,” he says, and it’s pathetic, weak. Madara would have punished him for saying something like that.
The Sentinel doesn’t. His expression softens, and he tightens his grip just slightly. “I’m Kisame,” he says, and hesitates. Looks Obito over once, carefully, and says, “We’re on the way back to Kiri. Do you want to come with me?”
Obito wants to say no, because Kiri nin drove Rin to her death. Wants to refuse, because Kushina’s pregnancy is almost over and soon he’ll be able to put Madara’s plan into action. But—
With Kisame beside him, all he feels is deep water, faint currents. There’s no overwhelming, punishing press from the rest of the world.
“Yes,” he whispers, and wants to hate himself for it, but he’s just so tired.
Kisame chuckles, closing the last few inches between them, and lifts an arm to wrap around Obito. Gladly, Obito moves with it, slumping against his chest and burying his face in the front of his uniform to breathe in the salt-water and sea-air scent of him. There’s a long, long moment of silence, and then, with a breath, Kisame wraps both arms around him tightly.
“You’ll be okay,” he says, soothing.
It’s stupid, blind, but—
Obito finds he doesn’t entirely disbelieve him. |
Robert woke with the worst hangover of his life. His head felt like it had been slammed repeatedly into the floor.
He rolled over and groaned into his pillow.
At the back of his mind niggled the feeling that he’d left a vital task undone. There was something he was forgetting, something he urgently needed to remember.
Then it all came flooding back—Adrian, the Harlequin, Luca.
Robert kicked off the covers and flung himself out of bed. He was wearing his breeches but nothing else; last night’s clothes were in a reeking heap by the door. An experimental sniff confirmed that Robert smelled at least as bad. Cigarettes, liquor, semen. Like the back end of Bacchanal. They’d never let him into the Harlequin like this.
Right. Wash first.
Robert scrubbed himself down so quickly that he nearly scalded his skin off. He dried one-handed while elbowing the closet door open. Where was that damned suit of clothes Argent had Tolliver buy for when Robert accompanied him to Highcourt? Ah, shoved in the corner, of course. Robert pulled it on so quickly that he forgot his drawers and had to take off everything and start again.
Once he was dressed, his hair tied hastily back, Robert ransacked the nooks and crannies of his room for the money he'd hoarded there. Argent was always deliberately stingy with Robert’s allowance, giving him only what he needed to keep up appearances with the other students of his station, but Robert was willing to forgo certain nonessentials if it meant having a reserve that his grandfather didn’t know about.
The real question was how much to take to Paradiso. He knew only a little more now about what pleasure slaves went for than he did when he was fifteen. Twenty thousand crowns, Crawley’s friend had been willing to offer for Luca. Robert only had about nine to hand, and gods knew Luca must be worth far more now.
He’d take it all, then. Perhaps Luca’s owner would be willing to accept it as a down payment.
Robert clattered down the stairs to the common room he shared with Val and Hugo. The maid had already been by; there was a hot pot of coffee and a basket of pastries. Val was sitting at the table in his threadbare dressing gown, poring over a textbook. When he saw Robert, he dropped his pen.
“Fitz? I didn’t expect to see you up for ages! Val says Bagsley and Hale found you in a gutter in Paradiso and put you in a cab back to school. You were passed out on the steps when he got in this morning. He thought you were dead, but then you threw up. I was so worried when he told me! You never go to Paradiso, and you’re on probation. The Dean could send you down if he find out. What happened?”
While Val spoke, Robert wolfed down a pastry and washed it down with coffee. Oh, lovely. Lovely coffee. Robert blessed the hand that brewed it.
“Adrian happened,” he said, not untruthfully. “Yes, I know, I know. Look, it’s difficult to explain, but I have to go back to Paradiso and I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone. Can you cover for me in International Law this afternoon?”
“But—”
“Val.”
“But—”
“Val.”
“Fine,” Val sighed. “But please, Fitz, do try to show up. If Tilney reports your absence to the Dean—”
“Yes, mother.” Robert ruffled Val’s hair affectionately, knowing full well that he hated it. “If you run into B and H, tell them I’m good for the cab.”
Val pulled away, muttering something about not being anyone’s mother. The back of his neck was pink.
Paradiso the morning after Bacchanal was a sacked city. Trash littered the streets , gutters running over with waterlogged streamers and vomit. Broken glass glittered like stars between the cobblestones.Robert passed a statue of a long-dead Minister of Finance whose unfortunately positioned hand had been pressed into obscene service the night before. At its feet, two dogs wrestled over a spent firecracker.
The Harlequin rose from the waste, a pink stone palazzo flying a banner patterned with black and white diamonds. If not for the thick shutters locked over the windows, it might’ve looked like a rich man’s townhouse.
Robert made a safe bet that there would be no one manning the front doors this early. He skirted around the side, looking for the service entrance. A rat ran over his foot; he kicked it away without flinching. Remarkable how easy it was to readjust to squalor. Like he’d never even really left.
It only took five minutes of concerted pounding before the service door swung open. A bleary-eyed house slave stood in the shadows, blinking at him. Robert pushed his way inside, ignoring the man’s protests.
“Yes, yes, I know the doors don’t open until evening. I have urgent business with your master. No, I am afraid it can’t wait. That’s what ‘urgent’ means.”
“What is the meaning of this?”
Robert looked down the hallway to see the eunuch striding towards him. Recognizing Robert, he stopped short. His obeisance was fumbled, inelegant.
“My lord, I beg you, forgive your slave—”
Robert made a gesture he’d seen Argent use with his slaves, an upward flick. The eunuch stood immediately, regaining some of his composure as he rose.
He turned to the house slave, kneeling now and staring with wide-eyed confusion, and hissed, “Get Sark. Wake the master. Do it now.”
There were, Robert had to admit, certain advantages to being Lord Argent’s ward.
The eunuch bowed him down a warren of narrow corridors. Robert had known, of course, that slave-brothels had no windows (like the room where Crawley kept Luca, an airless box of misery without escape or respite), but he’d never considered how gloomy the interior would be in daytime. He thought that the eunuch’s eyes must’ve adjusted like a bat’s after years of being trapped in this murky half-light.
The eunuch brought him through a set of double doors, plain on one side and gilded on the other. This must be the part of the building where clients were taken. Robert had a vague memory of the grand staircase, the marble foyer. Sober, it all looked rather seedy. A caricature of luxury that worked only in reference to the real thing.
Robert took good look at that thought and had to stifle a laugh. Gods, harken at him! Robert Fitzrobert, whoreson, turning up his nose at brothel décor? Tolliver would be delighted.
Unsurprisingly, the pimp’s office was the most lavish and tasteless room of them all. The corner was given over to a hulking beast of a music box . From the number of cylinder cases, it seemed that the pimp had collected every popular opera from the last twenty years. He must’ve spent a king’s ransom. The collection of sherry on the sideboard was top-shelf as well.
Robert thought of the bare corridors the eunuch had shown him through, with their rat-chewed plaster and peeled-up floorboards. Apparently the pimp’s comfort came before that of the slaves who’d made him his fortune.
Robert became aware that the eunuch was still hovering anxiously on the edge of the room.
“You slave begs forgiveness, lord, that the house is without suitable refreshment this morning. Would my lord care for a drink, perhaps?”
The man's fluttering gesture of apology dredged up a memory from last night. Those elegant fingers wrapped around Robert’s cock.
Robert was spared having to answer the eunuch’s question by the arrival of the fattest man he’d ever seen. There was so much of him that Robert had to take him in by stages: the purple slippers, the canary yellow dressing-gown, the many quivering chins. His wig had clearly been put on with some haste. When he bowed, it slipped over his forehead.
“My lord. I am Gregori Boq, the proprietor of the establishment. Welcome to the Harlequin. Or should I say, welcome back?”
Robert had ample time, in the carriage ride over, to decide how he wanted to play this. He summoned a self-deprecating smile, equal parts smug and sheepish.
“Yes, I’m afraid I made rather a fool of myself last night. The wine, you know.”
“Of course, my lord. It happens to the best of us.”
“Indeed. And as I wasn’t able to, ah, to complete the performance, I was hoping that I might have another chance with the boy.”
Boq and the eunuch exchanged a look that Robert couldn’t decipher, but which made him distinctly uneasy.
“Now, my lord?”
“Yes, now,” said Robert, letting impatience show in his voice. This was how Argent got things done; he made his lessers jump for him.
Boq licked his lips. Nervous. But why?
“My lord wouldn’t, ah, perhaps consider taking another boy in his place? The morning after Bacchanal, you understand, the Golden Bird will hardly be at his best."
What would Francis say? He’d whine, of course, whine and make demands and all but stamp his foot. Robert let his face fall into lines of petty, entitled demand.
“How dare you barter with me. I want the boy I want. The Golden Bird, as you call him. The one who played Ganymene. I’ll have that boy and no other.”
To seal the deal, Robert took his bulging wallet from his cloak. Carelessly, he tossed three hundred-crown pieces on the desk.
“That should cover it, I think.”
Luca was shaken awake by rough hands. There was a man over him; he spread his legs on instinct, gasping for breath. There hadn’t been air in the dream, he’d been drowning, or no, not drowning, choking, fingers wrapped around his throat, pressing down with mechanical precision while a cold voice explained very patiently what he’d done to deserve it…
Sark shook him again, his grip on Luca’s bruised arms painful enough to dissolve the last clinging strands of nightmare.
“The lord’s back,” said Sark. “He wants to see you. Now.”
“The lord?”
“Melchior.”
Sark yanked Luca to his feet and dragged him from the dormitory. Agony lanced through him. Lady, he hurt. Like being turned inside out. It took all his strength not to limp. He thought he’d managed it, but Sark gave him a slantwise look.
“You all right?”
Luca nodded quickly. He forced himself to straighten.
“Yes, sir, I’m fine, I can work. The lord—”
“Says he was drunk.” Sark pulled him up a narrow flight of stairs. “Wants you now to make up for it.”
Luca would’ve thought he was in too much pain to feel relief, but it swept through him like a healing draught. The lord wanted him. If he pleased the lord, he could still be of use to his master. He wasn’t worthless, not completely.
Don’t get ahead of yourself, hole, the voice warned. There were still a thousand ways he could ruin everything. The lord was unpredictable. Luca would have to be very careful.
When they arrived at the room where Luca took clients, Bagoas was already there waiting. He wasted no time pulling off Luca’s robe to examine the state of his body before bending him over the dressing-table to prepare him.
“Great gods, you’re raw. You shall have to be clever and convince his lordship to take you in a position where he can’t see. Ride him, if he’ll let you. Unless you get the sense he likes his boys raw, of course, in which case…”
Luca closed his eyes and let Bagoas’s voice fade into noise. When slick fingers breached him, the thought came, petulant with exhaustion, I can prepare myself. I’m not a child.
Luca rubbed his forehead, a futile attempt to quell the ache inside. Stupid thought, anyway; he had prepared himself when he was a child. The men who’d fucked him certainly weren’t going to bother doing it themselves.
Once Luca was ready to be used, he dressed quickly in the outfit Bagoas had brought: a transparent half-vest and a bit of gauzy goldcloth loosely tied around his hips. The cloth would come off the moment the lord pulled it.
Bagoas clucked over the bites on Luca’s neck, the livid finger-marks around his arms and thighs, but there wasn’t time for anything more elaborate than a bit of concealer on the worst of what the Beast had done to his face.
“If only my lord had enjoyed you last night, before all this damage came to show,” Bagoas muttered, sliding a bangle over Luca’s elbow to hide one of the hand-shaped bruises on his bicep.
“Sark says he was too drunk,” said Luca. He hoped he didn’t sound too desperate for confirmation that the failure hadn’t been completely his own.
Bagoas rolled his eyes.
“Too blissed, more like. I know the signs. Men hallucinate when they’ve had that much. If the master had listened to me last night, I would have told him.” His mouth tightened. “At least the lord is sober now, even if the harsh light of morning has failed to sweeten his temper.”
Bagoas produced a ring from his pocket and slipped it onto Luca’s finger. The glass jewel was ostentatiously large to hide the tiny hinge on the side.
“Do you know what this is?”
Luca nodded. Smelling salts. If the lord hurt him so badly that he was about to pass out, he was to discreetly open the ring. It wouldn’t do to faint under a client.
Luca tried not to let his aversion show on his face. He hated smelling salts. The burn always brought with it a rush of unwelcome memories.
“Good boy,” said Bagoas.
He tipped Luca’s face up, turning his chin from side to side to study him.
“Even off your bloom, Luca, you are exquisite. You clearly made an impression on this young lord, blissed and drunk though he was. Simply observe every ceremony, make no move he does not direct, and refuse him nothing.” He gave an encouraging smile. “You will do well. You always do.”
Luca wanted very badly to believe him. But kneeling after Bagoas had gone, his forehead pressed to the floor, all he could do was replay the events of last night over and over again, trying to identify the exact moment when it had all gone wrong. Perhaps when the lord kissed him? That had been right before he’d pulled off Luca’s mask. Or maybe it was Luca’s face that he’d found so displeasing. But if that was it, then why had he come back?
Unless it was to punish him. Luca remembered the sickening impact of the lord’s fist, how he’d known exactly where to land it in order to bring the Beast down with a single blow. And if he could bring down the Beast, he could do much worse to a worthless slave that no one would miss.
The door opened. Luca saw calfskin boots, the embroidered hem of a greatcoat. Was he breathing? He didn’t know.
Luca forced himself to kneel up with his legs spread and his arms folded behind his back.
“Welcome to the Harlequin, my lord,” he said—too quiet, he could barely hear himself, but he didn’t seem capable of raising his voice above a whisper. “How may your slave serve your pleasure?”
The lord sighed softly. He crossed the room to stand in front of Luca, who bent forward automatically to kiss the floor.
But the man knelt—knelt, a lord on the same level as a slave, as though they were equals—and stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. Then he tilted Luca’s face up, forcing him to meet—
—kind gray eyes, somehow wholly unchanged, in a face that had once been as familiar as Luca’s own pulse.
“Hello, sweetheart,” Robbie said.
Before now, Luca would have said that his life proceeded in a straight line, with Robbie a heartbreaking moment of brightness in a past to which he would never be allowed to return. But in this instant the ends connected and the line became a loop, with Luca tumbling along its continuum. He had no sense of direction anymore, no up or down. He was here; he was nowhere. He was little again and Master Commissioner was pushing his legs apart. Then he was with Robbie, unlocking the letters that would become words that would become worlds to which he could escape and not be touched, not even by the man who owned him.
And then he was under Master Trainer. No escape from me, hole. I’ll be with you always.
Luca saw his mother, her bound hands grasping at nothing, eyes wide, lips blue. She couldn’t breathe. Luca couldn’t breathe.
“Breathe, sweetheart, breathe. Deep inhale—that’s it. Now breathe out.”
Luca let out a shuddering exhale. His teeth chattered like he was cold, but he wasn’t cold. Was he? Why was he shivering? His hand was fisted in Robbie’s shirt, and that wasn’t allowed, he shouldn’t be touching a man so familiarly. Make no move he does not direct. But Bagoas had said that about the lord, and this was Robbie. The idea that they were one in the same was threatening to split open Luca’s pounding head.
Robbie rubbed his back, making slow, soothing circles. Luca would’ve thought he could force his body to do anything, but he couldn’t seem to let go of Robbie’s shirt.
“I promised I’d find you,” Robbie said, and his smile, Lady, his smile was exactly the same.
“I knew you’d come,” said Luca fiercely. “I knew it. I never stopped waiting.”
Robbie brushed back loose strands of Luca’s hair, and oh, that touch—Luca arched into it shamelessly.
“I’m just sorry I took so long.” Robbie cupped Luca’s face, thumb stroking his cheekbone. “I—well, until last night, I thought you were dead.”
I was, Luca wanted to say. I died when he took me away from you and I was dead until just now when you touched me.
Perhaps he would have said it if Robbie hadn’t chosen that moment to kiss him. Just a brush of his lips, but it was enough to set off sparks up and down Luca’s spine.
Like tasting the sun, he thought dizzily.
Robbie pulled back—gently, with soft groan, as though it pained him not to keep going. Luca licked his lips. He wanted more. And how strange, that feeling! So alien to want anything for himself. Not for his master or Asher or the man using him, but for Luca and Robbie alone.
“Great and little gods, I’ve missed you,” Robbie murmured. He touched Luca’s braid. “Your hair has gotten so long.”
Luca couldn’t look away from Robbie’s face. Another thing that wasn’t allowed; he shouldn’t be staring at a man like this. But Robbie’s face was the same and not at all, the boyish softness stretched into lean lines and sharp angles. High cheekbones, cut-glass jaw, brows swooping winglike over deep-set eyes. It might've been a face too intense to be called handsome, but this was Robbie, and he was still the most beautiful man Luca had ever seen.
Luca wanted to tell Robbie that. He wanted to tell him everything. But it seemed he was the same stupid boy who could never find the right words, because all he could think to say was, “Robbie, your nose. It used to be crooked.”
Robbie laughed, his big rich wonderful laugh.
“Yes, my lord Argent had it fixed. He said the dent made me look like a mercenary.” Then, ruefully, “Five fucking years. I don’t even know where to start.”
“Are you really a lord?”
Robbie sighed.
“Yes and no. It’s rather a long story…”
“Let me see if I understand,” said Luca seriously. “You’re Lord Argent’s ward, and he’s your grandfather, which everyone knows but they’re too afraid of him to say. And he wants to make you his heir, because he hates his cousin, but only after you’ve proved yourself, because your father was a disappointment. And so you’re at University, and you’re trying to be a gentleman, only you don’t like the lords, and you keep getting in trouble, so now your grandfather thinks you might be a disappointment, too. Oh, and your name is Robert now. Did I get it right?”
Luca sounded so like he used to when reciting his lessons that Robert had to kiss him again. He was trying to be careful about the kisses. Luca’s bottom lip was swollen and split at the corner. Robert knew better than to ask about that; he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. He wanted very badly to hurt everyone who had ever hurt Luca, beginning with Crawley and ending with Boq, but since that was impossible, he could at least avoid hurting Luca himself. Even if Luca would no doubt let Robert ravage his mouth until it was bleeding and never lose that worshipful look, as though Robert truly were a god come to rescue him.
Robert also knew that he had to be careful about the kisses because they were now lying side by side on the bed, their fingers tangled together. He wasn’t quite sure how that had happened, except that he’d wanted to get Luca up from the floor, off his poor bruised knees, and, well, there wasn’t much in the room aside from the bed. But he remembered how Luca had responded to being put on a bed when they were younger—so obviously expecting to be fucked, no matter how many times Robert told him he wouldn’t. As if Luca couldn’t imagine any other reason for being allowed to rest on something soft.
Robert rather doubted that anything had happened in the intervening years to change Luca’s associations with this particular piece of furniture. He had a feeling that all it would take was a too-greedy kiss, a too-intimate touch, and Luca would be on his knees unfastening Robert’s trousers.
So Robert had to be careful. But boiling fields of hell, it was difficult. Luca was just as beautifully responsive as he had been at thirteen. Just as beautiful.
And predictably, the nearness of him had exactly the same effect on Robert as it always had. Thank gods he’d had worn trousers instead of breeches, because he’d gotten hard the moment he touched Luca’s hair. His erection dwindled only to resurge every time Luca moved closer, or touched his hand, or looked at him with that adoring expression, or, well, did anything, really.
Fortunately, praising Luca was almost as good as kissing him.
“You are still so damned smart,” said Robert, pressing his lips to Luca’s palm.
Luca beamed at him and, fuck, he was hard again. Like clockwork.
Then he saw Luca’s wrist and it was all he could do not to throw up.
Gently, carefully, Robert turned both of Luca’s hands palm-up. Luca saw what Robert was looking at and turned away.
There was a matched set of thick, ragged scars across his wrists.
Gods, he must have cut so deep…
“You don’t have to tell me,” Robert said quietly. “But I’d like to know.”
Luca was staring at the ceiling. His eyes were distant.
Then, in a voice so remote and devoid of emotion that it was as though he was recounting someone else’s story, he told Robert what had happened after Crawley took him away.
*
Master Crawley took him to a fuckhouse. Luca had heard of fuckhouses; they were where the trainers used to threaten to sell the boys who didn’t learn fast enough. Master Crawley made the same threats, only Luca had thought (brainless barbarian) that he was too valuable. He’d thought he was safe.
He was so stupid.
The man who owned the fuckhouse took Master Crawley’s money and promised he’d make Luca beg for death. Then he chained Luca to a bed and told him that if he took every man in the house, he might consider keeping Luca alive.
Luca hurt so much that it was like he was floating. He left his body when the first man pushed into it. When he came back it was hours later. Master Jorin didn’t say if he’d taken every man in the house, but there was so much blood Luca thought he must have.
He hadn’t known there could be this much pain. Not in the whole world.
Master Jorin had another boy who wasn’t making enough money. He gave the boy to a client who’d bought a death. He made Luca watch.
Luca never knew the boy’s name. He knew what his blood looked like, and his insides, and he knew his fear and his screams and, finally, his despair, but not his name. The boy looked at Luca with eyes so big and black they were like holes in the world. There was nothing human left in them, but still, it took hours for him to die.
After, Master Jorin burned away the boy’s face and his brand. That way Master Crawley wouldn’t be able to tell that the body wasn’t Luca’s. Master Jorin said that Luca belonged to him now. Luca was going to make his new master a lot of money, or he was going to end up like the boy who’d died in his place.
Luca never knew how much money he made Master Jorin. It must’ve been enough, though, because Master Jorin kept him alive long after Luca stopped wanting him to.
He was fucked until he forgot everything except the sound of Robbie’s voice.
Luca didn’t know how long he was chained to the bed before it broke. The frame snapped and his fingers found something sharp and he felt a relief so acute that his body must’ve gone tight with it because the man on him cursed and came.
Luca made himself wait until the man left. Then he pulled himself up and sawed his wrists open on the nail.
He didn’t die. Master Jorin found him before he slipped over and brought a doctor to drag him back. He waited until Luca was conscious to punish him. Then he let the doctor fuck him for payment. Then he leaned down and hissed in his ear, “I decide when you die, you hear me? I decide when you get to die, you worthless cunt.”
There was more punishment after that, but Luca barely felt it. Later, when a tube was forced down his throat to feed him, he didn’t feel anything at all.
It was his brand that saved him. One of the men recognized it. He told someone who told someone who told Gregori Boq that there was a lovely little whore in a wharfside hellhole who’d trained at the best house in Lyonesse.
By then, Luca was dying. When he closed his eyes, he saw his mother. She bent over the bed, the filthy bed that he was never ever going to leave, and kissed his forehead.
Soon, little soul, she promised.
But it wasn’t Luca’s mother bending over him. It was a fat man in a wig. He wore jewelry and perfume, and when he touched Luca, his hands were clean.
“We need another dancer on our books. Your training house is famed for turning out boys who move like Ganymene. Tell me, slave, can you dance?”
It took Luca a long moment to realize that the man was talking to him. Asking him a question. He couldn’t make his throat work, it was too torn from the tube and other things, but he nodded.
Yes, sir, your slave can dance. It can do anything you want.
The man rubbed his thumb over Luca’s ragged lips. Luca opened his mouth and the man pushed his thumb inside. Luca was too weak to suck it properly, but he tried. He hoped the man knew how much he tried.
“Yes, I think he’ll do nicely. And don’t try to haggle with me, Jorin. He’ll be dead in a week if I don’t like your price, and then all you’ll have to sell is his pretty corpse. Sark? Take him.”
And then the chains fell away and Luca was being lifted out of the nightmare and into his new life.
*
By the time Luca finished, Robert was sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. He was trying, with every ounce of strength he had, not to cry. Gods knew he didn’t deserve to. What had he been doing while the boy he loved was being tortured? Slitting a throat? Getting his cock sucked by some ratty little Docktown piece?
Robert was so consumed by self-loathing that a touch on his arm made him flinch like he’d been hit. Luca snatched his hand away.
“Sorry, I’m sorry, of course you wouldn’t want me to—” Luca looked down at his hands in his lap, twisting together so hard they were bloodless. “I’m so sorry, Robbie. Robert. It was my fault, all of it.”
Robert took his hands and kissed them.
“None of that. Don’t apologize to me. You have nothing, nothing to be sorry for, d’you understand?”
Luca laughed shakily.
“I heard Docktown in your voice just then.”
“Yes, it comes out when I’m emphatic. Or drunk.”
He gathered Luca to him and was relieved to find that, yes, it was possible to be so distraught that his body didn’t respond to having his boy pressed against it.
“Scald the land, sweetheart. I will never forgive myself for what happened to you.”
Luca shook his head, silky hair tickling Robert’s nose.
“There wasn’t anything you could’ve done. And I’ve been lucky, really. Master Boq has been so good to me. He’s treated me better than I deserve.”
Robert gave a harsh bark of laughter.
“Oh, yes, what a great philanthropist your master is. I saw his charity at work last night.”
Luca bit his lip and dropped his eyes. Quietly, he said, “This is the best position I’ve ever had.”
Of course it was. Fuck. Robert was an idiot.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t assume I know anything about—well, anything.” He traced the bruises banding Luca’s too-thin arms. “I just can’t stand seeing you hurt.”
Luca shook his head, pulling distractedly at a strand of hair.
“I’m ugly, I know I’m ugly right now, Robert, but I won’t look like this if you come to see me again, I’ll be clean, I swear—”
“If I come to see you again?” said Robert incredulously. “Do you really think I’ll let you go now that I’ve found you?”
He pulled the wallet from his waistcoat and shook it out on the bedspread in a rain of gold. Luca's eyes went wide, hands flying to his mouth. Robert gave himself a moment to bask in the gratifying warmth of that awe.
See, sweetheart? I always wanted to protect you, and now I can.
Then, with a sinking feeling, Robert realized that of all the money Luca had made for his owners, he'd probably never touched a single piece of it himself. Gods, had he ever even held a coin?
Robert answered that question by pressing a hundred-crown piece into Luca’s palm. Luca stared at it as though it was a piece of Queen Aelinor’s regalia.
“It’s so light,” Luca murmured. “I would’ve thought—they always look so big and heavy.”
Robert’s smugness dwindled to an ache. Oh, love, I would fill your hands with money if I could. Every crown you were ever bought and sold for.
Aloud, he said, “This is—let’s see—a little more than eight thousand crowns altogether. I know it probably isn’t enough to buy you outright, but I thought your—Boq, he might accept a down payment.”
Luca tore his eyes away from the coins to look up at Robert with open astonishment.
“You still want to buy me?”
“Sweetheart, of course. That was always the plan, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, but I thought maybe—what I told you, about the, the place Master Crawley took me—and there have been so many men since then, Robert, and I’ve done things—things you couldn’t possibly forgive me for, and—”
He took a shuddering breath.
“You shouldn’t want me. I’m not worth it. I’m not worth this.”
Robert wanted to find the men who’d left that broken note in Luca’s voice and kill them slowly. No—he’d let Luca kill them. Gods knew he deserved to return a little of what had been done to him.
But Robert was careful not to let his anger show. He didn’t want Luca to think it was directed at him. Instead, he took Luca’s face in his hands and forced his gaze up.
“Gwylyn lé,” he said firmly.
Luca’s trembling lips were too sweet a temptation to resist. And when they parted for him—So responsive, sweetheart—Robert couldn’t help deepening the kiss. Luca melted into him, so eager he was, fuck, gasping, like Robert was inside of more than just his mouth…
Then the image flashed in Robert's mind of Crawley raping Luca until he screamed.
Robert pulled back too quickly. Luca looked disoriented, as though shaken from a deep sleep.
“Did I—I did something wrong—”
Before his confusion could become panic, Robert took Luca’s hands and kissed them again. He kissed his slender fingers, the soft of his palms. Then, carefully, he pressed his lips to the scars on Luca’s wrists.
“You’re worth everything,” Robert said. “But only if you’ll have me, sweetheart. Do you want to be mine?”
“Yes,” Luca said fiercely. “Yes, Robbie, please. More than anything.”
Relief was a fist unclenching in Robert’s chest. See? You’re nothing like him.
“Good. Because I want you, too. More than anything.”
And then, because Luca tipped his face up with such a wrenchingly hopeful look, Robert was compelled to kiss him again. Chastely, this time. Luca grasped at his shirt, clinging with both hands. Just like he had when they were children. As though that had ever been enough to keep them from being pulled apart.
What is this pain? Robert wondered absently—and then, Oh, of course, it’s Luca. Loving him had always been agony and ecstasy both, like a spar of bliss lodged between his ribs. Because loving Luca had always meant having to leave him.
No, damn it. Robert wasn’t leaving him again. Being Lord Argent’s ward had to be good for something, didn’t it?
“Sell the Golden Bird, my lord? Oh dear me, no. I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”
Boq smiled and leaned back in his chair. It was barely noon, but he already had a glass of sherry in his hand. From the color in his cheeks, it wasn’t his first.
“Are you familiar with the trade in pleasure slaves, my lord?” he asked, swilling the red liquor.
“A failure in my otherwise impeccable education,” said Robert through clenched teeth.
If Boq heard the bite in those words, he didn’t show it.
“Ah, but I’m sure my lord is aware that beauty is a singularly valuable commodity," he said. "Valuable and perishable. I find that boys reach their peak between twenty-one and twenty-five; after that the decline may be gentle or steep, depending on how fast the bloom fades. Personally, I never keep a boy past the age of twenty-seven. Now, the Golden Bird is, oh, seventeen, perhaps eighteen? Already he is one of our most popular offerings, and he has the sort of youthful looks that keep. He has yet to reach his zenith, and when he does, I have reason to hope that his beauty will achieve unusual longevity. Should he stay in full bloom as long as I expect, his career could last another decade. And while of course your lordship need not worry about such matters, a man in my position simply cannot afford to forgo that sort of revenue.”
Robert ran a distracted hand through his hair. He was in desperate need of a cigarette. And then perhaps I can use Argent’s lighter to burn this place to the ground…
“How much would it take to change your mind?” he asked. “I have almost nine thousand crowns with me today. I can get more easily. Name your price.”
“It isn’t simply a matter of money, my lord. I must consider the prestige the Bird brings to the house. Reputation is a currency at least as valuable as coin.”
Robert scrubbed a hand over his face. Don't beg, he ordered himself.
“There must be a number you’re looking for.” Then, hating him, “Please.”
Boq smirked as though he’d won something.
“Your insistence is a testament to the boy’s value, my lord. But I am a man of business. If I sell the Bird now I would stand to lose not only all future profit but also any future prestige he might bring to the Harlequin. Now, I may be willing to reconsider in a few years—”
“Years? You expect me to wait that long?”
“Of course not, my lord. While there is an extensive waitlist for a regular appointment with the Golden Bird, I would be honored to add you to our books as a client, should you desire.”
“And how much is that going to cost me?”
It was going to cost him a great deal. There was a fee to join the books, and a one-month deposit—which, Boq stressed, was nonrefundable. (Not that such a delicious, agreeable boy would give his lordship any reason to want a refund, of course.) And if his lordship were to put down a six-month advance, Boq would even be willing to extend a small discount. A welcome gift to thank my lord for his patronage.
By the time Boq had summed up the full outlay of cash required to secure a precious weekly hour with the Golden Bird, Robert was beginning to understand exactly how naïve he’d been to think nine thousand crowns and Lord Argent’s name would be anything like enough to make Luca his.
The memory came, unbidden, of Crawley drawling My, what a fortune, while his friends sniggered.
Robert pushed it away. Not helpful.
“I want the boy seen by a doctor,” said Robert, adopting Argent’s tone of cold authority. “And the bruises, the injuries—what happened on stage last night—”
“Bacchanal comes but once a year, my lord,” said Boq in that maddeningly ingratiating tone.
“Regardless, I won’t have him hurt.” What would Francis say? “It displeases me to see his face bruised.”
“Yes, my lord. Protection can be arranged for a nominal fee.”
Of course.
“I’ll pay it," said Robert. If nothing else, he could at least make Luca's life in this gilded hell a little easier. "When can I see him again?”
Boq perched a pair of gold spectacles on his nose, opened the massive gilt-edged ledger on his desk, and picked up a pen.
“This client looks expendable,” he muttered, crossing off a name. “Would Tuesday at four o’clock suit for your weekly appointment, my lord? I do apologize for the early hour; the boy is, as I’ve explained, almost too popular. Perhaps my lord could think of him as a sweet aperitif before supper.”
Robert wanted very much to hit him. Instead he forced himself to return the lascivious smile and nod. Tuesday was five days away. They’d survived five years apart; this would be an agony far more endurable.
“And what name should I write down, my lord?”
Ah, this question. It pretended to be innocent, but Robert knew exactly what was being asked.
“Robert Fitzrobert,” he said shortly.
If Boq understood the significance of Robert’s answer, he gave no indication.
“Very good, my lord.”
“And he’ll be well-treated, I have your word?”
“My lord shows such touching concern. I assure you, the boy wouldn’t find better use in the King’s own bed.”
Luca stared at the door for a long time after it closed. If he listened, he could hear footfalls on the floorboards, fading as Robert got further and further away. Then, straining his ears, Luca could almost convince himself that he heard Robert climbing the stairs again. He could make himself believe that Robert was coming back.
He will be back, Luca told himself sternly. Robert had promised, right before leaving, and Luca had no reason to doubt him. Robert had sworn to find Luca all those years ago, and he had. He always kept his promises.
Besides, Robert was a lord now, or something like one. He was so powerful that even Master Boq had been afraid of his anger. He had money, more than Luca had ever seen, and he’d even let Luca touch a piece of it. And Robert had grown. He was so tall, almost as tall as the Beast, and when he held Luca—not seeming to mind how ugly he was, how used—Luca could feel the strength in his arms. Robert had even kissed him—perfect, heart-stopping kisses—as though he didn’t care about all the filthy things Luca had done with his mouth.
You’re beautiful, he’d said. Men had been telling Luca that since he was too young to know what it meant, but Robert was the only one he’d ever wanted to believe.
When the door opened, Luca thought for one brief, wonderful moment that it was Robert. But no, it was Bagoas who swept inside.
“I’m to bring you to the master,” he said, breathless with excitement. “He’s just spoken with the lord. You had him eating out of your hand, Luca! He was mooning over you like a lovestruck schoolboy. Do you have any idea what this means for us? The ward of the Grand Chancellor on our books! Not even Bridda—”
He stopped short, taking in Luca’s blank expression.
“Did you have to use the ring?”
Luca shook his head.
“No, sir. My lord was gentle with me.”
There must've been something in Luca’s voice, something he didn’t intend, because Bagoas gave him a long, considering look. Luca flinched and dropped his eyes.
“Hm. Well, in any case. Congratulations, Luca; your promotion is assured.”
For a moment Luca couldn’t think what he meant. Then their conversation in the dressing room came back to him. Of course; he would be first whore now. Luca forced himself to smile the way he did when a client wanted him to pretend that he liked it.
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
Bagoas was still regarding him with that discomfortingly unreadable expression.
“Luca,” he began before cutting himself off with a curt gesture. “Never mind. I’m sure the master will be wondering where we’ve gotten to. Come along.”
When they arrived at Master Boq’s office, the music box was blaring. Luca didn’t think he’d ever seen his master in a better mood. He was even warbling along to the aria. When Luca entered, Master Boq flung up an arm in welcome.
“Ah, there’s my beautiful Bird! I’ve just had the most intriguing conversation with Argent’s ward. Robert Fitzrobert, he calls himself.” Master Boq rolled the syllables around on his tongue like sherry. “He is a bastard, then. And Argent has yet to let him take the family name. My contacts will be very interested.”
He snapped his fingers, Luca’s sign to crawl closer.
“And what did you learn, pretty one?”
Of course Master Boq would want a report. He always did, with the important clients. Luca drove his fingernails into his palms and kept his face void of expression.
“Master, forgive me,” he said, trying make the remorse sound genuine. “My lord wasn’t talkative, and I thought it best not to bother him with questions.”
To his relief, Master Boq only smiled indulgently.
“I suppose he was too busy enjoying you?”
“Yes, Master.”
“How did he take you?”
“On the bed, Master. On my back.”
It wasn’t a lie; they had been on the bed, and Luca had been lying on his back while Robert talked to him. And how strange to be on a bed with a man without being fucked! Luca couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. If it ever had.
“You must have made quite an impression,” said Master Boq, gesturing for Luca to fill his glass. “Fitzrobert made an offer for you. Of course selling you now is out of the question,” he went on, casually piercing Luca’s heart, “but I foresee a nice little bidding war shaping up in a few years.”
A few years. Luca swallowed against the sting in his throat.
“Until then, of course, you’ll need to keep Fitzrobert interested. I’m sure that won’t be difficult. Will it, slut?”
“No, Master.”
“Good. He’ll be taking Lieutenant Arkwright’s Tuesday slot. We can’t waste you on a common Watchman when lords wait in the wings.”
Master Boq chuckled to himself, clearly pleased with the idea of noblemen waiting on his command.
“Besides, Arkwright is…temperamental, and Fitzrobert has paid handsomely to keep you unblemished.”
Arkwright was a vicious brute and Luca wouldn’t miss him, especially if it was Robert taking his place. But Tuesday was five whole days away. And then it would be seven days until the next Tuesday.
A few years…
Luca was so distracted that he flinched when Master Boq stroked his face. He forced himself to lean into the touch, pressing his other cheek against his master’s thigh. There was an answering twitch under Master Boq’s robe. So that would be next, then. Of course it would; Luca should’ve expected it.
But instead of making the sign for Luca to undress, Master Boq took his chin between thumb and forefinger, tilting him up.
“Now, little Bird, listen carefully. The next time you see Fitzrobert, I want you to find out as much as you can about his past, before he came to be Argent’s ward. I gather he’s something of a mystery; he appeared from the ether three years ago. You should also listen carefully to what he says about his grandfather. My contacts are very interested in Lord Argent. Do you understand?”
Luca felt like he was being drowned. Like the Pig was having the Beast hold Luca’s face in a bucket of water while fucking him. It hurt to breathe.
The slap was almost welcome. The sharp crack jolted Luca back into the moment.
“Your master asked you a question, slut.”
“Yes, Master,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, sir. Thank you for correcting me. I understand, sir, I do.”
Master Boq’s hand fell clumsily on Luca’s hair.
“What a stupid thing you are,” he murmured. “Your looks truly are your only saving grace.” He yanked Luca’s hair to pull his head back. “Mm. That ravishing rose of a mouth. Did you use it to please Fitzrobert?”
“Yes, Master.”
It's not a lie, Luca told himself. Robert had seemed pleased with Luca’s mouth when he was kissing it. (Kisses that Luca had done nothing to earn, that he would never deserve.)
Master Boq rubbed his thumb over Luca’s lips. Just like he had in the fuckhouse. Without even having to think, Luca sucked it into his mouth. He could do a better job now that he wasn’t half-dead.
Master Boq made an approving noise. He patted Luca as though he were a well-trained pet.
And aren’t I? Luca thought, with a sudden rush of bitterness. Such a good dog. He could crawl and bark and spread his legs on command.
“Mm, lovely boy.” Master Boq’s head fell back, eyes heavy-lidded with pleasure. “Show me how you sucked off Argent’s bastard, slut.”
Mechanically, Luca untied his master’s robe and lifted his belly and took his stiff, leaking, unwashed prick into his mouth. He tried to be nothing and nowhere, just an empty space for the man to fill, but he kept being jolted back to his body by the fingers twisting his hair (Not Robert’s), the voice crooning insults (Not Robert’s).
He forced his head down, letting the familiar burning stretch focus him. He worked the muscles of his throat around his master’s cock and was rewarded by the gush of his release, so deep that Luca barely had to taste it.
Master Boq let loose a stream of Baktrian curses. His hand tightened in Luca’s hair, then relaxed.
“Ah, Father of Hosts, that was good. What a talented mouth you have, my dear. Now lick me clean and put me away. Balls, too, slut, don’t be lazy. Yes, that’s very nice.”
When Master Boq’s prick and balls were glistening, Luca refastened his robe and sat back on his heels. He had to suppress the ungrateful urge to wipe his mouth.
“Thank you for using me, Master.”
Only after he’d spoken did Luca realize that he’d neglected to inflect his voice with the appropriate note of breathless gratitude. There was no emotion in the words at all.
Fortunately Master Boq didn’t seem to notice. He waved Luca away with a bejeweled hand.
After the study door closed behind him, Luca let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. Lady, what was wrong with him? He’d sucked his master’s cock a thousand times. It had never been difficult to show enthusiasm, to moan around the prick in his mouth, to worship what his master gave him and eagerly swallow his release. Not when the alternative was so much worse. And thanking him after had never felt so much like chewing glass.
It had been like this with Crawley, too. Easy enough to be his master’s mindless plaything until Robert arrived. He made Luca’s life worth living and infinitely more difficult all at once.
You just have to make it to Tuesday, Luca reminded himself. Five days. He would survive that. He just couldn’t think about all the days after. The years. He couldn’t think about what it would be like to live for those brief, perfect visits. To keep on living in the time in between.
Luca just couldn’t think, that’s all.
That shouldn’t be too difficult for you, should it, hole?
|
Rhaegar POV
The tension slammed against my chest as it threatened to choke me the cold eyes of Elia looked back at me as she absorbed the news of Lyanna and our son. I knew by the outrage in her eyes that no matter what she said we would never be a happy blended family. “So what now I and our children are shipped off to Dorne and your newest child gets it all and you shun your lawful children”
Her rage-filled voice force shudders to rush down my spine as her eyes filled with their own fury. I knew that I was putting not only our family at risk but the peace of the whole kingdoms when I looked at her. Her lips trembling and his eyes wet with rage-induced tears as she gripped tightly to her silk skirts clutching them angrily as she tried to keep her rage from coming to the surface.
“No I would never do that, the children and you are more than welcome to say in the castle, but Lyanna and our child will be here within a few weeks at the moment they are in Dorne but are on their way back. Look I don't plan on disinheriting the children. If you wish it then we will go by dornish law and name Rhaenys my heir. Or if you prefer then Aegon will be my heir. I didn't intend for any of this to grow any worse than it already has I'm leaving succession up to you I shamed you and our children you shouldn't pay for my actions.”
Taking in a deep breath I felt my heart thunder against my chest I spoke in a cool tone to try and further prove my point. “I know that you never loved me it was simply something that we did because our parents bid us. I love our children and I won't steal away their rights I won't be my father.”
I watched her teeth racked against her bottom lip as she moved to the window wrapping her arms across her chest as if to hold herself together form this crashing weight of this news. Silence passed over us for far too long.
The tension built up like water behind a dam as she stood there stiff and emotionless as a stone statue. “Very well you spurned Dorne so we will go by Dornish law, Rhaenys will be your heir and Aegon her betrothed. They will rule the throne together” I nodded my head and looked to the glittering bay. “There is one thing that you should know your mother she won't be coming home”
Confusion filled my chest as regret and grief pool in her voice as I looked to her as her eyes grew cold and jaded. “Your mother died giving birth to Daenerys.” She averted her eyes as sadness pooled in her big brown eyes. There was no big loss when it came to my father but my mother was a shining light in the city how could I move on without her?
I walked into the small council's chambers in silence nearly broken as I dropped into a chair at the head of the table, dropping my head into my hand as my whole body felt like lead. There would be word from dragonstone at any moment telling me of my mother's demise.
Rubbing my eyes angrily I tried to force away the pain-filled tears doing my best not to lose my shit but each breath I took hurt and it felt like my world was crumbling away to nothing. My silver locks fell into my face and as I shove them roughly behind my ears I could hear the loud slapping of the large doors being flung open.
Taking in a deep breath I watched as the gold armor of Tywin shining as he walked into the room, a look of hate in his eyes. Maester Pycelle walked into the room like a whipped cur following at his master's heels, I'm under no impression that he will be loyal to my family. There wasn't much left of the council other than them they aren't many key members of the council left alive. All the hands were dead or in exile.
“Be seated we have much to talk about starting with Lyanna Stark I didn't kidnap her.” At the sound of those words, I watched Lucerys Velaryon sat wordlessly simply glaring at me as hate burned in his eyes as he looked to the Lannister that didn't take part in any of the battles that had happened.
“That is honorable to say but there is no reason to lie you are king you can do as you wish your grace.” The sly voice of Maester Pycelle forced hate to fill my chest does he take me for my father. Cruel and small were to things that I'm not and never will be, but I didn't even acknowledge the comment as I spoke in a cold commanding tone.
“I annulled my marriage to Elia and married Lyanna in secret, she and our child are on the way back from Dorne with three of the king's guard and a Maester that is going to replace you Maester Pycelle from this moment you are fired you may leave.”
I watched panic gripped him as he gave me a wide-eyed stare like he wasn't sure that any of this is real. He stirred and look on the verge of tears he gave a look to Tywin with large pleading old eyes. But he simply turned his head away as the poor old fool was forced from the room.
“Next order of business, Lord Staunton I want it known that my daughter will be the heiress to all seven kingdoms and Aegon my son will be her betrothed write up the orders at once for me to sign. Also, the Maester will bring paperwork to prove the annulment and new marriage make sure to make copies for any who might try to make this marriage illegitimate. Now let's move onto the newest piece of business, Jaime Lannister.”
Even as I said the boy's name I found it hard not to sneer how could a mere teen slay his own king his words might have been true but there were far better ways to handle that situation that wouldn't have made him an oathbreaker.
“I will allow him to return to the rock to live out the rest of his days I will not reward the oathbreaker he gets to keep his life that is it. He is removed from the white swords I won't have a man that is meant to protect us do so after killing his king. Have him brought up from the dungeon in the morning and my mind won't be changed. From this day on Tyrion will be your heir.”
“Onto the next thing I want a letter written to Jon his banishment as been revoked and all of his holdings shall be returned and I name him Lord Protector and paramour of the Stormlands, the Baratheons will have lands and holdings stripped from them and their military might will be downsized.”
“The north has lost two liege lords and only rose in rebellion after they were killed and their lady thought to be kidnapped, no further punishment will be issued towards them. As for the Rock, Cersei will marry Garlan the Gallant he is the second-born son the reach, your family will have the reach and the west. As for the Vale, their lands and military powers will be reduced, lastly, I want ravens sent to the entire realm have them come to the capital and pledge their allegiance”
Even as I spoke I could see the varying emotions in Tywin's eyes first relief that his pride and joy was saved. Then blind rage filled his eyes, he looked ready to lose his temper his lips pulled into a grim hard-pressed line. The vein in his neck began to bulge and hate flared in his eyes as he glared at me but he said nothing simply nodded his head and left. The others filed out after him leaving me to my despair as a heavy sigh left my lips and I rubbed my temple wearily.
|
The angel had a room in one of the poorer quarters of the city – of course he bloody did – and Aziraphale kept a steadying hand under Crowley’s arm as he tottered along the filthy streets. He’d stopped babbling, all of his concentration going into putting one foot in front of the other.
The fact he was still upright was impressive, but that wasn’t what kept stealing Aziraphale’s attention.
Even when drunk, even when oblivious to the very clear need on all sides, the angel’s presence did… something. It was difficult to put a finger on what it was, but small children smiled, snarling dogs perked up their ears and wagged their tails and the shady bastards lurking about suddenly had better things to be doing.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked, worried. If the angel was accidentally throwing miracles around, Heaven would be certain to notice and they were very strict about their quotas.
Honey-brown eyes peered at him. “Why?”
“Should you be doing miracling now?”
Crowley blew a raspberry. “Not doing miracles,” he said, patting along his belt. “Going to bed.” He squinted around and beamed. “Ah! There! My room!”
The place was a dump. Aziraphale stared at it, then back at him.
“You’re not staying here.”
“Am.” Crowley stepped away and bowed his head politely, then tipped forward and Aziraphale caught him before they knocked heads. “Ohhhh…”
“I’m getting you all the way to bed, idiot,” the demon said sternly. “Otherwise, you’ll end up snoring in the street.”
The god damned angel’s smile was radiant as sunlight. “Told you,” he said happily, leaning into Aziraphale’s hands. “Nice.”
The demon rolled his eyes. “Shut up, would you? I don’t need the whole world to know.” He studied the angel, then bent at the knees and hoisted the yelping angel over his shoulder.
Crowley grabbed at Aziraphale’s belt, kicking his feet. “Pumme down!”
“Once you’re on your bed,” Aziraphale retorted, stalking into the building. A young lad gave them a wary look, so the demon swung round – ‘grooo…’ went the upside-down angel – and the boy snickered and pointed across the grubby courtyard to a door.
The room was as miserable as the building itself, the walls damp-stained and bare, and only the most basic of beds standing against a wall. Aziraphale stared around in distaste.
“This is the best you could do?”
“Don’t need more,” Crowley mumbled. He batted at Aziraphale’s back. “Pumme down?”
The demon glanced at the arse beside his cheek and sigh. A snap of his fingers added some more padding to the hard wooden bed, as well as a few pillows and a decent blanket. “Fine,” he said, prowling over and tipping the angel – with another yelp – onto the bed.
Crowley blinked up at him, a wounded look on his face. “Y’dropped me!”
Aziraphale bent down over him, nose-to-nose. “I put you to bed, my dear,” he purred. “Like I promised. And I could do a lo–”
The angel was hugging him.
Aziraphale blinked at the wall beyond him.
The angel had his arms around Aziraphale’s neck and he was hugging him.
“A-angel?”
Crowley made a small, happy sound and yawned, his breath a heated gust. “M’tired,” he murmured.
“Well… ah… yes…” Aziraphale hesitated, then slipped a hand behind Crowley’s mussed head. “You ought to lie down, my dear.” He bent lower, cradling the angel’s head carefully, to lay him back on the bed, a pillow under his head. “Like that, all right?”
Crowley peered up at him, then loosened one of his arms so he could touch the skin beneath Aziraphale’s eye. “Your eyes are like thunderstorms,” he said with soft solemnity, then yawned again and rolled over onto his side – clearly forgetting that his other arm around the demon’s neck.
One thing that is known but rarely discussed about angels is the fact they are – when the occasion calls for it – very strong indeed.
Abruptly, Aziraphale found himself hauled off his feet, upended, and trapped between a wall and an angel, the angel’s face tucked beside his on his new and very soft cushion.
“Um…”
“Sh,” Crowley murmured, eyes drooping closed. “Sleep time.”
Damn it, angel…
Aziraphale stared at Crowley’s face, so close to his own.
If he just… wriggled a bit to get free…
The angel made a small, sleepy grumble and things got so much worse as he squirmed closer, his arm tightening around Aziraphale’s neck, one leg flung over the demon’s. So much worse, especially when the tip of Crowley’s nose rubbed against Aziraphale’s and he yawned in his sleep, sweet as honey and wine.
“Crowley,” he managed to say, very acutely aware that his own hand not escaped from beneath Crowley’s head and coils of red hair were tangled deliciously around his fingers. “Crowley, I really ought to go.”
The angel gave a small and – oh Lucifer’s hairy arse – adorable snore.
“Angel,” he said, softly though. Wouldn’t do to startle him. “Angel, I have to go.”
All the same, he couldn’t help curling his fingers, feeling those ragged strands of ill-cut hair slipping between them. So ragged. Utterly unflattering. The angel needed better. Gently, gently, gently, he darted sharp touches against the soft curls, clipping away the ragged mess that spoke of very human grief and frustration.
How long he lay there, he didn’t know, but Crowley’s hair was neater and so very soft against his hand and – somehow, though he couldn’t say where or when – his other hand had found its way to rest on the angel’s hip.
It also meant he was still there when Crowley tensed in his sleep, his whole body coiling in on itself and trembling, face creasing with pain and distress. Oh no. No, that would never do.
Aziraphale brought up his hand from Crowley’s hip and gently brushed his thumb across that ugly line carving between his brows. “Hush, my dear, hush,” he murmured. “It’s all right. You’re all right.” He stroked his fingertips lightly down Crowley’s cheek. “You’re all right. You’re safe.”
Little by little, the angel relaxed and he curled closer, as if seeking Aziraphale’s warmth, burrowing his face into the demon’s shoulder.
Oh Lord.
Oh, Hell.
Shit.
I shouldn’t stay.
He could just go, disperse himself, slip away and leave the angel to sleep.
He’s an angel. He would… be angry? Could he be angry?
It would be easy.
And it would be cruel, letting him wake up in a demonic embrace. Poor bastard has enough to deal with.
All he had to do was leave.
Crowley’s hair was so soft between his fingers, his breath warm and even on Aziraphale’s throat, and he… wasn’t afraid. Not even a little bit. He was… he trusted… he…
Aziraphale ran a shaking hand down the angel’s back.
“Damn you,” he breathed, shooting a dark look Heavenwards. “Damn you.”
|
They deal with the scapegoat first—the department’s computer specialist, a man who lives alone, no close family or friends. The entire department is on high alert, and if Pia disappears it’ll be best to create a distraction first, or the investigation will swiftly zero in on her. It is Brienne who handles it, who leaves behind the forged suicide note. The authorities will find him soon enough. It might work—the investigation might stop at the man’s death—or it might not. But it’ll give them some leeway.
When Jaime goes to Pia’s next, ready to propose their surprise weekend trip, he finds her waiting for him with a suitcase sitting at her feet, already packed. I’m going to my parents’, she says, holding back tears. I need a break. I can’t take it.
He tries to convince her not to, tells her he’s planned a trip just for them, but she won’t listen. Only trembles and says, I’ve called them to say I’m coming. I didn’t tell them anything about you or the investigation, I just told them that I wanted to visit.
He doesn’t know what else to do, to get her to come with him. And he has nothing to offer her in that moment but—himself.
So, Jaime does something he never intended to do.
Very slowly, he takes off Peck’s glasses, and sets them on the dining table. Then, one by one, he removes each pin affixing Peck’s wig to his scalp. He glances at his reflection in a mirror on Pia’s living room wall as he does so. He’s seen them both, separately, countless times—Jaime’s reflection, Pia’s mirror—but never together. He looks away. In his fist, the pins imprint themselves onto the flesh of his palm; his wig hangs limply from between his fingers.
Pia doesn’t cry. She can barely speak.
Quietly, he tells her his real name, the one he was given at birth. Just his first name, though it’s hardly felt like his own for the longest time. When those syllables fall from his lips, his mind goes—of all places—to his brother. It is the name by which his brother had called him for many years, and would likely never use again, though they’ve been unexpectedly reunited. The name isn’t shared between brothers now—it is a rare truth shared between spy and mark. It is a lie confessed, from husband to wife. Pia hears it and, if she hadn’t guessed already, she knows then, what country he must come from. She knows the geopolitical game in which she has served as one oblivious pawn among many. He doesn’t need to explain much more. One name is enough.
(For days and weeks and months after, Jaime won’t be able to shake the thought that he has never given so much for one mission—even counting the mission that cost him his hand. He has to remind himself, again and again, that Pia will never know all of him. He has given her his real name, that much is true. But ‘Jaime’—said as a greeting, a question, a scolding, a tease, a moan, a whisper; said in a thousand different ways; said as a declaration of love—‘Jaime’ is for his life with Brienne. It is for Brienne only.)
And so, Pia comes with him, suitcase and all. She knows she doesn’t have a choice; or she does, but each of her options seems poorer than the last. It is treason, what she’s been doing for almost four years. Even if, by some miracle, the investigation doesn’t lead back to her—they’d only just found the body of the computer specialist, so there’s no knowing yet if they’ll buy the suicide note—Pia wouldn’t be able to continue at Counterintelligence without inevitably breaking. Yet if she quits her job in the near future, goes back to live with her parents for no particular reason, it would only attract suspicion. And there is no telling what would happen to her if she came clean. She could point a finger at her husband, at Peck, but he is a man who doesn’t even exist. There would be no way to prove she had been the victim. There would be no way of knowing if she would be treated with mercy.
This is the only way I can keep you safe, Jaime pleads, and I want you safe, Pia. It’s the most important thing to me.
Jaime doesn’t feel like he is lying, this time. In any case, to keep Pia safe is to keep his family safe too.
It is only after he brings her to the safe house (he knows now why the Centre had arranged for a new one); after he has given her some time alone in the bedroom, hears her soft cries through the door; after Goodwin has arrived, still in disguise as Peck’s father, to see Jaime not in disguise at all; after Jaime brings her out to meet with the person she had previously known only as her good-father; after he tells her that it would be Goodwin that would accompany her for the rest of her journey—
it is only then that Pia asks: “You’re not coming with me?”
Jaime has to take a moment to gather his thoughts. He walks up to her, puts his hand on her arm.
“No, Pia. I won’t—we won’t be able to see each other after you leave.”
A tear rolls down her cheek. “You won’t even—you can’t even visit me?”
“No. I’m sorry.”
“I’ll be alone again.” Another tear, and another. “Just the way it was before I met you.”
Pia buries her face in his chest, just then. Jaime cradles her head with his left hand, rests his prosthetic on her back. He is glad Brienne isn’t here to see this.
That night, he stays at the safe house with Pia. Neither of them seem able to fall asleep. It doesn’t seem real—she will leave in less than two days. “I don’t even know the language,” she whispers into her pillow at some point during the night. “I know. I’m sorry,” Jaime replies. He has the fleeting thought that he might teach her some phrases, lying there in the shabby bed of the safe house, since they both can’t sleep anyway. But he doubts she’ll remember anything.
Brienne arrives the next morning with breakfast. It’s the weekend, but Pod is keeping the twins occupied. Like Goodwin, she’s in full disguise. Her eyes widen when she sees that it is Jaime, not Peck, that meets her in the hallway.
“I had to—I didn’t know what else to do,” Jaime says, helplessly. “She was threatening to go back to her parents. She wouldn’t come with me otherwise.”
Brienne just nods. Very soon, it won’t matter that Pia knows what he really looks like. “How is she?”
“Terrified one moment.” Jaime brings a palm to his cheek and sighs. “Resigned the next.”
“Go get her for breakfast,” Brienne replies, as she moves into the kitchen. “I’ll talk to her later.”
“Will that help? You talking to her?”
Brienne pauses and turns back to face him. “It can’t hurt.”
No. Nothing much can hurt now.
Jaime coaxes Pia from the bedroom eventually. When she sees Brienne, her jaw drops open a little, but that is all. She eats her breakfast with them in silence. Jaime considers, perhaps, that Pia won’t find many things quite so shocking anymore.
After their meal, with Pia seeming relatively calm, Jaime has her call her parents first, to tell them that she isn’t coming that weekend. There will be no message for the answering machine, since they are expecting her already, so a phone call would be best. Jaime reminds her—gently but firmly—that it’s important that her parents are not implicated in this at all. They can’t know anything. So she says into the phone: Things blew up at work. I’m sorry, I won’t be able to come. Jaime can just barely hear the tinny voice of her father asking, Pia, is something wrong? And she has to stretch the phone out away from herself to gasp before she can tell him, No, I’m fine. I love you. Can I talk to Mum?
When she hangs up, she breaks down again. “She said she’ll see me soon,” Pia recounts, between sobs into Jaime’s shoulder. “But she won’t.”
“We’ll get a message to them later, Pia,” Jaime promises. “They’ll know you’re alright.”
Jaime sees Brienne looking at them from the corner of the room. She walks away after a while, probably heading to speak with Goodwin. She has to say her goodbyes too.
Later, Brienne knocks softly on the door of the bedroom. Jaime watches as Pia lets her in, equal parts wary and defeated. Brienne stays in there for a long time; Jaime just sits on the stairs and waits. He can hear murmurs from the room, then long silences, then murmurs again. Nothing more.
When Brienne emerges, closes the door behind her, she seems calm, but there’s something ashen about her face.
“What did you talk about?” he asks, as she sits beside him on the stairs.
“She—the first thing she asked was if I’m sleeping with you too.”
Jaime almost wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all. “What did you say?”
“Of course I denied it.” Brienne chews on her lip for a few seconds. “I told her I was really your half-sister.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I just thought she would have felt better believing you told her some truths.”
“Mm.” He remembers thinking Brienne was so honest, in their first year here, but there are layers to that honesty now. She still doesn’t lie particularly well if she can’t find the right angle for it, but for those white lies, the small and quiet ones that come from that place of genuine decency that she’s somehow managed to keep hold of all these years, they’re filled with so much sincerity that she can’t help but be convincing.
Brienne puts her fingers through the crook of his arm, daringly, though her touch is light enough that she can pull it away should Pia come out of the room. “I tried to bring up the possibility of the child.”
“And?”
“She didn’t—she didn’t really respond. I don’t think it’s the right time for her to consider that option.”
Jaime nods. “Is that all? You were in there a long time.”
“She asked me a few questions about home. What it would be like. I told her what I could, but—it’s been so long. A lot of things can change, even in six years. I felt like I was—that I wasn’t really telling her the truth. It all feels so distant.”
There are so many ways to lie to a person, Jaime thinks, but doesn’t say. “The Centre—Goodwin—they’ll help her adjust,” he states, more to convince himself than Brienne, and the words feel like dust on his tongue. What would be the point of teaching Pia their language, of settling her into her own apartment, of buying her the right clothes for the climate? What would be the point of all the things the Centre provides for assets lucky enough to be exfiltrated? None of it would be hers, not really. Not the language, not the apartment, not the clothes. And she would be alone through everything.
“I said goodbye. To Goodwin,” Brienne says, softly.
He forces his thoughts away from Pia. “How did that go?”
“I’ll be sad to lose him,” she replies, honestly. “Who knows if we’ll ever see each other again?”
“I’m sorry,” Jaime tells her, but she shakes her head. He knows it isn’t his fault. It feels like it is, though.
“I should go back home.” Brienne stands up from the stairs, and he follows suit. “I’ll sweep Pia’s apartment tomorrow. Is there anything in particular I should look out for?”
“I have a drawer with some clothes, and there’s a toothbrush and some toiletries in the bathroom. But that should be it.”
He sees Brienne peek over his shoulder at the closed door of the bedroom. Then, she lifts her hand to his jaw, and closes the gap between their lips. It is the most honest thing he’s ever known.
“See you tomorrow night?”
Tomorrow night. After Pia—
“Yes.”
Brienne turns to go, but Jaime grabs her wrist.
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
Everything. “Nothing. Just wanted to say I love you.”
She glances up the stairs to the bedroom door again. She kisses him again. She tells him she loves him too. She leaves.
The next day, Goodwin comes bright and early. They’ll depart, all three of them, once it gets dark. Tyrion hasn’t appeared all weekend—Gods, they’ve hardly spoken besides that first meeting—but Jaime supposes there’s nothing for his brother to do here, since all the arrangements have been made. Goodwin is still their handler until he steps on that plane with Pia tonight.
There’s just one more thing left to do—they have Pia sign a simple letter of resignation, which Jaime will post to the department tomorrow. It won’t hold up long, they expect—she’s a responsible person, and she would have given the department the proper amount of notice. Not just disappear without a trace, with her apartment left largely intact. She would have told her parents if she was going to make such a huge decision, and her parents won’t know anything about it when they’re finally contacted. They’ll only know that she married a nice man recently, a man named Josmyn Peckledon. But the department will soon realise that man doesn’t exist. Or if they find any record of him—besides the marriage license—they’ll also find that he was actually born sixty years ago, and died at the age of forty-seven. Long before Peck had ever met Pia.
He spends the rest of the day with Pia in the bedroom. There’s nothing much they can say, but his presence is the only comfort he can give her. There had always been this lightness between them, Jaime realises, a lightness that has completely evaporated over the past few weeks. The lightness wasn’t comfortable—it couldn’t ever really be comfortable when he was pretending to be someone else—but there had still been something undemanding in the time he spent with Pia. There was a void that lay beneath it, and he can’t say he’ll miss it, exactly. Yet he had appreciated that lightness while it was still there. It’s gone now.
After the sun sets, they make their way to Goodwin’s car. Pia almost collapses against Jaime on the way out the door, and he thinks he might have to support her all the way to the street. But she straightens her back, tightens her grip on her suitcase, and strides out the door. That might be the only strength she can muster right now, and he will let her have it.
At the airfield, everything is dark. The pilot spots their car and starts up the plane before they’ve even had a chance to get out. Jaime extends his left hand towards Goodwin, and the older man takes it in a strong grip, a thank you and goodbye in the form a simple handshake. “Take care of her,” Jaime says, and Goodwin nods firmly.
Then, he kisses Pia, kisses away her tears, and tells her that he loves her one more time, tells her that he’s sorry ten more. He tells her to be safe. He’s not sure if she can hear him over the roar of the engine, but that’s all Peck has for Pia, at this final hour.
He watches the plane as it ascends into the night sky.
Alone, he drives back to the safe house; he is meant to leave Goodwin’s car there for the Centre to deal with in whatever way. When he arrives, Brienne is waiting in their car outside the house, ready to bring him home.
Back in their bed, Jaime lets Brienne hold him—almost cradle him—and they stay that way for a long time. Awake, together, silent but for the sound of their breathing. Brienne combs her fingers through his hair, again and again. He should feel more relieved, shouldn’t he? No more Peck, no more Pia. But he doesn’t. There will be another man for him to be, soon enough. There will be another person to lie to, to sleep with, to kill.
On Monday morning, Jaime sits down with his family for breakfast. He looks from Myrcella, to Tommen, to Pod, all seated around the dining table, giggling over buttered toast and scrambled eggs. The twins are trying to tell Pod an elaborate story; from what Jaime can tell, the story isn’t making very much sense, but the boy listens to them in rapt attention regardless. Pod is good with them that way.
It’s as if nothing has changed at all. It’s as if he hasn’t just sent off someone he had used for years—someone he had married, just so he could keep using her—never to be seen again. Everything feels normal, even though there’s never been such a thing as normal, not for Jaime. But this is a normalcy that’s gossamer thin, one that seems to drift in and out of existence. He wishes it wouldn’t. He wishes it would stay.
Jaime looks at Brienne then, sipping quietly from her cup of coffee. She is smiling softly at the children, and it is something so warm, so grounded, that he can’t help but reach over and intertwine his fingers with hers. She turns her head towards him, meets his eyes, lets him lose himself in her gaze. His wife. His children, beside her. He wishes the world would shrink to them—just them, at this dining table—and stay that way forever. |
We had made it back to our bedroom just before we heard the car pull over and Elio’s parents enter the house.
“Good timing,” he whispered, and I held the door to keep it from slamming. It did that sometimes, and it always caught me unawares. It was not unlike Elio: seemingly quiet yet ready to go out with a bang at the most unexpected time.
“I’ll get the Arnica,” he said, after we’d taken turns using the bathroom.
Making love to Elio had been everything I wanted it to be, but I would have preferred to be at the top of my condition. The bruises hurt, and while it wasn’t a sharp pain, the dull ache I felt was far from pleasant. Had I been fatalistic, I’d have taken it as a warning that our joys would always be underscored by sorrow.
“You are not too tired for this?” I asked him.
“I want to,” he replied, taking my shirt off and throwing it on the chair by the bed.
I sat instead of lying down, so that he could massage my front and back at the same time. Elio’s fingers were as skilled at this as they were at playing the piano. If I hadn’t been spent, I’d have been hard again. As it was, there was a suspicious tingling in my nether regions which I decided to ignore.
“Feeling good?” he said, talking softly, close to my ear, “Wanna do that with massage oil, one of these days.”
“Hmm, but I’ll do you too.”
He sniggered.
“You’ll do me?” he mocked. “Like tonight?”
“Only if you want to,” I replied. He was kneeling on the bed, behind me, and his hands were stroking my torso. I covered them with mine, and guided them to my upper chest. My nipples were raised and stiff and his skin was hot and slippery.
“From behind,” he husked, stroking the nubs without using his fingers, “I want you to do every inch of me.”
His length poked my back and I could not, would not ignore it. I turned around, pushed him down on his back and shoved his shorts down.
“Oliver,” he moaned, grabbing a fistful of my hair, as I took him into my mouth. This was heaven, I thought, not for the first – or last – time. The salt and musk of him were at once familiar and striking; I could never get enough of him, of this.
He came with a muffled cry and insisted on kissing me immediately after to savour us, blended together in my mouth.
“Your turn,” he said, when our lips parted.
“I’ll take a rain-check,” I replied, kissing the frown on his forehead.
“Old man,” was his comment, but he let himself be enclosed inside my arms and in that position we fell asleep.
I woke to the sensation of being lightly poked along my shoulders.
“What are you doing?” I asked, noticing that Elio’s legs were tangled with mine.
“Counting the freckles on your back,” he replied, “And now that you are awake, I can kiss them.”
“You were never so chipper this early in the morning.”
“It’s almost ten,” he argued.
“Practically dawn, for you.”
He brought his lips to my nape and bit down on it.
“Ouch! I was only telling the truth.”
“Well, we have less than a month to spend together and I intend to make the most of it.”
A month, he’d said, and that was true, but it also meant that he’d not made up his mind about my suggestion. He’d not given me a reply yet and I knew he wanted to talk it over with his parents. I wasn’t going to put any pressure on him, but the thought of being apart from him again made me anxious. I had not felt like that before, when my mind had not been fully made up. Now that the words had been spoken, I wondered how I’d ever accepted to leave Elio without any certainty as to when I’d see him again. It was Rome all over again: that last morning, staring at him as he slept and feeling as though I’d never be whole again.
“You okay?” he asked, as I turned round to look at him. He was clear-eyed and rosy-cheeked, as though he’d slept like an innocent. He looked preoccupied and very young. I caressed his face and he smiled.
“Not as fresh as you, but I’m old, so that’s only normal,” I joked.
“I can bring you coffee like yesterday, if you want. You can have breakfast in bed every day,” he said, trailing soft fingers down my bare chest and making me shudder.
“Am I going to be treated like a king?”
“You’d look amazing in a crown.” There was a glint in his eyes, as though he was really considering the possibility.
“Maybe for Halloween,” I suggested, “and you could be my queen.”
He erupted in a fit of giggles.
“I’ve never worn make-up,” he said, still gasping a little, “No, wait, only once, for a school play. I was dressed as a sunflower, so I had yellow paint all over my face.”
“There must be photos and I have to see them.”
“I have told maman that she can’t show them to anyone.”
“But I am not just anyone,” I said, thumbing the hollow of his jaw.
“No, you’re my Oliver,” he whispered, suddenly serious.
We kissed and kissed until his stomach grumbled.
“Sorry,” he said, sheepishly, and I leaned down to kiss his tummy.
“Come on, let’s get going,” I exclaimed, and pulled him out of bed with me.
I went down to breakfast before him, leaving while he was still under the shower.
“How was the film?” I asked Samuel, after we’d exchanged greetings. Annella was talking to Anchise, who was trimming the branches of a pomegranate tree.
“Very interesting,” he replied, as he passed me the coffee jug. “The question of identity is always gripping, even after hundreds of philosophers have tried, more or less successfully, to grapple with it.” He smiled, “But maybe it’s too early in the day to broach such a ponderous subject. How are you feeling?”
“Better,” I replied, “I’m at your disposal today, if you need my help.”
“What about your book?”
“I think I have the conclusions ready. I want to check on a couple of references then perhaps you could take a look?”
“You don’t have to ask,” he replied, “Of course I will. Although I’m certain it will need no tweaks this time.”
“No going back to the drawing board or firming up my theories?” I quipped, quoting the advice he’d given me last year.
He shook his head, watching as I clumsily broke the shell of my soft boiled egg.
I was sitting with my back to the door and I didn’t hear Elio’s steps, since he was wearing espadrilles. He came up behind me, leaned down and kissed me on the cheek. “Let me do it,” he said, taking charge of my egg.
Samuel beamed at us then pretended to find something interesting to read on the front page of his newspaper.
Well, one thing was settled then. It was surely better than a formal conversation, which my parents would have demanded if the parts had been reversed.
That afternoon, after I left Samuel’s study following a good few hours of hard and satisfactory work, I was supposed to go to the old castle for the last of my sittings. I’d meant to phone Patrice and tell him of my bruises, which were several shades of violet and very ugly, but I thought it better to tell him in person, so that I could also inform him about the shift in my relationship with Elio.
“Do you think that I should come too?” Elio asked.
“Better not,” I replied. “I don’t want him to think that we are boasting.”
“I’ll go see Marzia then,” he said, “Maybe we can go for ice creams at Bello’s.” It was the best gelateria in the vicinity, even though they had just a handful of flavours and the owner was always grumpy.
“Eat one for me.”
He threw a lewd look at my Speedo-clad crotch; I gave him a kiss and sent him on his way. I was sure that left to his own devices, he’d have made some mischief.
“You are no Schiele or Balthus,” Patrice exclaimed, when he saw me stripped down to my shorts, “You look more like a Bacon. Did you get into a fight?”
I explained what had happened and he shuddered.
“I hate storms,” he said, “Luckily Flavia invited me to stay in her cellar. We had a picnic there, with champagne and tartelettes. We couldn’t hear a thing, because the walls are this thick,” he showed me with thumb and forefinger, “It’s like a bunker.”
“These very old houses were made to last, unlike the cardboard boxes we build these days. How are the cousins?”
“Oh, they have left already,” he said, clearly not interested about the two young boys, “To the Riviera Adriatica with Flavia’s uncle and aunt; Cesenatico, I think, but I could be wrong. They went to stay at the Grand Hotel. They were very excited.”
“Are you planning to go anywhere?”
He cast me a bemused look. “Have you spoken with Mattia?” I replied in the negative. “Yes, we are planning to go to Lake Como for a couple of weeks. The Malinvernis have an apartment there.”
He told me to put my shirt back on, since he’d only retouch my face, hair and legs.
“I guess I better shut up then,” I said, to which he replied that yes, I should, with the customary rudeness that no longer offended me.
He worked for at least one hour on my head then he moved on to my legs. As he cleaned his brushes, he stared at me for a moment then his lips curved into a half-smile.
“How’s Elio doing?” he asked.
“Fine, he’s gone to see Marzia this afternoon.”
“Was he afraid to come here in case I made a scene? I don’t do that anymore.”
I stayed silent, not knowing what to reply and waiting for him to make the next move.
“Elio must have gone crazy when he saw you like this,” he indicated my bruises, “He loves to play nurse.”
“We’ve talked and-”
For the first time since I’d known him he laughed with unrestrained and childlike glee.
“Talked,” he repeated. “I’m not an idiot, you know?”
“Yes, well, we did other things too.”
“You got back together, as it was always supposed to end.”
“You think?”
He scowled.
“Now shut up and resume your pose.”
When I went to collect my bike, I saw Mattia playing tennis with Stefano. I approached them and waited for the game to end.
The three of us chatted for a bit until Mattia announced he had to go meet some friends; he asked us if we wished to join him, but we declined.
“Haven’t seen you for a while,” Stefano said, “I heard you were caught up in the storm and that you got injured while playing hero.”
I knew I had Paride’s wife Diletta to thank for spreading that bit of gossip. Anchise had warned me, called her worse than the Gazzettino, the local newspaper.
“I did what I could, nothing that spectacular.”
He noticed the bluish blotch on my collarbone. “That looks painful.”
“Looks worse than it feels,” I replied.
“Aside from that, you seem well. Elio’s made up his mind at last?”
I tried not to show how happy I was. Somehow, it seemed unkind.
“Yes, I think we’re getting there. We are on the same page, which is more than I could have asked for when I came back.”
He was going to pat my arm then he thought better of it and shook my hand instead.
“Come to dinner,” I said, but he had promised Lara that he’d take her to the cinema.
“Are you two---?” I asked.
“Just friends, but who knows?” he replied, and I didn’t press him further.
We agreed that we’d meet the following day at the pond with his brother and the girls and that I’d bring Elio with me. That would be our first official outing as a couple and I was looking forward to it. |
Sirius woke up with a start. He smelled bacon and eggs coming from the kitchen, making his stomach growl. He stood up, noticing he had fallen asleep with his jacket on, his lighter still in his hand. He put it back in his pocket, and tied his hair in a low bun before going to eat breakfast.
Sirius could hear a female voice getting clearer as he approached the kitchen. "...Riddle of the conservative party will soon make a statement on terrorism risks and new counter-terrorism strategies..."
When he arrived in the kitchen, he saw that the voice was coming from where James was sitting at a table, listening to the news with his phone. Fabian was lounging on the couch under the morning sun in the living room, and Gideon was the one making that delicious breakfast.
"We should have you guys sleep over more often, this smells amazing," said Sirius.
James looked up to him and muted his phone. "Hey brother. You might want to check outside, there's something for you," he said, pointing his chin towards the window in the living room.
Curious, Sirius went and spread the curtains a bit. He looked down, and saw Elvendork waiting for him, as if it had never left their private parking lot. Lupin did say that he would arrange for it to be brought back from Brighton to London, Sirius had just not expected it to be in such an efficient way.
Sirius couldn't help but ask, "Did Lupin come by this morning?"
James snickered. "Nah, why? You miss him?"
"Yeah, what did you two do in your bedroom last night when we were not looking, eh?" Fabian opened one eye, still lying on the couch. James snorted.
Sirius felt defensive. "We didn't do anything. We just talked, that's all."
"He's a good man," said Gideon as he flipped bacon in a pan.
Fabian sit up. "How the hell do you know? He could be a pervert, a creep, or a crazy mass murderer!"
"You watch too many movies," his brother replied. "He's a good man, believe me. You know I have a sixth sense for that sorta thing. He would be good for Sirius."
"Jesus fucking... stop it already! You're all driving me insane!" Sirius threw his hands in the air. "Nothing is happening between Lupin and I. Nothing will. And anyway, I don't need your approval like some bloody loving parents or something."
"Hey mate, we're just saying. There's a whole lot of tension between you two. It's so strong it looks like it hurts, anybody could see that, and I'm legally blind, mind you. Fab said he thought you were going to combust in flames when Lupin looked at your performance's attire yesterday," James said, smiling mischievously.
"You'll be more than blind if you keep talking about that any longer, Potter!" Sirius approached James and tried to get him in a headlock. They fought for a while, James taking Sirius's bun and pulling on it, which made him cry in pain, while he was choke-holding his messy haired best friend.
"Okay children, be careful, I'm coming in with the eggs!" Gideon said in a sing-songy voice, taking the pan to the table to serve everyone.
~~~
"Alright everybody, good morning. I need your attention." Remus addressed the 18 members of his staff that were not attributed to a contract as personal bodyguards yet. "We have a new band of four people, The Marauders, who will need four personal bodyguards for their protection. They will be coming in today for their personality tests, and I want everyone on their best professional behavior. If you're lucky, you'll have a new stable contract at the end of the day." He paused, surveying his team. They were all qualified, he knew that. He was just wondering if any would be a good match to The Marauders' members.
He dismissed the group for now, waiting for the band to arrive patiently. Lily joined him. "Had a nice night yesterday?" she asked, a secretive smile tugging at her lips. Remus had woken up at an unholy hour this morning, which meant he had taken the tube alone to work, which meant Lily and him hadn't spoken today yet.
"Why are you asking me that exactly? You were there the whole time," Remus replied sullenly.
She smiled more frankly now. "Not the whole time. What happened in that bedroom?" she asked, her curiosity bordering on unhealthy in Remus's opinion.
"He asked me to call him by his name," said Remus after a beat.
"He had already done that in the kitchen. Try me again," she said, crossing her arms.
Remus sighed. "We just talked, that's all. We... err, connected on the subject of deceased loved ones, if you really wanna know."
Lily's eyes went wide. "Oh... yeah, I felt like the whole family subject was a bit touchy for Potter and Black, they've been through a lot it seems."
"So it seems," Remus repeated after her, looking straight ahead.
That conversation with Bl... with Sirius, had actually surprised Remus to a large extent. The fact that Sirius had noticed his mum's work by only seeing his desk once, and the fact that he might not have everything he ever wanted in life like Remus thought he had, continued to make him feel like he might have been slightly misjudging the guy.
Only slightly.
"I feel bad a little..." Lily said abruptly, bringing Remus back in the present. "I... realised I said some bad things about Potter, when he actually has a medical condition that explains—"
"Stop, you didn't know. He hides it well..."
"Still," she turned around to meet his eyes. "I don't feel so good about it. It's not pity or anything, I'm just mad at myself for being an ableist, which I always swore myself I'd never be."
"Lily, you're not an ableist. Now, that's ridiculous!" He took her by the shoulders. "You're my best friend, and you made a simple mistake in a form of a joke towards someone you didn't know, that's all. Alright?" He squeezed her shoulders slightly. "Was it ignorant a bit? Yes. But it wasn't any form of intolerance, and I'm sure he still likes you very much."
She scoffed, relaxing a little.
"I also feel bad a bit..." he said, incapable of stopping himself. "I thought Sirius Black was a posh brat who had been spoon fed his entire life, but I think I might have been wrong." His eyebrows furrowed.
"Well," Lily said, smiling up to him. "Maybe we were both full of prejudices. We could start again with a blank slate, what d'you say?"
He saw The Marauders enter through the front door. "Sounds good to me."
~~~
"So, we have to answer all of these?" Fabian said, looking at the papers in front of him.
They had already met with the 18 bodyguards and small talked a bit before going upstairs to take the personality test.
"If you want the best match for you, certainly." Remus replied.
"Are you in the pool for a potential match, Mr Lupin?" Gideon asked, looking at Sirius sideways.
Sirius wanted to dug a hole and leave for eternity.
"No, I'm not," said Remus gently, apparently oblivious to the situation. "I train the teams, but I'm never a bodyguard myself, except on rare occasions like yesterday."
"Why is that?" Fabian asked, taking a pen that Lily gave them.
"That's a question for another time. The test begins now, Mr Prewett, if you will." Remus pointed to the papers, and then went to sit down at a desk in front of the small class they were in. The white boards were covered in what seemed like tactics and security plans over maps of various gig venues in the UK.
Sirius frowned, looking at Lupin's face. He seemed a bit tired, like he hadn't slept much. As if Lupin could sense him, he looked up and met Sirius's eyes instantly. Sirius looked down at his paper so fast he felt a crick in his neck, and could still feel his eyes on him as he filled the blank headline with his name in a perfect cursive handwriting.
~~~
"We will compile the results and attribute you a personal bodyguard who most closely matches your personality, and who will respect the contract you already signed with our company. Your match might not have the same type of personality as you, but it will be the most complementary. You'll be able to meet them tomorrow. We'll see you again then." Remus nodded to the group as they departed from Cerberus.
"Lily," he turned around to his best friend. "Do you think you could do this matching?"
"Why? You're the best at it, you know that. And you said this morning that this group would probably be hard to—"
"I know what I said," he interrupted her. "But I'm... I..."
He couldn't find the words to express how uneasy he felt about the possibility of looking at Black's answers without sounding weird.
Lily was looking at him expectingly.
He groaned. "Forget it, I'll do it." He turned around and closed the door of his office behind him after Padfoot had entered.
He sat at his desk, and Padfoot gently layed his head on his thigh in a calming gesture of some sort.
Remus huffed, and got ready for the task.
~~~
"Interesting questions in there, I think." James said as they got out of the building. Luckily, no crowd was waiting for them at the entrance today. "Wanna go to the studio? I've got an idea for a riff I want to try."
Sirius smiled. "You know I'm always ready for some studio time."
"Gideon and I will let you go then, we're knackered. Text us if you're still there this afternoon, we could join then." Fabian made the peace sign as he got inside the car with his brother.
"Hop on, Potter. Let's make some music," said Sirius as he started the engine of his bike.
As he drove slowly through narrow streets in London to reach the studio, he thought back on certain questions he had read and answered on the test. Some of them could be quite personal, like 'Are you still bothered by mistakes you did a long time ago?', or 'Do you feel protective of people around you?', or 'Would you rather avenge, or forgive?', and other weird ones about how he felt in a room with a crowd, or meeting with people he didn't know.
Sirius didn't appreciate feeling like all his personality could be squashed down and pinned by a couple of questions alone. But Lupin had seemed confident in the process, and Lily had even said that he had a knack for that sort of thing.
Still, the feeling of uneasiness stayed with him for the better part of the morning, even when he started composing a new song with James and Frank, which would usually make him forget everything of his surroundings, even forgetting basic needs like eating or sleeping for hours on end. But now, he couldn't shake away the edginess he felt as he had wrote out very personal answers for an enigmatic bloke to read at leisure.
But even before taking that test, Sirius had felt like Lupin could see right through him, as if he was made of glass and Lupin was a skilled glass artist, manipulating him under a blinding light to analyze any defects or interesting curves with a distant gaze. That's a very weird image, he thought bitterly, but it was somehow pretty accurate.
"Sirius, y'alright mate? You seem elsewhere," said James, his brows furrowed. Sirius saw him flex his fingers painfully; they had been playing for hours, and he could see redness starting to become apparent on James's left hand, the one always pinching down on the chords of his guitar.
"I'm fine, don't worry about. We got to stop though before you lose a finger," he replied casually.
"Oh, yeah, hadn't even realised..."
"Let's get home and put some ice on that, shall we?" Sirius said with concern, taking James's arms as he nodded to Frank, who was sitting in front of the mixer just outside the recording booth.
"Enough for today?" asked Frank as they got out.
"Yeah, thanks for coming mate, I think it's getting somewhere!" replied James, smiling proudly.
"My pleasure to be your favorite slave," Frank said jokingly, clapping James's shoulder before leaving.
~~~
James Potter – perceptive, energetic, spontaneous, daring, determined.
Fabian Prewett – bold, creative, free-spirited, independent, curious.
Gideon Prewett – quiet, mystical, altruist, compassionate, dedicated.
Sirius Black – charming, passionate, artistic, independent, caring.
That last word seemed to pop out into Remus's eyes. He hadn't expect to find 'caring' in there beside Black's name, but there he was, re-reading his answers written in a beautiful form of calligraphy for the hundredth time, always arriving at the same conclusion: it seemed like the only way to balance Black's independence and passion and recklessness was to give him someone to care for. Someone independant like him and not needy, but willing to be protected.
There wasn't any member of his team that matched that need for caring, so he teamed him up with Kingsley instead, hoping the calm and dependable presence of the man would help in case things got out of hand.
For James Potter, Remus matched him with Benjy Fenwick, who had some repartee, could assess a situation quickly, and was scared of nothing. Potter would not be bored with Benjy.
Gideon Prewett was matched with Dedalus Diggle, a short curly brown haired man with a face full of freckles and a gentle smile, who liked filling in the silence and had always liked everything that touched the esoteric world.
Fabian Prewett got one of the women on the team, Hestia Jones, a half-Korean half-British taekwondo black belt who held a bit of a mysterious aura around her and had a dark sense of humour, which would keep Fabian entertained. She could also make anyone respect the rules if needed be.
Remus swiped his forehead, feeling relieved. The worst part of it all was done.
He looked up at the clock in his office, indicating it was already the afternoon. He texted Lily.
(13:52)
Remus : I've finished the first part of matching. Have you already eaten?
(13:53)
Lils : Nah, was waiting for u! Lunch out?
(13:53)
Remus : Alright!
(13:54)
Lils : Great! Join me downstairs when ur ready
~~~
"Argh, this is starting to fucking hurt!" James exclaimed, holding his left hand with his right as if it was a precious porcelain doll.
"Sorry brother, I didn't realise we played for that long," Sirius replied guiltily as he opened the door of their studio to get outside at the back, hidden from any unwanted visitors.
"S'not your fault Sirius, I wasn't paying attention either, you know."
Sirius was just giving a spare helmet to James when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket.
(14:02)
Fab : Still @ studio?
(14:02)
Sirius : Just leaving, James is about to get blisters
(14:03)
Fab : Classic
"Are we going or not?" James said, not unkindly.
"Sorry, was just texting Fabian," he answered, locking his phone. "Come on, let's get you home."
~~~
"Curry? Or phở?"
"Curry would be lovely," replied Remus as they got out of the building. There was a nice Nepali restaurant that made the best curry Remus had ever had near their workplace, which was pretty convenient.
He paused and let Padfoot relieve himself on a patch of grass before continuing walking, Lily by his side.
"So, anything interesting from the matching?" she asked nonchalantly.
Remus sighed. "You never ask me that question for any other band."
"But this is not any other normal band, now is it?"
Remus rolled his eyes. "You should've done the matching yourself if you were so bloody curious."
She snorted. "I'm not curious about them, I'm curious about what you think of them."
"And why is that?" He stopped walking, crossing his arms. "You've been badgering me about it since the very beginning, but there's no reason for it. Can you stop tormenting me, please?"
She stopped walking too, surprised. "I'm sorry Rem, I didn't mean to 'torment' you. It's just..."
"It's just what?"
She seemed to search for the right words. "It's just, I haven't seen you interested in any way about anyone for a long time. You've had a dry spell that's been lasting for ages, Remus. Can you blame a girl for trying to get you out there a little?"
Remus sputtered. "I'm not...I...what?"
"Oh, don't be ridiculous. You can be honest with me, you know? I'm your best mate," she walked back to him. "Stop trying to run away."
"I'm not."
"What would you call it then? You're certainly not going forward, god forbid trying to flirt a little—"
"Jesus bloody Hell, Lil. Please stop," he blushed, trying to continue walking again, but Lily blocked his path.
"You're running away even now, Remus. Look at me." She took his shoulders.
Remus reluctantly brought his eyes down to Lily's level.
"You have to let yourself feel a little. There's no shame in that. You're human, Rem. You deserve a bit of happiness."
"But I'm happy, Lil," Remus answered uncertainly. "I don't... I don't need anyone else... I've got all I want."
"You know that's a lie. You're lonely. You are!" she said as she heard him protest weakly. "And I'll always be there for you, you know I will. But it's not enough. You need to let someone else in, Remus. It's time. It might not be Black, maybe it'll be someone else, I don't know. But for that someone to exist, you need to let go a little, yeah?"
Remus nodded hesitantly, only because he knew she wouldn't stop pestering him if he didn't.
"Good. Nice talk! Now let's eat," Lily said, turning around and began walking again, throwing her long red hair behind her shoulders.
~~~
"Let me see that," said Peter as soon as they opened the door of their apartment to let him inside, his round face looking concerned. "Come on James, I need to see the damage."
"You're overreacting Pete, they're just sore, that's all. I'll be able to play the day after tomorrow, no worries," said the guitarist as Peter took his left hand and inspected it under the sunlight in their living room. Sirius searched for ice in their freezer and brought it to James.
"If they develop into blisters, you'll have a hard time playing," countered Peter as he took the ice from Sirius's hands and applied it gingerly on James's fingertips.
"You're gonna get your money Pete, so you can stop acting like a mother hen now," James said a tad impatiently, taking the ice and applying it himself.
Peter squinched his eyes. "It's not just about the money, you know that right?" he said hesitantly.
"Yeah yeah, you care about us, we know," said James, not unkindly. "Now let's watch a movie, yeah?" |
"Miss Stacy is simply divine!" proclaimed Anne as she held on to Gilbert's arm.
"Indeed, those were words I really needed to hear." he agreed.
Gilbert thought for a moment, and decided to tell Anne what weighed on his mind.
"Anne, I'm sorry."
"Gilbert, why are you sorry?"
Gilbert stopped their walk.
"I'm sorry I was uncertain and then unclear," he started listing, "I'm sorry for my inadequate confession at the ruins, for putting pressure on you-"
"Gilbert, listen to me," Anne said firmly while grasping his face, "I don't ever want to hear such words from you again. You didn't do one thing wrong. Not when you confessed to me at the ruins, not when you wrote me a perfect letter that I tore up. Look at where we are. There is no match for the happiness I've felt this week, but know that it won't last if I hear such talk from you."
"I haven't known greater happiness either Anne, and that just gets more true every second I spend with you. I just wish we'd have had a few extra days before we left Avonlea."
"Let me ask you something. What would you have done if you'd received my letter? The one that went missing."
"Oh, I would've run straight to Green Gables and I would have shouted 'Anne, I love you too!' without waiting to check if you were home, and I would have swung my arms about in excitement until you'd finally come to me and I would have kissed you..." Gilbert slowed down in realization, "the same way I eventually ended up doing."
"And had I read yours, I would have done the same!"
"It really doesn't matter, does it?"
"Not at all."
They gazed lovingly at each other's faces and burst out in laughter.
"I wouldn't change the sight of you waiting for me outside my boarding house for any extra days. I know what it means to have to wait for something special, after all."
Gilbert smiled and took Anne in for a kiss. "I love you Anne!"
"I love you, Gilbert!"
"I want to take you somewhere." she shouted as she grabbed Gilbert's hand and lead him to the woods, at the remains of her story club.
"I know you've already been here, but I wanted to have the honour to show you myself just how important this place is."
Gilbert smiled in admiration.
"Long before that abominable Billy Andrews destroyed it, right here stood a tiny shack I built around that short period of time I stopped coming to school."
"That was-"
"Right after the slate incident, yes."
"Anne, I'm so-"
"Gilbert, we have finally made it to a point where the slate incident is one of the most amusing anecdotes of our relationship. And I will be sure to tell people we meet about it."
"I will make sure to tell them it is when I irretrievably fell in love with you."
"Well, too bad that wasn't the case for me." Anne teased.
"Anne you do know it was only because I wanted to speak to you so much and you-"
"Gilbert, we are on a voyage that has long sailed the harbour of 'Too late!'. Enough with the apologies!"
"Alright, I'm done."
"It is sweet of you though. So, I would come here and act out all my fantasies of Princess Cordelia and Prince Wisteria and all the forest creatures, wherever my imagination would take me. It made me happy. Later after I came back to school, I showed this place to Diana and Ruby. That's when we established the story club. We'd gather here and write stories. I'll have you know, a lot of them were written about you."
"Is that so?"
"Yeah, Ruby wrote them."
"Oh."
"I'll let you in on a little secret though. Quite a few of mine were too. But no one could know. When you were staying at home, sometimes I'd stop by here after studying with you, and it's no coincidence I crafted some of my most romantic stories around that time. I couldn't bring myself to admit it was because of how I felt whenever I was near you. Diana was the only one to tease me about it at the time."
"It makes sense."
"Later Cole joined the story club, and it doubled as an art studio. He made all these gorgeous sculptures, but Billy shot them all and wrecked the place." Anne fumed.
Gilbert sighed, infuriated.
"There was a really dark yet thankfully short period of time," Anne started choking up, "when it seemed like everything good was lost. Cole thought he'd lost his art forever, but it all turned out better than we could've imagined. He found home at Aunt Jo's and they've been so happy in each other's company for two years now. Diana and I have visited them almost every day this week. You know, they're very happy for us. They were both two of the earliest champions of our romance."
"Really?"
"Yes! As early as three years ago, I had to stand right here at this very spot, and insist to Aunt Jo that I wasn't interested in you after she caught me audibly urging my brain to stop thinking about you."
Gilbert laughed.
"When I needed to send you my letter, she was the one who found you for me."
"I didn't know that."
"And when I was most conflicted about my feelings for you, after the ruins, she was the one to assure me that I would have my answer when all was quiet in my head, and indeed I did! Not soon after I shot up from my bed and declared to the world a most assured 'I'm in love with Gilbert Blythe!'"
Anne exclaimed the same she had when she first said those words.
"As for Cole, he told me it was obvious you had a crush on me that day when we went to rally for Miss Stacy to stay on, two whole years ago."
"You know he was right."
"You see? Gilbert, this has been the most perfect turn of events, and I wouldn't have it any other way."
Gilbert clasped Anne's hands in his and kissed her again. The two continued their walk back to Green Gables.
"I can't wait for us to attend one of Cole and Aunt Jo's parties together. There lies a whole other world in them. A world far bigger than the one we're used to. Away from the close mindedness we've had to fight here. A world full of knowledge and art and richness and true beauty. I can't wait for us to step into that world together."
Gilbert smiled at the image of them out in the world, hand in hand, but his face soon revealed distress.
"What's wrong?" Anne asked.
"It pains me knowing we're going to be apart again!"
"Hey, we agreed. No more bemoaning the circumstances."
"I know. I'm so-" Anne put her finger to his lips to stop him from apologizing.
"I'm so grateful to be here with you now!" he corrected himself in a more optimistic line of thinking.
"Don't forget, when we do see each other again, it will be all the more special!"
As they were about to kiss again, a familiar voice sounded in the distance.
"Why, hello there! Anne, I knew you were coming back today, I was coming to greet you. Gilbert, I didn't know you were in town."
It was none other than Rachel Lynde. Before she could say another word, Anne spoke.
"Mrs Lynde! It's so good to see you. Let's go in Mrs Lynde. I assume Marilla's expecting you." and forced her inside.
"This is it." Gilbert whispered, "If Rachel knows, all of Avonlea knows."
"Well, let her hear it straight from the horse's mouth for once."
They took each other's hands and went inside.
"And, you didn't tell me?" Rachel turned to Marilla the second they let her know.
"We're telling you, Mrs Lynde. Aren't you happy for us?"
"Well, of course. Two of Avonlea's finest. I could've even placed a bet. You know I did notice you only had eyes for each other that time at dance practice. Later when you showed up with the other lady I thought I was wrong, but I should have known, I am never wrong. Not when it comes to these matters."
"We'll give you that." said Marilla in the typical snarky tone she usually only afforded Rachel."
"Well, If you'll excuse us, we only have a limited time to each other, so we'll be in the parlour."
Anne and Gilbert continued with even more confessions and proclamations of love during the next hours they had to each other. Laying on the cold grass of Gilbert and Bash's backyard a little before the joint family dinner, in privacy, they granted each other a series of the warmest and most loving gestures of affection.
For a long time they held one another, trying to feel as much of each other's bodies as possible.
"Anne, make sure to think of us holding each other this way every night when you go to sleep. And know I'll be doing the same."
"I will."
Come dinner time, the company continued their joyous gathering, this time joined by Miss Hazel, Elijah and Muriel. They talked a lot of Mary, and the first thing Anne and Gilbert did the next morning before parting was visit her.
"She would be the happiest for us! I know that for a fact." said Gilbert.
Anne didn't question it. The only thing on Gilbert's mind were the words "Marry for love!" and right there began his anticipation for the day, not at all far into the future, that he would go right back there and tell Mary he had done just that, that he and Anne had gotten married.
Anne and Gilbert parted later that morning after twenty four magical hours together. They had both had the same thought, and had prepared short letters for each other.
"Don't you just love letters that don't suffer tragic fates?" Anne made sure to remark.
After a final embrace that couldn't last long enough, the lovers parted in tears. Gilbert did jump out of his carriage to kiss Anne one last time, as was to become tradition each time they'd have to say goodbye.
When they were no longer in each other's line of sight, they opened their letters.
"Dear Anne,
I won't vainly pretend to disguise my sadness at the reality of having to leave you again. I don't think I ever will be able to. Parting with you will never get any easier.
I've come to realise that's perhaps for the best.
Perhaps a reality in which I get to hold you and kiss you every day is far too good to be true. Maybe I'm not yet fully deserving of it. Maybe I need to seriously humble up through the agony of being away from you for life to make sense. For me to know that I'm not living a fairytale.
Because that's what everyday with you would be for me. Nothing short of a fairytale.
And you, you are the most magical of creatures.
I love you more than even you could imagine, my beautiful fiery heroine,
Your doe-eyed prince,
Gilbert."
"Dear Gilbert,
Let the misfortune of our distance be the worst we'll ever have to endure. Let all the goodbyes we'll have to tell each other be the only tragical aspect of our romance.
I can live with them, because the joy with which you fill my heart trumps all the pain the goodbyes may cause.
Happiness is the thought of you, Gilbert. My life at the moment, is nothing short of a beautiful dream.
I love you more than all the words in my vocabulary can express,
Your Carrots."
|
Dazai awoke to the warmth of the rising sun, as its rays shone down on his face. Grumbling and twitching, he turned his back to the window, blindly reaching for his cell phone. He felt like his head had been hit with a hammer.
He briefly glanced at the display, which blinded him despite the low brightness setting. It was nearly 11 in the morning. This meant that he had missed his alarm. Kunikida would be thrilled. Actually, he even discovered several missed calls from his partner and a few worried messages from Atsushi.
With a tired sigh, he dropped the phone on the ground next to him. He realized that today's meeting was important. He really couldn't miss it. And even though, normally, he would be one of the first to stay home, he admitted that his presence was essential today.
A dangerous case had been brought to the agency. If all was to go well, an elaborate plan was needed. And Dazai was the one who would come up with that plan. He absolutely couldn't stay away from it.
Using both arms, he lifted himself up until he finally stood firmly on both feet. However, firmly was not quite right. He swayed from left to right in a perilous way.
Slowly, his movements extremely agitated, he dressed himself. Again and again he used the wall as support to avoid falling by mistake. Snot was running from his nose.
Finally, after what felt like hours and another call from Kunikida which he ignored, he left for work. He failed to notice that his shirt was wrongly buttoned and that his hair looked as if a bird had nested in it.
When he arrived, the office was almost deserted. Only Kenji sat there, lovingly taking care of his little cactus friend, while Kyouka watched him with bright eyes. Yet he could hear voices coming from the meeting room, which probably meant that the gathering was already in full swing.
He slipped into the darkened room, as quietly as possible. All attention was focused on Kunikida and his complex presentation. He could just sneak to his seat and, with a little luck; no one would have a problem with him being late. At least not before the meeting was dissolved. But, on the way to his chair, he tripped over the presenter's cable in a rather clumsy way, which not only ended in his crashing fall, but also interrupted the presentation itself.
Things were quiet for a moment, then chaos broke loose.
Lights were switched on, forcing him to tightly shut his sensitive eyes. Feet frantically stomped across the floor, Kunikida started to yell at him angrily, Atsushi asked if he was okay, worried and in panic and... It was too loud. Just too loud!
Dazai tried to dampen the noise by pressing his hands onto his ears. Pointless, it's not getting better, he thought, pulling up a load of snot. It all seemed to get even louder. In response, he kept pressing his hands against his head harder, until his nails were digging themselves into his temples.
"Quiet!"
Fukuzawa's austere voice cut through the mayhem and suddenly silenced the alarmed detectives. Through his hands, Dazai could hear two people coming slowly towards him. He could recognize Fukuzawa's calm, steady steps and the click of Yosano's high heels.
His hands were pushed aside by a gentle touch, followed by a hand being placed on his forehead, where it remained for a while. "Fever," the woman murmured. "Kunikida, help me get him to the sick room. Atsushi, you make him a cup of tea, all right? Wait, better make a whole pot!“
With joint forces Kunikida and Yosano lifted the brunette up, supporting him on both sides. Atsushi dashed out of the room, throwing one last concerned look at him. The same expression of worry could be seen on the faces of his other colleagues.
Yosano and Kunikida escorted him to the infirmary, closely followed by Fukuzawa. They helped him into bed, covering him with blankets. Then Kunikida left the room and Yosano began to raid her medicine cabinet. Fukuzawa sat down on the chair, placed next to the bed.
Dazai didn't quite understand why they had brought him here. Everything was fine with him after all. His bones were neither broken nor shattered, he had no bleeding wounds, absolutely nothing. But when he tried to sit up, he was pressed back onto the mattress by Yosano.
"You are under strict bed rest," she admonished him, before holding out a small white tablet and a glass water. "Here, this should help with your headache. I'm sure Atsushi will be here with the tea soon.”
Dazai stared at the tablet, a little baffled. Then his gaze wandered upwards, reaching Yosanos bright purple eyes, a sight he could hardly bear on his bad days. They reminded him too much of bygone times. "Why?" he asked in a scratchy tone. "I' m all right. Nothing's wrong."
Yosano sighed. She exchanged a grim look with Fukuzawa and then said, "Dazai, you’re not well. You’re clearly sick. Which means you need a few days rest, until you're completely cured. Understood?" It almost sounded as if she was talking to some dumb child.
"I don't need rest!" Dazai vehemently replied. For a moment he surprised himself with the belligerence in his voice. But he immediately had himself under control again and calmly continued: "Me and sick? I've never been sick before! Why should I start now?"
He used the element of surprise to swing his legs over the edge of the bed and hop onto his feet.
Everything appeared to become blurry around him. The world was spinning faster and faster and he was afraid of throwing up at any second.
It was thanks to Fukuzawas strong arms that he didn´t fall down for a second time. The older man guided him back to bed, a mixture of paternal strictness and care in his steel-grey eyes.
"Dazai." Nothing about the rough voice sounded threatening or angry, but still, it took a lot of willpower from Dazai to not flinch.
"You know, when it comes to the staff's health, Yosano-sensei's word is law. If she wants you to rest, you should do so."
"But..." Dazai tried to protest. He was interrupted, when the door opened and Atsushi came in, holding a pot of tea securely in his hands.
"Ah, wonderful, Atsushi. Please put it down over there," Yosano ordered. She pointed to the side table near the patients' bed.
Atsushi did as he was told. He put everything down with a faint clatter and even went as far as pouring a cup of the steaming, hot beverage. "Is there anything else I can do," he asked afterwards, timidly, looking at his mentor worriedly.
There's no reason at all why he should look at me like that, he mused irritated.
Yosano shook her head. Her dark hair gently bounced up and down, while artificial light made her butterfly clasp sparkle. "No, all he needs is absolute rest. Which he himself unfortunately doesn't want to admit!" Her voice became sharp like a shard of broken glass and she gleamed furiously at Dazai, her arms crossed in front of her chest.
"It's not necessary! I don't need rest, certainly. I'm not sick, and even if I were, I can still do my job!" Dazai flashed back. “I´m not staying here! I'm going back with the others and make a plan to catch Katsuhiko Haru!"
"Dazai!” Yosano raised her voice. She had never been loud with him before, not even when he dragged himself through the office on crutches or walked outside all day without a coat in the depths of winter.
This time, he couldn't help it. He jerked hard, blinking up to her like a frightened rabbit standing nose to nose with a hungry wolf. It had been her tone. For a second, one damned tiny second, she had sounded like Mori. And no one in the room failed to notice his violent reaction to it.
Yosano kicked Atsushi out, muttering an apology to him she didn't really mean, and then took a seat on the bedside. She exchanged another quick glance with Fukuzawa before she began to speak: "I'm sorry, Dazai. I shouldn't have yelled at you."
Dazai blinked perplexed. It was one of those rare moments in life where he was completely at a loss. He didn't know how to act or even what to say.
Yosano tentatively took his hand. For a second he toyed with the idea of withdrawing it. But the touch of her delicate, long fingers was gentle and a part of him longed so much for that gentleness - which he had so rarely experienced in all the years he had been wandering around this earth - that he was unable to do a damn thing. So he accepted the physical contact silently and maybe a little anxious, because he was not quite sure if pain would follow.
"I know, sometimes I remind you of Mori-sensei. And thus, of all the horrible things he must have done to you," the dark-haired woman said almost soundlessly.
Dazai's eyes widened a bit. Although he tried hard to hide it, Yosano probably noticed something. "I feel the same way, you know. There are days when I look at you and see him instead. I see him and that annoying smile he loves to show off." She sighed heavily and clearly had to force herself to smile. But at the same time she seemed as if a crushingly heavy burden was falling from her shoulders as she stated: "I guess this is the fate of us, as his former pupils."
"Wait what..." The brunette was probably a little feverish after all; otherwise he would never show his insecurity so openly. "I see... Why haven't I considered this before? You are the angel of death."
Yosanos nod was barely visible. She stroked a stray strand behind her ear and said, "Frankly, I would have been surprised if you hadn't heard that name. You and Mori-sensei seemed close."
"I didn't hear it from Mori-san, if that's what you're thinking. I saw it in his files. I don't think he knows I know."
And if he did, Mori had simply not made the effort to punish Dazai for his snooping. Dazai, on the other hand, had not trusted Mori as blindly as before. He had understood that he was just a stand-in. A new toy after the old one broke. Or, as he now knew, had been freed from the clutches of that disgusting man.
Why didn't anyone come to rescue me? Why didn't Fukuzawa worry about the possibility of Mori-san taking another child? Why did no one take action when that shady doctor took me under his wing? Did no one doubt him?
Quickly, Dazai shook his head to chase away these bothersome thoughts, even if his headache got worse as a result. Honestly, why did he think such nonsense? There was no need for that.
And what was that weird feeling in his chest? He'd never felt anything like it before. It was unpleasant. He wasn't able to look Yosano in the eyes without feeling cold rage seething in his heart, though he didn't even know why. She had done nothing wrong. At least nothing that would justify such anger.
He turned his gaze away from the doctor and toward Fukuzawa. It didn't really make it better, the feeling didn't disappear, but it became more bearable. Easier to ignore.
"I'm sorry, Dazai, but please try to understand. Everyone here only wants the best for you! Including me. And right now it's best if you give your body the time it needs to recover," he could hear the tender female voice behind him.
It was like an echo from the past. He remembered a steely gaze from cold, violet eyes, a poisonous smile and a hand roughly stroking through his hair.
I only want what's best for you, Dazai-kun.
They were words spoken in a morbidly sweet tone, seconds before a long needle was shoved into his eye, leaving him half blind for months. In fact, his eye had never fully recovered from the procedure.
"I can decide for myself what is best for me," he countered sharply, but this time he knew better and didn't even try to get up. It would be embarrassing if he stumbled again like a weak girl and had to be caught by the president. His pride would not allow that.
Yosano clicked her tongue in discontent. She looked a little puzzled and lost as she sat there and slowly let go of his hand. She stood up and began walking up and down the room, hands folded behind her back and a thoughtful expression on her feminine features.
"Dazai, I know you won't agree with me, but in your present condition you would be of no help to us on the mission. I am also aware that you have worked with worse injuries before. But this is not the Mafia. We care more about the health of our colleagues than the success of a mission.” Fukuzawa gave him a very stern look. "If you can't see that for yourself... I'm afraid I'll have to make it an order."
"What?"
Fukuzawa scrutinized the dark-haired man for a while. He didn't look happy, as if he didn't want to go that far. And yet, he had no choice.
"Dazai, I order you to listen to Yosano until she decides you are well enough to return to your duties. If I find you disobeying her instructions, there will be consequences!"
Dazai swallowed drily. He could not remember that Fukuzawa had ever threatened him with consequences before. Of course, he had already been reprimanded by the older man or had received the urgent request to refrain from his actions next time, but no real consequences. Unlike Mori, who had no problem with any excuse to discipline Dazai.
He remembered a cold, hard metal table, straps that had been placed too tightly around his arms and legs and blood-stained scalpels.
The rational part in Dazai knew, of course, that Fukuzawa would never hurt him or at all torture him. But the more irrational part of him, who was usually silent, cried out in terror. Fear flowed hot through his veins, making his blood boil, while at the same time freezing cold claws were closing around his fast beating heart. He hadn't felt such fear for years, not since Odasaku died.
Outwardly, of course, no one noticed anything of his inner turmoil. His mask fit perfectly, the grin broad and cheerful, as always. "Ha~. Well, if it's an order from the president, I guess I have no choice. Yosano-sensei, I humbly await your commands!"
The doctor rolled her eyes in annoyance, holding out the tablet and glass to him again. "Take this. Then drink your tea and try to sleep afterwards!"
Reluctantly Dazai put the pill on his tongue and flushed it generously with water. He then had his teacup handed to him and enjoyed for a moment the feeling of the warm porcelain in his hands. "Okay... I'll drink this, then go to sleep... But I have one condition! I want to be kept informed about everything concerning the mission.”
" I agree!" said Fukuzawa, after a brief moment's hesitation. Then he stood up and left Dazai and Yosano to each other.
Dazai gently sipped his tea. It tasted a little bitter, probably because it was a medical variety. But he didn't miss the sweeter note in the finish, which he probably owed to Atsushi. He strongly guessed a spoonful honey.
Yosano tilted the window and let some fresh air into the room. "I'll leave you alone, but don't even think about sneaking out. I or one of the others will come regularly and check on you," she admonished him with a raised index finger.
"Yes yes, I understand."
Yosano cast a last, stern and very long glance at him and then finally left the room.
When Dazai woke up the next time the sun was about to set. He could see its red and orange colors in the sky looking through the window.
His head no longer hurt as badly as it did in the morning, but his nose was blocked and he felt limp and tired, although he had certainly slept soundly for a few hours. Maybe Yosano wasn't so wrong and he had really gotten sick.
"Stupid cold..."
"That's what you get for jumping off bridges in all kinds of weather."
A book was slammed shut and when Dazai turned his head to the side he spotted Kunikida on the visitor's chair. Instantly he pressed his face firmly into the pillows and suppressed a desperate sigh. "Next time spare me this agony and let me drown," he grumbled, which Kunikida fortunately seemed to overhear.
It was quiet for a while, and then Kunikida asked softly: "How do you feel?"
Lousy. That seemed to describe it best. As if he'd been run over by a truck or maybe a train. And not just once, but two or three times in a row.
"Fine," he lied. It was a hoarse whisper, reluctant and indifferent in tone. Surely Kunikida wasn't really interested in how he felt. He only asked out of courtesy. Or maybe it was Dazai himself who didn't care. For the simple yet complicated reason of not understanding. Because why would any person, any human being, care how he was doing?
Without warning, a large, rough hand lay down on his sweaty forehead. Just like Yosano's hand a few hours earlier, it felt pleasantly cool. He resisted the urge to lean into this touch with the greatest of difficulty.
"Idiot. You still have a high fever!"
The chair was pushed backwards with a creaking sound and the hand moved away from his head. Blinking, Dazai watched Kunikida go to the medicine cabinet, unlock it and rummage through it.
"You have a key to Yosano-sensei's medicine cabinet?"
"Only temporarily, while she's away. In case you need anything."
From the tone of voice, this trip was not an official job. More likely she had gone on an impromptu shopping spree. And Kunikida was the poor victim she first got her hands on and condemned to watch her patient. Not very enviable.
He came back to the bed with a bottle of fever juice and a spoon. Both of which he pushed into the hands of the bewildered ex-mafiosi. "One spoonful of this should be enough. Yosano said to give it to you if you still have a fever after waking up."
…
"What? Don't you know how to take fever medicine, you waste of bandages?"
Kunikida grabbed the bottle again, then hastily unscrewed the lid. Dazai watched him confused, one hand half in the air. Then an amused chuckle escaped him. "Typical Kunikida-kun... always the worried mother hen!"
Even when it comes to me. Even though I'm the last person who deserves it.
Kunikida gleamed at him angrily. Grumbling, he held the spoon in front of Dazai's tightly closed lips. "Here, swallow this!"
Dazai blinked slowly. "Ah... I think I'll pass!"
It was amusing to see how Kunikida swallowed his anger spasmodically. He probably regarded Dazai with all kinds of less nice terms in his mind. But it would be a violation of his beloved ideals to treat a sick person badly.
"Dazai, why do you always have to complicate things?" Was there a glimmer of desperation in the blond man's voice?
“I complicate nothing here. That`s on you guys! You and Yosano-sensei and Fukuzawa-san... Why do you all want me to take medicine and rest so much?”
Kunikida stared at him. Then he sighed and straightened his glasses and said, "Because we care about you, stupid!"
Dazai felt as if the other man had punched him in the stomach. Or emptied a bucket of ice water over his head. Or kissed him.
Okay, that last thought was... unnecessary. And pretty far-fetched! Kunikida would never kiss me. Ever!
The silence between the partners became uncomfortable. Finally, Kunikida was the first to say, "For a declared genius, you can be incredibly dumb sometimes."
A slow blinking followed these words, from brown, feverishly shining eyes.
"Oh, God... Didn't anyone ever take care of you when you were sick before?"
No, that wasn't the issue. There had been people who, for some reason, had cared about him. Who actually worried about his well-being, however strange that may have been.
Vaguely he could remember the face of a beautiful woman, framed by bronze curls. A smile played around the finely curved lips as she looked at him from fiery eyes.
But... Any mother would worry about her child if it fell ill, right? So it was nothing special.
Nevertheless, Dazai wondered - not for the first time - whether his life could have been different if his mother had not died so early. Or if his father hadn't been a drunkard with betting debts, who at some point had simply thrown Dazai out on the street. One less mouth to feed, one less annoying obligation. That's all Dazai had ever been in his eyes. Just an unwanted appendage.
I wonder if he's still alive. Maybe he died of liver failure by now... Or someone bashed his head in because of his gambling debts. A fair ending, worthy of a selfish, horrible man.
But his mother wasn't the only one. Others had given him one of those worried looks from time to time too. Had asked him if he was feeling well, if everything was alright with him or had silently taken care of his wounds.
Chuuya. Hirotsu. Ane-san. Ango. And, of course, Odasaku.
Kunikida words surprised him anyway. To the point where Dazai didn't know what to say. So he simply swallowed the offered fever juice, to the satisfaction of the spectacled one.
"There you go. Good boy," he praised, a little teasing.
Dazai threw an angry look at him, but it failed thoroughly, thanks to a violent sneeze. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, disgusted, and took a few deep breaths in and out. "Go ahead and make fun of a defenseless, sick man."
"Defenseless?" Kunikida frowned. He didn't buy Dazai's whiny behaviour. "I thought in front of Yosano-sensei and the chief you were still cocky that a cold can't tie you to the bed."
"You were eavesdropping? You?!" Here he was, Dazai Osamu, the former Demon Prodigy of the Port Mafia, who had thrown his hopes of ever having a bad influence on Kunikida out of the window years ago.
"I was not eavesdropping." Kunikida sat down again. He crossed his legs and opened his notebook. Quickly he wrote something into it, his pen scratched across the paper. "Yosano-sensei only told me how stubborn you are."
That made sense. Of course, she had warned him how much Dazai was resisting the care.
Kunikida closed the ideal again and scrutinized Dazai severely. "You really look terrible."
"Oh, thank you Kunikida-kun! That makes me feel so much better!"
Dazai pulled the blanket over his head. He knew Kunikida was right. His hair was still uncombed, his eyes and the tip of his nose were reddened and he must be deathly pale.
Nevertheless, the comment stung. It was an unpleasant feeling that gnawed at his heart. As if a thorn had dug itself into his inside and he had no way to pull it out.
"You know I didn't mean it like that!" Kunikida sounded like he was sincerely sorry.
But Dazai did not react to it. Or rather, his pride did not allow him to show any reaction.
Why does it hurt me when Kunikida-kun says such a thing? I shouldn't really care, should I?
"Dazai, please look at me!"
„…“
"Look at me, please!"
Reluctantly, Dazai pushed the blanket aside and blinked at Kunikida who had bent over him a bit. For a while they looked into each other's eyes. Then: "You know what I meant. You just look sick. Actually... I think you' re handsome. For a man, I mean!"
The glasses wearer pushed around a little. He rubbed his right hand over his neck, embarrassed, looking down. A tender blush shimmered on his cheeks and unlike Dazai, he couldn't talk himself out of it because of a cold.
He was lucky, though. The dark-haired man was so surprised by the sudden compliment that he couldn't get a word out. Otherwise, he would have teased Kunikida about it already.
Finally, after several minutes of silence, Dazai asked, breathless, "You think I' m handsome?"
Kunikida swallowed hard. Instead of answering the question, he quickly said: "You should try to sleep a little more. Or do you need anything else? More tea?"
As if in response, Dazai's stomach growled.
"Hungry? How about some soup? Your stomach should be able to keep it," Kunikida suggested. Apparently, he had already regained his composure.
Dazai only managed a nod. It was slow and careful. He didn't succeed in looking into the eyes of the other, instead, he stubbornly looked at his long, graceful fingers.
Yet he couldn't help but look up when Kunikida finally left the room. And no sooner had the door behind him fallen into the lock than Dazai felt terribly lonely. The air cut coldly into his lungs and he felt queasy. As if Kunikida's presence alone had made him feel better and now that he was gone, he felt bad again.
When he thought about it, it was always like this when Kunikida left him alone. It was like the blond took a piece of his soul with him whenever he left. He just hadn't noticed it until that moment. Probably because he was actually very good at hiding his true feelings. Even from himself.
It took definitely too long for Kunikida to finally come back. He carried a tray of dark wood with a bowl of warm soup on it. He carefully placed it on the side table next to the teapot.
"Can you eat alone or do you need my help for that too?"
It was tempting to be fed by Kunikida. Would he really do it if Dazai asked him? After all, he offered to do so himself.
I shouldn't think about such things. After all, it is only Kunikida. My far too strict, ideal-loving partner, Kunikida. Nothing more.
He hurriedly sat up a bit and grabbed the spoon before his brain, clouded by fever, got the wrong ideas. He could even speak his thoughts out loud at the end. "I think I can handle it!"
Kunikida watched him with eagle eyes as he greedily devoured the soup. The experience was almost embarrassing. To break the silence, he said, "How's the mission going?"
Kunikida leaned back, seemingly relaxing a little. His arms were still crossed, though, and his expression was serious. Dazai had a bad feeling.
"We manage. So don't worry about that and concentrate on getting back on your feet quickly," the bespectacled man said, forcefully calm. Something was wrong. The way Kunikida said that, so vague in his statement, it was obvious that they didn't manage.
"Fukuzawa-san has promised to keep me informed about everything! So, what's the status?"
Kunikida sighed unhappily. "All right..." He was silent for a while before he started to put Dazai in the picture.
To make a long story short, they still did not know exactly where in Yokohama Katsuhiko Haru was hiding. His ability also remained a secret. The only thing they knew was that he was capable of causing great chaos if he wanted to. No one knew for sure if he was working alone or had allies. They had only been able to narrow down the area where he was likely to be.
With Dazai ill and Ranpo out of town - he was handling a complicated serial killer case in Osaka - the strategic approach of the ADA was in poor shape.
"You'll need my skills," Dazai dryly noted.
"We can do it without your skills, Dazai," Kunikida tried to convince him. And, to give his words more support, he added: "You were not always a member of the ADA. We were able to work without No Longer Human in the past, and we can do it again.”
Dazai had no arguments against this. The ADA could survive without his help. He was aware of that. But it did not change the fact that he hated being unable to support them.
"If you... if you need me, you know where to find me," he said softly.
Kunikida remained silent first, before he nodded slowly. "Yes, we know that. And now, try to sleep a bit more. You need the rest."
"Mm..." Dazai woke up with a quiet grumble. The morning had dawned and light flooded through the window into the sickroom.
Slowly he turned his head in the direction Kunikida had been sitting the day before. He dimly remembered that the blond had stayed with him until he had finally fallen asleep. But now there was no trace of him. Instead, Atsushi sat there and beamed happily at his mentor.
"Good morning, Dazai san!"
"Atsushi-kun?" Dazai suppressed a yawn. "What are you doing here?"
The Wertiger was still smiling broadly. Not for the first time Dazai had to admit that this smile managed to lift his spirits, no matter what. "Kunikida-san and Tanizaki went to catch the gifted one. That's why I offered to take his place and keep you company for a while!"
" Take his place? Kunikida-kun was here all night?"
Atsushi nodded. He had put his hands on his knees and leaned forward excitedly. "Yes. He's been here the whole time."
Dazai lacked the words. He didn't even really know what to think. Kunikida had spent the night at his side? The whole night? It made his heart beat wildly and he could find no explanation for it.
"Dazai-san? Is something wrong?" Atsushi blinked at him worriedly from his two-colored eyes. "You're all red in the face!"
"No, it's nothing!" the elder quickly staggered and tried to hide his face inconspicuously. "So, he and Tanizaki are out to capture Katsuhiko? We know where he is?" He had sat up and looked at Atsushi from watchful, attentive eyes.
The tiger boy stared back. He nodded, uncertain. As if he didn't know if it was okay to tell Dazai.
"Then what are we waiting for? Where are they?" Dazai tried to jump up, but Atsushi prevented him from doing so.
"Atsushi-kun? What are you doing? Let me up! I'm sure they' II need my ability.”
"Kunikida-san told me there's no way I can let you go. You're still sick. He and Tanizaki will be fine!" Atsushi looked at him sternly, a look that Dazai had rarely seen on him.
Dazai groaned loudly. Atsushi's boundless - and on him wasted - concern was obvious. "Okay, okay, I'll stay... but you could still tell me where the hideout is."
Atsushi hesitated at first, but then decided that it couldn't do any harm and started to initiate Dazai into everything. The hideout was located in a warehouse at the harbor that had been empty for years. On the basis of the streets mentioned, Dazai quickly realized that it was a border area of the Port Mafia. Either this guy was pretty stupid, because the Mafia wouldn't let him stay there in peace for long, or he was just desperate. Dazai was betting on a mixture of both.
"Idiot..." he murmured softly.
"Huh? What do you mean, Dazai-san?"
Dazai tilted his head. A few of his dark brown strands fell in front of his eyes. Like it would explain everything, he replied, "It's Port Mafia territory."
Atsushi blinked confused. Sure, the boy had no idea about the underground wars for power. Unlike Dazai, who had fought in such battles himself.
"Actually, it's quite simple... Imagine someone setting up a sleeping place in the storage room of your apartment, without your knowledge or permission. He steals food from your fridge and creates chaos, not only in your own four walls, but also in those of your neighbours. What would you do if you found that out?"
The tiger thought about it for a moment. Then he said, his voice low and his words well thought out: "It wouldn't make me happy. I'd probably confront him about it."
Dazai nodded, one finger raised, like a teacher who meant his class to be quiet and pay attention. "Correct. And what if it's not an apartment, but a large area near the harbor? If it's not food that disappears, but potentially weapons, clients or vital information? What if it wasn't you, Atsushi-kun, but the most feared organization in Yokohama?"
Realization flickered in Atsushi's eyes. "You mean the Mafia's gonna try to kill him?" His voice trembled slightly, perhaps out of concern, but perhaps also out of fear.
Dazai stared intensively at his pupil, lips pressed tightly together. "That would be one way... But murder is not the only language the Mafia speaks. I..." Dazai interrupted himself. A sour taste lay on his tongue.
"You?" Atsushi asked cautiously after a few minutes had passed.
Back in the old days, when he had proudly worn the black cloak himself, Dazai would have found out everything about this fool that could be useful in some way. What exactly was his ability and what could be realized with it? What goals was he pursuing? Which desires drove him? Why of all places had he chosen this place as his hiding spot? Did he have family or close friends? Was there something that was especially dear to him, something he was willing to give up everything for as long as he could protect it?
Within hours, he would have compiled the entire life story of this man. And depending on the quality of that information, he would have devised a strategy. He could have had him killed, but maybe he would have manipulated him and driven him to join the mafia. Or he could have played him against another enemy and killed two birds with one stone.
"You know what, I would love some more tea. Could you bring me some, Atsushi-kun?"
Atsushi froze for a moment, as if he didn't understand what Dazai meant. Then he jumped up so quickly that his chair almost tipped over "Yes, I'll get you one," he said and hurried away.
Dazai waited for a few seconds after the door had closed. Then he lumbered to his feet, almost falling when the blanket wrapped itself unfavorably around his long legs. With an annoyed tone he released himself from the intrusive sheets and threw them back on the bed in an untidy heap. Then he staggered towards the window and pushed it wide open.
Cold air immediately hit him, sending a shiver down his spine. His nose started to run again and he blinked a few times, disoriented.
Right next to the window was a fire escape. Dazai had never used it before, just remembering its exact position in case it might come in handy. It was the perfect way to sneak out of the infirmary unnoticed. Although one of the more neck-breaking types.
Carefully he climbed up the narrow ledge and stared down the busy street for a moment. If he fell from this height onto the asphalt, it would guarantee his death. It was alluring, he had to admit, but the timing was wrong.
For one thing, Atsushi would certainly blame himself for leaving Dazai unattended. And for another, he was needed right now. Kunikida and Tanizaki weren't defenseless, no question, but without No Longer Human, they were at a disadvantage against a strong skilled person. They didn't know enough about Katsuhiko's ability and the mafia could also become a threat if they interfered.
So he bent dangerously forward, grabbed the cold metal bar with one hand, took a deep breath to calm his nerves and then swung himself over the abyss with all his strength. For a moment, it was as if he was floating and he wondered if this was how Chuuya felt whenever he used Tainted Sorrow. Then he slammed hard against the stairs with his side. He sucked in the air sharply, fearing he might fall for an instant, before he managed to pull himself up and through the inclined bars of the stairs. Arriving on the safe steps he lay down breathing heavily for a while.
But soon he came back on his feet, albeit staggering, and rubbed his head. He had to hurry if he didn't want to be stopped by Atsushi after all.
Half running, half stumbling he rushed down the stairs and onto the street, where he threw himself in front of a passing taxi that came to a halt with squeaking tires. While the driver was still scolding him, he sat down on the back seat of the car and gave the address of the abandoned warehouse.
It took a little over a quarter of an hour - curse Yokohama's traffic - before they finally arrived at their destination. Dazai jumped out of the taxi and ran off as fast as his weak legs allowed him to. He ignored the driver's angry cries, reminding him that he hadn't paid for the ride yet.
Dazai threw quick glances through broken and dirty windows until he finally discovered a certain blond ponytail.
Kunikida was standing in the middle of a dusty hall, his silver pistol firmly in both hands and pointed at a man in his late 20s. Next to him stood Tanizaki in his bright orange hooded sweater.
"What do you want from me?" the man barked angrily, arms raised above his head.
Kunikida clicked his tongue. But his voice remained calm and composed. "You are responsible for the chaos on Yokohama's streets, right? We just want to know why you are doing all this and ask you to stop it immediately. If you can do that, we'll leave you alone. Otherwise..."
"I am not doing anything forbidden! I am innocent!", the man began, fidgeting nervously back and forth. Even at a distance, Dazai could see he was lying. "I swear, I didn't mean any of this. I'm just trying to protect myself!
Dazai couldn't hear any more of the conversation. He detached himself from the window and looked for the entrance door of the warehouse. Groaning, he pushed it open, the sound echoing loudly in the large room.
The eyes of those present instantly flew towards him. Kunikida, who thought another enemy was about to join them, pointed his gun at the brown-haired man before he realized who he had before him. "Dazai?! Aren't you supposed to be in bed?"
Dazai already opened his mouth for a wise and impertinent reply, but not a word left him. Burning, hot pain exploded in his stomach area. Almost simultaneously, a deafening bang sounded. He swayed, staggered back a step, then looked down at the aching spot.
A red stain formed on his vest, barely visible on the dark fabric. With one swallow he realized it had to be blood.
His legs suddenly gave way. He heard someone cursing, someone else shouting his name. He could not say who this person was exactly, but he heard fear in their voice. By that time he was face down on the concrete floor.
During the next minutes he drifted back and forth between the warmth of life and the cold blackness of death. His ears were ringing and pain was all he could feel. A red puddle formed beneath him at a frightening speed.
Someone fell to their knees beside him. He recognized light, beige pants. So it must be Kunikida.
"D... Don't worry. The guy's unconscious. Tanizaki called the police and... and an ambulance. Someone will be here soon. So don't you dare die until then!"
A damp laugh escaped Dazai's throat. Great, apparently he was spitting up blood. That was something he hadn't missed a bit. Being shot and bleeding out on a cold, uncomfortable floor. He'd hoped those times were finally behind him. "A week ago, you told me to go to hell. What has... changed?"
A hand ran through his curls and his head was placed carefully on a thigh, to make him as comfortable as possible. "You know I would never really wish you to die."
Dazai was silent. Then, softly and roughly, he asked, "Really?"
A soft sigh could be heard and for a second the fingers pulled his hair desperately without hurting him. It only tugged slightly. "Fool... Of course I don't want that!"
A smile made its way onto Dazai's lips. It might have been his greatest wish to die a quick and painless death, but still it was nice to hear that Kunikida preferred to see him alive. "Why...? I'm... just... upsetting... your plans. And double work..."
Again Kunikida pulled at the brown strands, as if he wanted to admonish him that way. "I don't care! You... you're more important than that!"
What? More important than...
Oh…
Oh!
"Good... good joke," Dazai breathlessly produced. His voice became weaker and weaker, and his vision began to deteriorate. His strength was fading...
"No, I'm not joking! I really care about you!" Kunikida sounded desperate now, as though he didn't know what to do anymore. "I..." He seemed to want to say something, something important, but the sound of approaching sirens interrupted him.
"At last..." he exhaled with relief. His hand slipped from Dazai's head while he stared intently at the door.
Dazai realized he was slowly but surely losing consciousness. This time he would probably not wake up again, he was sure of that. Before it was too late, he wanted to say one last thing. Something that had been burning in his mind for a long time. "Kunikida-kun... I lo..."
Beep. Beep. Beep.
A steady beeping sound caught Dazais' attention. His eyelids were incredibly heavy and so it took a while before he could finally open them. When he succeeded, he was blinded by bright white lights.
His gaze wandered across the room. It seemed to be a patient room, but not the one in the agency. So he was probably at a hospital. The beeping sound was coming from a heart monitor he was hooked up to.
Sunlight came in through the wide windows. It got caught in the floor-length white curtains. On a small table opposite his bed were heaps of gifts and flowers. He wondered how long he had been here.
With a creak the door was opened and Kunikida came in, a paper cup with coffee in one hand. He froze for a moment before hurrying to Dazai's side. "You're awake," he exclaimed with a sigh.
Dazai did not utter a word. His throat was rough and aching, as if someone had spent hours working it with sandpaper. So he just nodded slightly.
Kunikida put his coffee aside. He examined Dazai closely, then released the held breath and said, "You have no idea how close it was this time. We thought... We thought we were going to lose you."
Kunikida massaged the bridge of his nose with two fingers. His forehead was wrinkled while he stared hard at a spot on the wall.
"Why were you there? You're... were, sick. You should have been in the office! Do you know how Atsushi blamed himself when Tanizaki explained everything to him?!" Guiltily, Dazai looked down. He would have to apologize to the younger one.
"What did you want to tell me?" Kunikida asked there, apparently out of nowhere.
Dazai threw a confused look at him. What was his point? What had he wanted to tell him and when? He couldn't remember.
"Before you passed out at the warehouse... You were going to say something."
Now his memories came back and immediately redness shot into his cheeks. What had got into him? He had actually intended to put those three little fateful words in his mouth. He had wanted to confess his love to Kunikida.
Why the fuck would he do that?!
Dazai Osamu wasn't in love with Kunikida Doppo. No fucking way!
Lying to yourself has always been the easier way, hasn't it, Osamu? Remember... What happened last time you denied your feelings?
Last time... Last time the person he had wanted to give his heart to had died, and that before Dazai himself had realized what all these feelings meant. On bad days he could still see the blood on his hand, feel it sticking to his skin and staining the bandages. He didn't want it all to end the same way it did four years ago. And yet...
"W-what happened... after I..."
Kunikida gave him an especially sharp look, which made him shut up immediately.
"Better not speak," said the blond. Then, quieter, he added: "The ambulance and the police came. The police took Katsuhiko into custody and the doctors came to your aid. You had an emergency operation. You were unconscious for a week."
This answered some of the questions that were on the tip of Dazai's tongue. But he had more. Fortunately for him, Kunikida seemed to already suspect that.
"It was Katsuhiko who shot at you. With... with my gun."
Dazai understood. Kunikida and Tanizaki had been distracted by his own appearance. Katsuhiko had taken advantage of that moment and grabbed the pistol and shot. Kunikida wasn't to blame for that, it had been a classic case of stupid actions, but of course, he still felt guilty. After all, it had been his gun that almost brought Dazai to his grave.
"Not... your fault..."
Kunikida's gaze bored itself into Dazais. Then, with a tired sigh, he patted Dazais' head and muttered, "Just go back to sleep, idiot. You still need plenty of rest."
Dazai could not protest. He was dead tired and the painkillers he had been given lulled him additionally. He quickly drifted off into the land of dreams, but not without wanting to reach for Kunikida's hand on his head and whispering softly: "Stay..."
The next time he regained consciousness, two people were with him in his room.
The first was President Fukuzawa. He was sitting on a shaky folding chair at Dazai's right, a Sudoku on his lap. A quick glance was enough for the genius to realize that instead of four a seven belonged in the box he had just filled in.
The second person was Kyouka. She had made herself comfortable on the adjacent bed, holding a white plush bunny firmly in her arms.
When he moved a little bit, the eyes of both of them fell on him immediately.
"Dazai-kun.," Fukuzawa calmly addressed him. There was not a hint of strictness in his words, although Dazai had directly disobeyed an order. He had every right to be angry with the young detective. But probably his concern outweighed his anger and enabled him to forget about it for the moment.
"President..."
Fukuzawa sighed and then turned to Kyouka first. "Kyouka-chan, please go and get us one of the doctors!"
" Understood," said the young ex-assassin. She slipped silently from the bed and through the door out into the hall.
Fukuzawa waited a moment before addressing Dazai again, "How do you feel, Dazai-kun?"
Dazai hesitated. "Fine...
Fukuzawa's right eyebrow twitched. "Dazai-kun," he said, a shade sharper than before.
The brown-haired man winced a little. Then, gnashing his teeth, he admitted: "It hurts a little... But really just a little!"
The president put his Sudoku on the side table. "What were you thinking? Going on a mission sick?"
"Our opponent was gifted. Kunikida and Tanizaki needed my skill as insurance in case he used his ability against them."
"Everything was under control until you showed up there." Fukuzawa scrutinized him closely. "And how this mission ended thanks to your rash actions, you know best of all!"
Dazai swallowed a heavy lump that seemed to have wedged itself in his throat. "That... Yes, boss. It will not happen again." Fukuzawa opened his mouth again, but Dazai was faster: "How's Kunikida-kun? Is he still..."
"He's fine, but he still feels partly responsible for your injury. So does Atsushi, by the way. He thinks it's his fault for not taking good care of you."
Dazai bit his lip hard. Yes, in any case, he owed Atsushi an apology. And Kunikida too, of course. Especially for the latter, he had to come up with something unique.
"Dazai-kun..." Fukuzawa sat there with slumped shoulders and a serious, worried expression in his storm-coloured eyes. He looked as if he had aged ten years from one day to the next. "What am I going to do with you?"
Dazai turned pale. If he hadn't already been pale.
Was that it? Was Fukuzawa tired of keeping him employed? Dealing with him and all his charades? Would he throw him out now?
And then what? There's no place to go. Odasaku's dream would be lost forever. Why didn't you just die? Die, die you useless bastard!
A hand was gently placed on his arm. "Calm down." Fukuzawa just looked at him for a long time, softly pressing his arm until Dazai's breathing had slowed down again. Until his shoulders no longer trembled.
Before the silver-haired man could speak any further, the door opened and Kyouka returned, accompanied by a chubby little man in a white coat.
"Ah, Dazai-san, how do you feel?", the doctor, name-tagged Kato Shinichi, asked, pressing a clipboard against his chest.
"Good." he lied with full conviction. Kyouka and Fukuzawa, of course, saw through him immediately, but said nothing. They left the field to the doctor, it seemed.
He smiled enthusiastically at Dazai. "That's wonderful. Well, Dazai-san, you lost a lot of blood, and since the bullet had remained in your body, we had to give you an emergency operation. Your body is still severely weakened. Your boss has already assured us that he and your colleagues will make sure that you get lots of rest. But we'll have to keep you here for a few more days...
The doctor paused for a moment before he said cheerfully, "You are a very lucky man, Dazai-san. That you have survived this wound is a miracle. "Your will to live must be incredible."
Dazai almost laughed out loud in the face of this irony. "Yes... I guess it is..."
A week passed before Dazai was released from the hospital and picked up by Yosano and Ranpo. The black-haired doctor gave him a lecture on his health for the entire trip, while the master detective licked a strawberry-flavoured lollipop in boredom.
When they arrived at the office, he quickly invented an excuse just to escape Yosano's angry sermon. In fact, he may have been cocky and claimed to have to take care of the paperwork left on his desk. As if he would ever do that voluntarily.
So he sat down at his desk, unfolded his laptop and stared at the screen inactively. His fingers floated motionless over the keyboard and he bit tentatively on his lower lip. But inactively he was not quite right. He was thinking.
What could he possibly do to apologize to his stoic partner and his naive protégé? After all the anxiety and fear he had caused them, they deserved more than a pathetic "I'm sorry." They deserved something real, honest. Something that came from the heart and was meant genuine.
Atsushi was easy. The boy loved Chazuke. Dazai would take him to some bowls of the dish, to some good and nice restaurant. He hoped very much that Atsushi would forgive him afterwards.
Kunikida, on the other hand, was not so easy to crack. And Dazai had absolutely no idea what he could do to please him.
Maybe it would help if he asked Google for advice? How can I apologize to my colleague for almost getting killed with his own gun in front of him? That wouldn't look suspicious in his search history.
"Dazai?" Someone tapped him lightly on the shoulder. He looked up and glanced straight into Kunikida's yellow eyes. A worried glimmer lay in them. "Are you all right?"
Dazai blinked, very slowly and highly confused. "Huh? What do you mean? Of course, everything is fine, Kunikida-kun.", he replied hurriedly.
Kunikida hesitated a moment. His gaze wandered attentively through the office. Everyone was absorbed in their own tasks and duties. Finally he pointed Dazai to follow him outside into the corridor. There, in front of one of the windows facing the street, they stopped. Kunikida had folded his arms in front of his chest and turned his back on Dazai.
"What's the matter with you?" he asked bluntly, staring out the window.
Dazai didn't answer at all at first. He just looked at Kunikida. His long blond hair, which was neatly tied back at the neck. The polished lenses that reflected the sunlight. His strong, straight back and the clean, wrinkle-free clothes.
Then, whispering, he asked, "What makes you think something's wrong?"
"For more than fifteen minutes you've just been sitting there staring at that screen, that's why! You don't make any effort at all to annoy anybody or to keep us from our work. You don't even talk about suicide! Something's wrong!"
Kunikida had turned to him. He seemed very serious, but at the same time incredibly worried.
"Is it because of your wound? If you are in pain, go home and rest. Or sleep here on the couch or in the sickroom."
"Wait a minute... Are you suggesting that I slack off? You of all people?", Dazai asked astonished. With one finger he pointed to the other, breathless.
Kunikida sighed long. He propped his right hand to his hip, while he clearly brought out: "You were discharged from the hospital this morning, after you almost died. Do you think I'm such a terrible person?"
"Of course not!"
Perhaps his answer came a spark too quickly, judging by Kunikida's raised brow. But Dazai could never let him believe that. Kunikida might be many things but certainly not a terrible person. That was more Dazai's expertise. Kunikida, on the other hand... He was one of the most humane people the ex-Mafioso had ever met.
For a moment there was silence. Then Kunikida again took the word: "No matter what happens... No matter what mission we are facing, promise me one thing Dazai. If anyone asks you to stay here and rest, please just do it. I don't want history to repeat itself. So, please, promise me!"
Dazai stood there silently. He avoided Kunikida's gaze. Instead of trying to talk his way out of it or making him a half-hearted promise, he finally said so quietly that he hardly understood himself: "It was, I love you..."
"You have to speak up if you want me to hear you!"
The brown-haired man bit his lip violently. It's now or never. But, come to think of it, never actually sounded pretty good.
"You know, Kunikida-kun, it's not important. I'm going to..."
"I love you too!"
Kunikida looked straight into his eyes, which were big and round like those of a frightened animal. Only Dazai was not frozen in fear. He was just... stunned. Unbelieving. Boundlessly confused.
"W-what did... How... Kunikida-kun?" he stammered out stupidly, completely uncoordinated.
Kunikida took a step towards him and Dazai took a step back. "I love you too, Osamu!"
Dazai's back hit hard against a cold wall. His fingers groped aimlessly across the stone, as if looking for something to hold on to, in the likely event his legs would give way. His ears were ringing. Again and again he heard Kunikida say, "I love you too, Osamu.”
He was fairly sure he hadn't survived the shot after all. He had died. This was hell and his own personal punishment for all the evil he had done. It was a last glimpse of the sweet, hopeful future he could never have. At any moment it would be snatched from him and he would find himself in the deepest darkness. Alone for all eternity.
"No, you're not dead. Just too stupid to realize that you deserve to be loved as much as any other person in this world," Kunikida whispered, his voice raspy and so incredibly smooth. He propped himself up against the wall with one hand, right next to Dazai's head.
"Wow... Kunikida-kun knows me better than I thought..." Dazai muttered, scratching his chin. "How did you figure that out?"
"A hunch, that's all... I wasn't certain I was right about that. But now I'm sure."
"And you..."
Dazai did not manage to finish his sentence. Warm, soft lips pressed against his mouth. He was so taken by surprise that he didn't know what to do. So he just waited until Kunikida broke away from him again.
They both took a breath, gasping for air, embarrassed, not knowing what to say to each other. But, really, were words even necessary? They possessed a deep, mutual understanding. It made them great partners, not needing words to communicate with each other. They knew what the other person was thinking and feeling. Maybe that made them more than just great partners. It could also make them fantastic... lovers.
"I'm sorry," it burst out of Dazai.
Kunikida shook his head gently. "It's okay. Just never do that again! Promise?"
Dazai giggled. It was a gurgling laugh. "Yes, I promise." And he sealed this promise with another kiss full of loving emotions and suppressed passion. |
Something warm and solid lies heavy across his chest.
As Sam comes slowly to consciousness he hears heavy, deep breathing, feels it warm and damp on his neck.
Someone is cuddled against him, someone beloved and familiar, the smell and weight and warmth a comforting constant that keeps Sam halfway asleep, soaking up the muzzy moments before coming fully awake to savor the feel of the body draped over his, the satisfying sense-memories of a night spent making love. Sam's muscles are pleasantly sore, his skin slick with sweat, a layer of sweat from his earlier exertions dried on his back, across his chest.
Sam takes a deep breath, breathing in the smell of sex and sweat and musty motel air. His arm is pinned under his partner's body, and it's gone so numb Sam can barely feel it, so he shifts a little, just to be sure it's still there. Something's niggling at his brain, something sharp that disturbs his peace and makes him shift again, turning his face into his partner's soft hair, nuzzling there, breathing in Irish Spring and Old Spice and sweat.
Sam frowns, puzzled but still too lulled by the sense of familiarity to come fully awake. Then his partner's regular breathing hitches as the sleeper reacts to Sam's movements and snuggles into Sam's side, the scrape of an unshaven chin burrowing into Sam's shoulder, and Sam is suddenly aware of the unusual muscularity of the arm wrapped around his chest, the sleeper's bare leg unusually heavy and hairy where it's draped over one of his, the jut of something hard and hot and naked against his naked hip...
Sam's eyes fly open with a start, heart pounding, suddenly fully awake. He lies still and tense for a moment, hunter's instincts assessing the situation quickly, trying to determine the threat level. There's definitely a naked man sleeping curled around him, and there's been sex, and Sam's definitely been fucked, his body is pretty damn clear on that point. Just as sure as he is that the man in his arms is his brother, Dean.
Sam's not sure what to make of his final deduction, despite the evidence, which seems pretty indisputable. Somehow, however unbelievably, he's had sex with his brother.
He quickly scans his memories; what happened last night? Besides the obvious. Did he drink too much? How is it he can't remember a single detail? Sam's been wasted before, but he's pretty sure he would've remembered if he'd sex with his brother.
Unless this wasn't his brother.
As carefully as he can without disturbing the man sleeping nearly on top of him, Sam slides his free hand under his pillow, gropes around long enough to assure himself that there's no gun or knife hidden there. He rests for a beat, then begins to slowly and carefully extricate himself, scooting away across the bed, hooking his far leg over the edge to pull the lower part of his body off first. He's about to slide out from under the heavy, warm arm on his chest when the man starts to waken. Sam freezes, and the man snuggles in again, murmuring, "It's okay, Sammy, I gotcha," in Dean's low, gravelly voice, then presses his soft, full lips against Sam's shoulder, stroking Sam's chest with his eyes still closed. When Dean's thumb skirts over Sam's nipple an electric shock pierces through him, and Dean chuckles low and warm in his throat and does it again, causing the electric current to shoot straight from Sam's nipple to his dick.
What the fuck?
Dean's lips have parted and Sam feels his tongue – his tongue! – flicking out to suckle at Sam's skin, and he's pretty sure he's gonna end up with a shoulder hickey if Dean doesn't stop soon. Sam steals a glance at Dean's face, but his eyes are still closed and now he's starting to hump lazily against Sam's hip and his thumb has made a stiff peak out of Sam's nipple and he's still doing it and now his hand is traveling south over Sam's belly and –
"Jesus! Fuck!"
Sam is out of the bed so fast he doesn't have time to think about it, yanks open the drawer to the bedside table – empty – and checks under the mattress and under the bed for a weapon, coming up empty handed. He looks around wildly, sees an old duffel on the floor and grabs it, rifling through shirts and socks and miscellaneous toiletries for something, anything, he can use, then dumps it and heads for the door. This is a motel room, he's already figured that out, seen a million like them, and there has to be a razor in the bathroom, maybe a pair of scissors –
"Sam?"
Dean's sleepy voice makes him stop, turn on instinct because it's so familiar, because he's positively programmed to respond to his brother's voice, and because Dean sounds so confused, so vulnerable, and Sam doesn't have it in him not to answer.
The man on the bed is rubbing his eyes, blinking up at Sam with those beautiful, familiar green eyes that Sam knows better than his own, pushing himself onto one elbow, perfect ass all round and naked and –
"Who are you and what have you done with my brother?" Sam gives his voice all the command and power he can muster, given that he's a naked man without a weapon. At least he has the guy outmatched size-wise, as long as he isn't a demon or some kind of super-strong shifter or any number of souped-up hybrid monsters.
Dean frowns, opens his eyes wide, holding perfectly still now that Sam has his attention. His gaze flickers over Sam's body, and damn it if a little smirk isn't turning up the corners of that perfect mouth as he gets an eyeful of the Full Monty, embarrassingly more than half-mast with the attention Dean was paying it not two minutes before.
"Answer me!" Sam booms, and Dean's eyes flick right back up to Sam's face.
He doesn't look very worried, though, which makes Sam boil with rage. Now that he can see the dude's face full-on, it's obviously not Dean. He's too old, for one. Guy must be at least thirty-five, a good ten years older than Sam's brother. And he's got a tattoo on his chest...
That's when Sam glances down and notices the exact same tat on his own chest, remembers seeing it there earlier, when the guy was caressing his pec, running his fingers through his chest hair...
"Listen, buddy, either you tell me what's going on right the fuck now, or – "
"Or you'll what, Sam?" Dean smirks at him. "You'll tear me limb from limb with your bare hands? Yeah, I never leave weapons in the room where we sleep any more. Learned that the hard way."
He glances toward the floor behind him, where he obviously dropped his clothes in a hurry in his haste to get naked. With Sam, who can see the pile of his own clothes not two feet away.
"Got a vial of holy water and a silver knife," Dean rumbles carefully, and damn it if the sound of his voice isn't making Sam's spine tingle. "You let me get up, you can test me."
"How do I know they're not fake?" Sam demands.
"You don't," Dean nods approvingly. "But there's some in your pockets too, Sam. Your jacket's hanging in the closet. You put it there last night when we checked in here."
"No, I didn't," Sam shakes his head, furious that he has no memory of this place. "When I went to bed last night, we were in some dive motel near Lincoln."
Dean sighs, purses his lips, and gives a slight nod. Sam's never seen anything sexier, and his dick is definitely paying attention, damn it all to hell anyway. Why do they have to be naked, for God's sake?
"That's what you remember," Dean says. "But that happened a long time ago, Sam. Years."
"What are you talking about?" Sam frowns, notices his own hands for the first time. They're huge and calloused, and the knuckles are criss-crossed with hundreds of old scars, a couple of them gnarled and calcified, as if from old breaks that didn't quite heal right. He looks down at himself, noticing differences right away, besides the obvious dick thing. His body is hard, tough and sinewy, scars he's never seen before on his thighs, his knees, his arms. He reaches up to touch his own face, finds the hard stubble of a day's growth of beard, his hair –
His hair is longer, swept back off his forehead, no bangs.
What the fuck?
"See for yourself, Sam," Dean says quietly from the bed. "You've aged. Not the young buck you remember."
Sam backs up to the bathroom door, keeping an eye on the figure still lying on the bed, pushes the door open and glances into the bathroom mirror. The man looking back at him is at least thirty, probably older, the lines and planes of his angular face sharply defined, the powerful brow almost unrecognizable without the fringe of hair he's so used to. There's a hint of grey at his temples.
"See?" Dean says. "It's you, and I'm me. We just got old."
Sam clenches his jaw, working the thing through in his head.
"What happened?" he asks as he sidles to the closet, reaches in for his jacket. "We get hexed? An aging spell? Why don't I remember?"
He pulls out the knife, checks the blade. Seems to be silver, and the little vial of holy water is unopened, looks authentic.
"No hex, no curse, just you sacrificing yourself to save me from the Mark of Cain," Dean smiles grimly. "Just me getting you back, but with only half your soul. Other half is in Heaven, waiting for us, I guess. The half that has all your memories. Or most of them, anyway."
"What the hell are you talking about? My soul? Heaven? The Mark-of-fuckin'-Cain? Like in the Bible?" Sam feels his voice rise, feels the hysteria building in his chest, approaches the bed slowly, knife in one hand, holy water in the other.
"It's all on your computer, Sam," Dean nods towards the room's only chair, and Sam can see the laptop lying there, under the edge of another jacket. Dean's, probably. "You wake up every morning thinking you're twenty-three, we're on a hunt in Nebraska, Jessica's death is still fresh, and you and me have never – " he waves his hand vaguely at the rumpled bed, at the two of them. "You know. We spend the day after you've had an hour or two to get adjusted, sometimes on a job, sometimes just hanging out, getting reacquainted, sometimes getting lucky, like last night."
Sam has circled the bed by this time, and Dean sits up slowly, swings his legs around so he's sitting facing Sam, and Sam tries his damnedest not to look too closely at Dean's body as he takes the arm Dean offers and presses the blade against the soft, pale skin of his upturned forearm. Dean doesn't even flinch; Sam can see the scars of other knife wounds, and although he knows this one will heal cleanly, he still winces a little as he watches the blood well around the edge of the silver, pulls the knife back right away and tosses the holy water in Dean's face before he has a chance to recover.
Dean blinks, spits, runs a hand over his wet face, glares up at Sam from under stupidly long eyelashes, and Sam suddenly wants to kiss him. Doesn't know where the hell that thought came from, but his body seems to know; it's betraying him again with another boner, or maybe it's the same one...
"Satisfied?" Dean growls. "It's me, okay? Not a shifter, not a demon, just me. Wet me. Old me. Slightly-pissed-off-and-in-dire-need-of-coffee-and-a-shower-me. Got it? Are we good?"
Sam backs up with a slight nod, allowing Dean to get up and head toward the bathroom, trying really hard not to watch Dean's perfect ass as he moves, his muscled legs, the smooth dip of his lower back where it meets the swell of his ass, his strong, broad shoulders.
Damn.
"Take a look at your laptop while I'm in here," Dean demands just before he shuts the bathroom door behind him. "It's what you always do first thing. Everything's in there."
Well, not everything, Sam thinks as Dean closes the door. There's still the sex thing.
It's not like Sam's never thought about having sex with Dean. God knows, that's not true. He's been fantasizing about it off and on for years, pretty much obsessively since he hit puberty. In fact, it was one of the reasons he left for college in the first place. Getting away from the constant temptation of Dean sleeping right there in the same room, often in the same bed, not to mention the raging jealousy of watching Dean with other people, of smelling them on him when Dean came home – yeah, that was a huge part of why he left, if Sam was honest with himself.
Fighting those feelings, resisting that urge, had then become just as much of an obsession, so that after almost four years at school, spent mostly away from Dean except for one disastrous visit spent mostly yelling and fist-fighting because Sam was fairly bursting with frustration and Dean couldn't seem to stop teasing him, Sam thought he had himself enough under control to join Dean on some hunts again, help him search for their dad, try to find Jessica's killer. Sam's grown up now, not just a horny teenager; he'd managed a stable relationship with someone besides Dean, and that gave him the confidence to hunt with Dean again, to go back into that life where they were always in danger, always on edge, always in each other's personal spaces with all those heightened emotions trapped between them and no other outlet than the hunt, the kill, the blessed release of knife sinking into flesh and bone, the physical exertion of grave-digging and hand-to-hand combat.
But the idea that Dean would let the sex thing happen, would go for it in the first place, boggles Sam's mind. Just doesn't compute. He puts on his shorts, sits down at the rickety table, and fires up the laptop, looking for answers to the sex thing as much as anything because...just because. It seems so important, that's all, like it's the key to everything.
Plus, sitting down reminds him how sore his ass is, makes it painfully obvious what he and Dean were doing last night, and he really, really needs to figure this the fuck out.
After he's read the "Read Me First" and the "Read Me Second" files, he's so absorbed he barely registers Dean coming out of the bathroom, getting dressed, announcing, "Goin' for coffee." It's all there, their lives for the past twelve years. Well, the Carver Edlund books tell the first five, two of which he actually remembers; then Sam's own journals of the five after that, culminating in the crazy plan that had Sam sacrificing himself to the Mark of Cain, thereby breaking its curse.
Whatever Dean did after that, getting Sam back, the deal brought only part of him back. Or maybe he's just been hit on the head one too many times and now he's permanently brain damaged. Whatever it is, the results are the same. Sam's memories of those twelve years are gone, just not there anymore. And every night when he falls asleep, he loses even his memory of the day before, starting the next day as if it was the day after twelve years ago.
"Do something memorable," his last journal entry advises. "Make your body remember, even if your mind forgets."
Oh.
He reaches for the coffee Dean has left on the table next to him. It's cold, but he chugs it anyway, lost in thought as he stares at the screen, at yesterday's entry.
Dean's sudden presence at his back startles him, but Dean's hand on his shoulder is warm and reassuring.
"Come on, big guy, time for a shower. Then we eat," Dean announces, his voice low and gentle, coaxing, like he's talking to a child.
It's been three hours since he sat down to start reading; the time flew by so fast Sam didn't even notice, and now it's late morning and a huge part of the day is just...gone. And he's only got a few hours before...
"So I have to stay awake," Sam muses, turning to look up at Dean. "I just have to keep myself from falling asleep."
"Oh yeah, that's the solution," Dean snarks. "Kill yourself with sleep-deprivation. Worked real well the last time, didn't you read that part? Besides, what do you gain? One day's memories? Not really worth it, Sam. Not by a long shot."
Sam stares up at his brother, at the laugh lines at the edge of his eyes that aren't there in Sam's memories, at the old scar on the edge of his cheek-bone that's also new, although for Dean the wound that put it there probably happened years ago.
"But I'm useless to you this way," Sam says, feeling the weight of the thing like a house-sized anvil. "I can't hunt..."
"Yes, you can," Dean insists. "You do. We do. Didn't you read that part? It takes you a little longer to get back up to speed each day, but you always do. Well, most of the time. You have your days, and sometimes there's no case, like today, so we just take a little r and r."
"But I'm a total drag on you," Sam insists. "Why do you put up with me? Why not just leave me in a hospital somewhere?"
"You're my brother, bitch," Dean growls. "Not leaving you anywhere. Now get your ass in the shower. I'm starving."
Sam finds his own reflection mesmerizing, so he spends way too long in the bathroom, and Dean finally pounds on the door, yelling at him to "Hurry up, damn it! I'm dying out here!"
At least the car is familiar, although it must be just about completely rebuilt again, after all those years.
"So I'm about thirty-five," Sam asks when they're finally facing each other across the table at the diner and Dean has ordered for both of them and the waitress, who must be around forty herself, has flirted with Dean but made it clear she thinks most men are skunks.
"Thirty-six," Dean corrects. "I just hit the big four-oh." He shakes his head. "Never thought we'd make it that far. You've saved us, Sam, for good this time. We've slowed way down since this thing happened. Routine hunts only. Heaven and Hell seem satisfied for once and they're leaving us alone, which suits me just fine."
Sam shakes his head, takes another sip of his coffee, thinking back to his morning's reading. "Heaven and Hell," he mutters, half to himself. "That stupid deal you made. Jesus, Dean."
"Yeah, well, I couldn't let you stay dead, now could I?" Dean shrugs.
"Yes, you could've," Sam argues. "And from what I just read, that's what started it all. So if you hadn't made that deal..."
"Mom's deal started it, if you want to play chicken-and-egg," Dean reminds him. "And then Dad dealt for my life, after you found that reaper who killed some innocent kid for me, so that one's on both of us. Truth is, neither of us should have ever been born in the first place. But we're here, and we're still doin' what we do, and we're doin' it together, so I call that a win. And we've had damn few of those, so I'm good."
The waitress brings their plates then, and for a few minutes neither Winchester says a thing, focused on the food, and Sam thinks he's never tasted anything better. Of course, he wouldn't remember if he had...
"Aren't you ever tempted to just not tell me?" Sam wonders out loud finally, and Dean lifts a questioning eyebrow at him so he goes on. "You know, just hide the laptop, tell me some bullshit story about our lives. I mean..I don't know. If our situations were reversed, I might be tempted not to even tell you all that stuff."
"Are you kidding me?" Dean chokes down a bite of burger. "You'd just make me take you to a fuckin' library so you could research the hell out the whole memory thing, and you'd find out anyway. The Carver Edlund books are on-line, Sam. Then you'd spend the rest of the day pissed at me for not telling you in the first place."
"So you've already tried that," Sam suggests, and Dean flushes, won't look him in the eye, fidgets around so Sam knows he's right.
They're in the car heading west, almost an hour later, when Sam jerks awake with a start, a vision of Dean running toward him in the rain, screaming his name as he feels something hard and hot pushing into his back, cutting off the feeling to his legs so that he's sagging forward, into Dean's arms, and they're both collapsing in the mud, Dean sobbing his name.
Sam looks around wildly for a moment as he gets his bearings, stares at Dean, so strong and silent at the wheel.
"You okay?" Dean lifts his eyebrows, glances at him.
Sam swallows, nods. "I fell asleep," he says, his voice sounding broken and scared. "I can't do that."
Dean shakes his head. "Naps don't count," he says confidently. "You have to be deep asleep for the memory wipe to happen. Don't ask me why, but that's how it is."
"I had a dream," Sam stutters. "Cold Oak. I think I died."
Dean shoots him a concerned look, but doesn't seem surprised. "Yeah, that's your last real memory," he says. "Everything reset from that moment, far as we can tell."
"We?"
Dean huffs out a breath. "Yeah, Sammy," he says. "You and me. All you wanted to do the whole first year was research the hell out of this thing, see if there was a way to reverse it. Get out of the deal. But there isn't. Not unless one of us dies for real, and I don't know about you but I am not ready to give you up, not after everything we've been through. So if the only you I can have is this you who can't remember a few years of our lives, well I for one am okay with that. Sure beats the alternative."
Sam stares out at the landscape in silence for awhile, chewing on his bottom lip. "I'll get old this way," he says. "It's like alzheimer's. You'll always have to take care of me, remind me where I put my keys. It'll start to get really confusing. You'll get sick of filling in all the blanks all the time for me."
Dean takes a deep breath, blows it out through his mouth, shakes his head. "First of all, Sam, there is nothing wrong with your brain. You are the smartest man I know, hands down. Sharp as a tack, same as always. You don't get confused, it's not your nature. You get the job done, same as you've always done. You definitely don't need me filling in any blanks for you. This is not alzheimer's, just recurring short-term memory loss. You're like Drew Barrymore in 'Fifty First Dates,' except whinier. And you don't need to find the keys, geek-boy, 'cuz I do the driving in this outfit."
Sam stews silently for a few more minutes, watching the scenery, then throws a sympathetic glance at Dean, who catches it and raises his eyebrow questioningly.
"Am I always this morose and self-pitying?" he asks.
Dean smirks, shakes his head. "Not always," he admits. "When we're on a job, you've got your mind on the hunt and you're focused, like usual. Not much navel-gazing on those days. When you keep busy it's easier."
"So what are we doing today?" Sam asks. "What's the job?"
"No job today, Sam," Dean admits. "Figured it was time for a little vacation. We haven't taken one for awhile, and it feels like it's a little overdue."
"So where are we going?"
"Jim Baxter's got a cabin on the Oregon Coast," Dean says. "Gorgeous view, trail straight down to a white sandy beach, great place to build a driftwood bonfire and watch the stars. If we like it, Jim says we're welcome to stay as long as we like."
"Stay?" Sam lifts his eyebrows. "As in, put down roots? Leave hunting? Settle down?"
"Nobody said anything about leaving the life, Sammy," Dean frowns. "While there's work to do, I'm pretty sure we'll always be doing it. No, I was thinking more like adding in a little consulting business on the side, you know? Offering our talents and knowledge to hunters who could use it, connecting them with jobs, acting as back-up when we're needed, kinda like what Bobby did."
"You're talking about retiring," Sam points out. "You're thinking we're getting too old for active duty."
"Who said anything about retiring?" Dean protests gruffly. "And speak for yourself there, graybeard. I ain't gettin' old. I'm just thinking we need to diversify a little, find ways to stay active in the business without constantly being on the road or working out of a bunker."
"What's wrong with the bunker?" Sam thinks back to the reading he did this morning. "That place was awesome. Why did we ever leave?"
Dean shifts uncomfortably, looks a little shifty, and Sam's thinking he won't get an answer, thinks maybe it has something to do with the shadowy thing that Dean did to keep Sam with him after the Mark of Cain fiasco. Sam wonders if he'll have time to get the truth out of Dean before he falls asleep and loses all his memories again then has to start all over again tomorrow.
Sam wonders if it really matters.
"Okay," he says finally, when it's obvious Dean isn't going to answer his question. "Never mind. Save your breath. It's not like I'm gonna remember anyway."
"Sammy..." Dean breathes his brother's name like a plea, like he just needs Sam to get on board without asking too many questions this time, and Sam's damned if he has the energy to fight Dean's plan anyway. If Dean wants to settle down in a cabin on the beach, who is Sam to tell him he can't? Hasn't he paid his dues? Haven't they both given enough?
For the next one hundred miles, Sam is silent, deep in his thoughts, trying to sort out how to make sense to himself of this new life he woke up to out of the blue this morning, wondering why he should care, since he won't be able to remember any of the things he works out in his mind today anyway. Which makes him think about the new thing between them, knowing it's not new for Dean, and it suddenly hits him that Dean didn't have to sleep with him last night; if he hadn't woken up with Dean draped naked almost on top of him, Sam would never know.
Which means, Dean wants Sam to know.
They've just crossed the town line outside Portland when Sam asks, "Who started it?" then finds he can't look at Dean, can't make himself face his brother's clenched jaw, the little twist to his lips as he smirks.
"Who do you think?" And of course Dean knows exactly what he means, doesn't even miss a beat.
"Do I always ask that?" Sam wonders aloud, and Dean's smirk gets broader, turns into a real grin, nearly blinding Sam as he glances over, gives him a hard-on with just a single look. Knows it, the fucker.
Sam blows out a breath, irritated and hard at the same time. He shifts on the bench, trying to get comfortable, to ease the strain in his jeans. He jumps as Dean's hand lands firm and warm on his leg, just above his knee, and stays there while Sam goes completely still, staring straight ahead through the windshield, swallowing hard.
"You did, Sam," Dean says finally, ignoring the last question. "Not long after I made my deal and got you back that first time. You got a little desperate and needy one night. Drinking."
"Oh," Sam swallows again, sneaks a glance, and Dean winks at him, making him grin and blush furiously.
"It was hot," Dean admits. "Kinda awkward at first until you figured out what you wanted, but hot. Definitely hot."
"You weren't..." Sam hesitates. "You weren't freaked out?"
"Oh, I was," Dean nods. "But you were pretty persistent. Cried a lot, as I recall. How was I supposed to resist that? Besides, it was sorta my fault you were so miserable. I was checking out in less than a year. Who was I to withhold a little comfort from my baby brother if he needed it?"
"So it was a pity thing," Sam notes dryly. "You felt sorry for me, so you let me."
"Maybe, at first," Dean shrugs, squeezes Sam's knee, kneading it gently. "Didn't stay that way."
"Oh yeah?" Sam's feeling brazen all of a sudden, encouraged by Dean's touch, the flush in his cheeks. He slides his hand down his leg, over Dean's, lacing their fingers together on his knee.
Dean pulls his hand away, puts both hands on the wheel, and Sam feels like an idiot. Holding hands with Dean Winchester? Really? Of course he wasn't gonna allow that.
Dean glances at him, knows what he's thinking. He clears his throat. "Traffic," he excuses himself, giving a nod out the windshield at the early evening bumper-to-bumper action. "Fuckin' hate cities."
Sam huffs out a breath because Dean's hatred of cities is old and familiar and inherited from their father, and the place on his knee where Dean's hand has just been is still warm with promise.
They get to the cabin just as the sun is setting. Sam climbs out of the car, stretches before he helps Dean bring the gear in, then circles around to the back, where the trees have been cleared so there's a view of the sun sinking into the red-tinged sea that takes Sam's breath away. They're up high on a cliff that sticks out a little so there are views of a wild, deserted beach that stretches as far as Sam can see in either direction. It's untouched and somehow primordial, deeply comforting in its timelessness, and Sam is mesmerized, stands watching as the light shifts, catching clouds on the horizon, changing color from yellow to orange to red. The breeze lifts his hair, slides across his face, bringing the briny smell of the ocean and the crash of the surf, the mournful cries of seagulls.
Dean moves up beside him, arms full of blankets, dangling a six-pack of beer off one finger.
"Come on," he nudges Sam's shoulder, then heads toward an opening at the edge of the little clearing, where Sam can see a dip in the soil, the start of a trail down the side to the beach. Sam follows, enchanted and more than a little puzzled at the same time. If he didn't know any better, he would say Dean's planning a romantic evening on the beach. Sam follows as Dean maneuvers down the steep, narrow trail, the blankets overloading his arms making him skitter awkwardly to keep his balance. Sam resists the urge to move up behind Dean to catch him if he starts to slip, or at least to offer to help him carry something. But this Dean is different from the Dean he knew before. He's older, wiser, steadier. Not as reckless, maybe. More sure of himself, definitely. More sure of Sam.
And obviously not afraid of making a fool of himself, which is so endearing Sam doesn't want to think about it too much.
When they reach the beach, then climb over a few boulders to the sand, the sky is a deep, bloody red, barely tinged with the hint of fiery orange left behind by the setting sun. Sam kicks off his shoes, then peels off his socks, letting the sun-warmed sand cushion his feet, sift easily between his toes. Dean spreads the blankets on the sand, then starts collecting driftwood, dragging larger pieces off the rocks while Sam digs a fire-pit with his bare hands, lines it with rocks. They drag some larger pieces of driftwood over to act as a wind-barrier, then start the fire with a lighter and some lighter fluid from Dean's pocket. They work mostly in silence, cooperating seamlessly on the job at hand, until the fire is going well and they can sit back on a log, side-by-side, watching the fire and the sea beyond it, brushing shoulders each time one of them leans forward to throw another stick into the fire. Dean opens a beer for Sam and hands it to him, cracks open one for himself and touches it to Sam's before taking a long swallow.
"You should take off your shoes," Sam tells him. "The sand feels great."
Dean raises an eyebrow and gives a slight nod, then puts his beer down as he does as Sam suggests, wiggling his bare toes in the sand once they're free. His feet are beautiful, long and slender, like a dancer's, and Sam can't remember ever noticing that before.
"I don't want to forget this," Sam says, glancing at Dean's profile, watching as his brother takes a long swallow of his beer, his adam's apple bobbing enticingly in his long throat.
"You don't have to," Dean acknowledges. "It'll still be here tomorrow. And the day after that, probably."
"What are you going to tell me about why we're here?" Sam asks, taking a sip of his own beer, watching the firelight flicker on Dean's face as the daylight fades, taking the last of the sunset colors with it, leaving grays and dusky blue shadows.
"I'll say we're on vacation," Dean says. "And I'll ask you if you've ever been to the beach, and you'll tell me about that time you and Jessica rented a motel room about a block away from the beach in Santa Cruz and how you got up every morning and walked down, hand-in-hand, so you could hunt for oysters in the sand right after the tide went out. And you'll sigh and tell me you miss her, but it's starting to get better, and there'll be a little tear in your eye, and I'll put my hand up to wipe it away with my thumb, like this." Sam watches, mesmerized, as Dean slides his hand along Sam's jaw, sweeping his thumb across Sam's cheekbone, just under his eye, his gaze focused on the movement of his own thumb intently.
Sam closes his hand over Dean's, holding it to his cheek, and Dean's gaze flicks up to Sam's, holds it for a moment before dropping to Sam's mouth, sending sparks shooting through Sam's body that have nothing to do with the bonfire. He's leaning toward Dean without being conscious of doing it, gaze dropping to Dean's plump, soft-looking lips, and it suddenly hits him that this is really happening, that in a minute he's going to know what it feels like to kiss his brother. Which makes his breath hitch and his lips part and he's aware that he's trembling, actually shivering, and it's got nothing to do with the twilight breeze and everything to do with the momentousness of doing this thing for the first time.
Which is what makes him hesitate, still inches apart.
"There's nothing about this that's new for you, is there?" Sam asks, and Dean smiles then, looks up with such fond warmth in his eyes it makes Sam's chest ache.
"Nothing about this will ever get old, Sam," he says quietly, then leans in the last few inches until his lips touch Sam's.
And it's perfect. Of course it is, because Dean gets the angle exactly right, kisses Sam the way Sam loves to kiss, soft and gentle for exactly zero-point-two seconds, as Sam adjusts to the feel of Dean's mouth against his, the slow drag of his impossibly full lips. Then the kiss gets open-mouthed and greedy. Dean lets Sam control it almost right away, lets Sam just plunder his mouth, bite at his lips, hold his face so he can tongue-fuck him with all the years of pent-up need he's never been able to express until now. Sam moans as his hands scritch along Dean's jaw, clutch at the back of his neck, desperate and needy and wanting to climb inside Dean's mouth, slither under his skin, bury himself inside Dean and never come out.
And Dean gets it, that's the crazy thing. He already knows what Sam wants, understands how he likes it. Sam's got his hands under Dean's shirts, scrambling for bare skin, clawing and clutching and yanking Dean's clothes out of the way until buttons are popping and fabric is ripping and Dean's torso is finally bare, his big, muscled shoulders and pecs and biceps and abs are all Sam's to touch, to knead with his hands, then his mouth, licking down Dean's neck, nipping at his jaw. Sam has managed to yank Dean onto his lap, and Dean is holding onto him for dear life, murmuring, "That's it, Sammy, that's it," in a maddening sultry drawl that makes Sam wild, needing to make Dean moan and sob and beg, to just wreck him until nothing coherent comes out of that perfect mouth ever again. Sam buries his face in the hollow of Dean's throat, sucking and licking up the sweat there.
"Shut up," Sam hisses as Dean murmurs again, encouraging, letting Sam know he's okay, that Dean's already given his permission for all of this, long ago. Sam's lust is like a burning rage, like a beast he can't control, and Dean's voice sets him off like a firecracker. He's got one arm around Dean's shoulders, the other one firmly on his ass, and he heaves up and flips Dean onto his back on the blanket, Sam right on top of him, holding him down, Dean giving a satisfying "humpf!" as he takes Sam's weight. Sam lifts his head, taking in the sight of his brother spread out beneath him, Dean's parted lips all wet and swollen, his cheeks flushed. His eyes are closed to mere slits, dark and glinting in the firelight, and as Sam grinds his crotch between Dean's legs, rubbing their erections together through their jeans, Dean lets out a low moan and arches up, tipping his head back to expose his throat, skin reddened where Sam has already sucked, left marks that will be bruises tomorrow.
Tomorrow, when Sam won't even remember doing this, when all that will be left of Sam's lust for his brother are the marks on his skin, the soreness in his muscles.
Sam grabs Dean's crotch, presses the heel of his hand against the hard length, squeezing roughly. Dean cries out, bucks up, and Sam watches him writhe, lets the sight fuel his lust until he's shaking with it, almost passing out from the sheer power of it.
"Off," Sam rasps, yanking at the waist of Dean's jeans. He kneels up to work at his own clothes, pulling shirts off over his head, getting up to shuck his jeans as Dean wiggles out of his, lies naked as Sam stands over him for a moment, just drinking in the sight of all that naked, freckled skin.
"Fuck," Sam breathes, sinking to his knees again between Dean's bow legs, spread wide and waiting for him.
"Go ahead, Sammy," Dean growls at him, wiggling lewdly on the blanket, lifting his ass, pushing one hand down between his legs to touch his own hole as he grabs his cock with the other. "I can take it. I'm not a girl. You don't have to go easy on me."
"Fuck," Sam breathes again as he watches Dean fingering his hole, dry-fucking himself as he jacks his dick, and Sam is suddenly so glad he remembered to bring lube, because there isn't any way he could ask Dean, and there's no way he would hurt his brother, not really.
Sam finds the little tube and flips open the cap, spreads the cold liquid over his fingers, then gently pushes Dean's hand away so he can take its place, watching Dean's face carefully as he touches him. Dean's eyes squeeze shut and he shudders as Sam caresses his entrance, circles it tentatively with one finger, lubricating the puckered skin before easing the tip of one finger inside.
"Was I your first, Dean?" Sam can't help asking, is sure he probably always asks, and Dean nods, panting a little as Sam works the rim muscle, loosening and opening him as gently as he can, given his almost uncontrollable eagerness. Sam guesses that Dean already knows that Sam had Jessica do this to him, pretending it was Dean the whole time. It's probably the thing that Sam loved most about Jess, that she accepted his warped sexuality and loved him anyway. Sam's sure he would have told Dean, during one of the times they did this in the past. He wouldn't have been able to keep something like that secret from Dean, not once he had him in every way he'd always longed for.
Dean is keening now, no longer verbal, circling his hips so he's twisting himself on Sam's fingers, and once Sam has added a third he begins thrusting as well as scissoring, watching Dean's face for any signs of discomfort. Sam slides his free hand up Dean’s stomach to his chest, tweaking one dark nipple, pinching it to a hard peak as Dean moans and writhes and pushes himself down on Sam’s hand, and it's so depraved, Dean fucking down on his hand like this on a blanket on the beach, next to a roaring fire. It's so primal.
Sam leans down and kisses Dean's chest, suckles at his nipples, covers the hand Dean has on his cock with his own. Dean arches his back, nearly pushing Sam's entire hand into his body, throwing his head back on a long keening moan as Sam's other hand starts jacking him. He's aware that it's not perfect, that he has no way of knowing how Dean likes it because he's never done it before. But then he remembers. All the times he lay quietly trying to sleep while Dean jerked off in the other bed, all the times Sam listened while Dean instructed some girl how to jack him, how to suck him...
"Fuck!" Dean practically shouts as Sam gets the rhythm, fucking Dean's ass and getting just the right twist of his wrist on his cock. "Just fuck –– fuck me already, Sammy, goddamn it!"
It's the little stutter in his voice, the tell-tale wobble that tells Sam he's just wrecked, that he's not faking it or putting on a show to make Sam feel better or doing this out of some misguided penance or self-sacrificial Prime Directive, the 'always-take-care-of-Sam' code of conduct. This is real. It's Dean really loving having sex with his brother, which is just so messed up it's perfect. And yes, Dean totally set the scene, the beach, the bonfire, the setting sun, the view from the cabin. It's Dean's crazy idea of the perfect date, and it's perfect and crazy because Sam's so damaged he can't possibly appreciate it, he won't even remember it...
Sam's lubing his cock before he can stop to think, just hoping he's opened Dean enough so it's not too painful...Then he's lining himself up, pushing inside, and...
For a minute, there's silence. Except for the crashing of the waves and Dean's long, deep panting breaths as he adjusts, and the crackle of the driftwood, none too dry because it's Oregon and even in July it's never perfectly dry. Then Sam slides home with a single thrust, instinct taking over because he's done this with Jess, he remembers that much, and it's easier sometimes to just sink it in all at once...
Dean goes still, like he's stopped breathing, like time itself has stopped, and he's just lying there, holding his breath and staring up at Sam like there's no tomorrow, literally, like nothing else ever mattered, and he's re-discovering that particular revelation right-the-fuck now because yeah, Sam's thinking exactly the same thing.
Dean's eyes look like two pools of warm sea-water, and Sam starts drowning in them as he moves, thrusting shallowly at first, then more deliberately as the tension builds, as the breeze dries sweat on his bare back, and he's having flashes of doing this before, thrusting into tight heat, the drag of it as he pulls out, as the lube dries, and it's harder and harder to stop, to pull back and just...
This is Dean, his brain reminds him. This is Dean, his heart screams, and he's looking into Dean's sea-green eyes as he comes, waves of heat and need crashing over him and around him, like they're in the ocean, not just lying on a blanket on the sand.
"Yeah, Sam, yeah, that's it," Dean talks him through it, voice low and soothing, a little hitched and broken as he focuses on Sam's release, Sam's needs.
Fuck, Sam's brain sobs as he closes his eyes, collapses as gently as possible on top of Dean's body, feeling every inch of his skin tingling and alive on Dean's, keeping him awake even as his body wants to fall into blissed-out slumber. Somewhere along the line he's let go of Dean's dick, still hard, still pushing into his belly as he lies heavy on top of his brother, still connected and inside him. As his upstairs brain comes slowly back on-line, Sam becomes aware of his face pressed against Dean's neck, of the awkward angle of their limbs, Dean's spread legs half-tangled with his, Sam's softening dick slipping free.
"Sorry," Sam mutters against Dean's skin. "Not very safe."
Dean takes a deep breath, lets it out against Sam's cheek, fingers carding absently through Sam's hair.
"Safety's not an issue, Sammy," Dean assures him. "It's just us."
Sam feels himself sag even further into Dean, reassured that Dean's telling him the truth, that they've been monogamous for as long as this has been happening, or at least as long as Sam's been sick.
Sick. Fuck. Sam's got demon blood in him, or did have. Sam's been to Hell, spent a long, long time being tortured there. He's done really bad things, killed innocent people, killed people whose only crime was being possessed by demons. Sam's killed their friends, sometimes with his bare hands, people who loved and trusted them and only wanted to help.
"Sammy?" Dean's voice has that warning quality to it, and he's pushing Sam, trying to get him to roll over.
"Sorry," Sam murmurs, his voice ragged and choked-sounding to his ears, which is how he realizes he's crying, that Dean can feel his tears wet against his neck, his body heaving with sobs.
"Let it go, man," Dean commands gruffly as he gets Sam spread out on his back, leans down over him with his fingers carding through Sam's hair, his thumb wiping the wetness from Sam's cheek. "Don't fall apart on me, man. You can do this, remember?"
"No, Dean, I don't remember," Sam chokes out, blinking up at Dean through the tears. "My body knows, though. My body remembers."
"Sense memories," Dean nods. "That's right. That's right, Sam."
The stars are shining behind Dean's head, the light from the fire making his face shadowy, giving it an unearthly beauty that takes Sam's breath away. Again. He reaches up, traces the planes of Dean's face with the tips of his fingers, slipping his thumb over Dean's plush bottom lip, pushing it into Dean's warm, wet mouth. Dean's suckles, keeping his glittering green eyes locked on Sam's, and Sam spreads his legs, pulls his hand free so he can grab Dean's, shoving it down between his legs.
"Want you to fuck me, Dean," he pushes the tips of Dean's fingers against his entrance as he pulls his legs up. "Need it. Need to feel it. Make me remember in the morning."
Dean's face crumbles a little, his eyes fill with tears, and Sam realizes he's asked for this before, maybe always asks. Sam thinks about how sore his ass felt this morning and he's sure.
"Please," Sam pleads, then fears he's gone too far as Dean looks away, as that perfect single tear rolls down his perfect cheek.
"Okay, Sam, okay," Dean murmurs, nodding.
Dean kisses down Sam's body, reverent and slow, making every inch of Sam's skin come alive under his mouth and tongue and hands. By the time he settles between Sam's legs, pressing long, loving kisses against Sam's inner thighs, suckling at the juncture of his groin, Sam's already hard again, making little impatient thrusts up against Dean's mouth as he noses up under his balls, scrape of unshaven chin against Sam's perineum making him gasp. For a minute Sam thinks Dean might suck his overly-sensitive dick, and the thought makes his balls tighten. But Dean's got other ideas, as Sam realizes when he feels Dean's wet tongue pushing against his hole, licking around the tight muscle, easing the way, lapping over it with the broad flat of his tongue before testing it again with the tip, pushing inside easily this time.
Sam gasps as Dean begins suckling at his hole; he pulls his legs back and squeezes his eyes shut so he can focus on the sensations. He's still sensitive there from last night, and the thought that they were doing this last night almost sends him over the edge. He reaches down to grab his dick and Dean swats his hand away, wraps his own hand around the base of Sam's cock and gives it a squeeze. Dean's talented mouth is doing an amazing job on his ass and Sam pushes himself up on one elbow so he can watch his brother's beautiful face, all flushed and intent in the firelight. Dean's eyebrows raise and he looks up, meets Sam's gaze, and it makes him groan and writhe, pushing down on Dean's tongue. Dean adds first one, then two, and finally three fingers, opening Sam up, loosening him till Dean finally positions himself on his knees, slicked dick in his hand. Sam watches as Dean pushes in, ripping a sob from Sam's throat, and Dean holds himself still, letting Sam adjust, then slides in some more. The pace is excruciating, Dean's need to make Sam feel safe and comfortable overwhelming his own needs, and Sam knows it, feels Dean holding back, letting him adjust, conscious of Sam's soreness.
"It's okay, it's okay," Sam pants, pushing up against Dean's dick, trying to get him to move. "I can take it. Wanna feel it for a week, Dean. Come on."
So Dean starts thrusting, and suddenly Sam's just sure he knows this, they've done this, it isn't new after all. Sam angles up into Dean's thrusts and manages to hit his prostate, sending a jagged rush of electrical sparks tingling up his spine, spreading down the backs of his legs.
"That's it," Sam rasps, gazing up at Dean's face through tear-blurred eyes, watching Dean's shoulders tense as he thrusts. "Like always. Just like always."
Dean's lips curl up and his eyes crinkle as he smiles, then leans down and brings their mouths together. Sam's almost bent double, and Dean kisses him deep and hard, letting him taste himself, jacking Sam's sensitive dick as Sam moans into his mouth, tears of pleasure and pain flowing down his cheeks, into the sand. Sam cradles Dean's face, gasps as Dean hits his sweet spot every damn time, turning Sam's entire body into a shivering mess of overly sensitive nerve-endings. He mouths blindly at Dean's unshaven jaw, babbling and crying as he feels his orgasm build, blood rushing in his ears, matching the beat of the waves on the sand.
"Make me remember, Dean," Sam gasps against Dean's cheek, his ear. "Make me remember this."
Dean sucks in a breath, goes rigid as his orgasm crests. "Oh, fuck me," he breathes out as he releases, pulsing and hot deep inside Sam's body, and Sam goes off like a firecracker, sobbing something nonsensical as he comes, riding the wave of his second orgasm as Dean thrusts weakly through his own.
Afterwards, Dean collapses on top of Sam and Sam just holds him, reaching down to pull a blanket over them both, gasping a little as Dean's dick slips free. There's a stinging sensation along with the burn and soreness, and Sam's pretty sure he's bleeding. It makes him glad, grateful that there's a wound, that they've drawn blood with their union. He turns Dean gently in his arms, so that his brother can sleep comfortably, limbs tangled with Sam's, head resting on Sam's shoulder, cradled in the crook of his arm. Just the way they started the day, Sam thinks as he fights the urge to sleep, needing to stay awake as long as possible, to savor every moment of this most memorable of days, soon to be forgotten like hundreds before it.
"You can remember for both of us," Sam whispers as he brushes the backs of his fingers along Dean's jaw, traces the shell of his ear. His heart swells with love as he slips his hand behind Dean's head, holds him still so Sam can press his lips against Dean's forehead, grateful for his brother's unconsciousness so Sam can just cuddle with him for a minute, knowing Dean would never allow this if he were awake.
"I know why you're doing this, Dean," he whispers. "I know because if our situations were reversed, I would do the same thing." He knows Dean can't hear him, but he needs to say it, if only because he lied earlier when he said he wasn't sure he could take care of Dean if he was damaged the way Sam is damaged. There is no doubt in Sam's mind that he would do exactly what Dean is going, if their positions were reversed. Exactly.
Knowing that, knowing Dean is everything to Sam, just as Sam is everything for Dean, makes this entire messed up situation somehow okay, gives it meaning that Sam couldn't see when he woke up this morning. He half wishes he could sneak up to the house, make a few notes in his journal, give his future self some of the insight he's gained today, to give him the confidence that things will work out, that even if Sam never regains a single coherent memory of the past twelve years, he and Dean are fine. They'll always be okay, as long as they're together.
But it's warm and comforting here on the beach, with his brother curled around him and the stars shining down on them, the soothing, timeless crash of the surf and the crackle of the dying fire. Sam can't imagine anything more perfect, really. And although it occurs to him that his future self will be even more freaked out about waking up on the beach than he was in the motel this morning, it's a good thing, and it makes him smile. Sometimes it's good to shake things up a little, bring the unexpected into the mix.
Waking up on a beautiful deserted beach with your brother in your arms definitely qualifies as unexpected.
And pretty damn perfect, if Sam does say so himself. |
And you can tell them you're the girlWho sold her magic for the worldOne day, babe, you'll be mineAnd I'll be hers and we'll be fine
And I will turn those screams to rhymes
And I'll be catching it each time
/FLASHBACK/
The group stepped foot on Terminus' grounds. Everyone was cautious as the air surrounding them felt thick with tension.
Sanctuary for all. Community for all. Those who arrive survive. Terminus.
They disappeared into a building to speak to someone in charge. A leader, maybe. Most likely.
Most of the groups yours came across had one, yet your group didn't.
But maybe it did. Rick.
He tried to brush off that label now a days, wanting to seem more united than you used to be. Many have died off, and with great losses meant your group had to become closer. Stronger.
And with that, so did your relationship.
You and Rick were hand in hand. Wherever he went, you went. When he moved, you moved. There was no hesitation, no second guessing. Just instinct. You followed each other easily and covered each other's backs.
And at the end of the day, his arms wrapped around you into the night and he held you until morning.
The group exited the building and you watched. They were with a man. He looked younger and inexperienced. He was lacking the roughness around the edges. The trauma that sets in after you've really survived. It shapes you as a person, sinks into your skin and expands into furrowed brows and worry lines. He looked too fresh to be running an entire base.
His time was coming. Nobody gets out unscathed.
"Heard you came in through the back door. Smart. You'll fit right in here." A lady said, standing behind a grill. She smiled grimly.
Another man was standing in front of the grill as well. He looked more tired, abused by the world.
People who have gone through hell and back are also to be feared. They went through the worst and survived.
Survival was nothing to take lightly.
You couldn't hear what the boy was saying, but you saw Rick's watchful eye cover the ground, taking in each citizen's appearance. He was stalking his prey, waiting for someone to attack. He was always on edge these days. You did your best to calm him down.
It only seemed to work in the bedroom.
Suddenly, Rick had his arm around the boy's neck and a gun pointed at his head. Your group didn't hesitate to raise their weapons at the bystanders, now enemies.
After some shuffling and arguing, the young leader came out in front of Rick to ask a question.
"Rick, what do you want?" He was standing a few feet away from Rick and he was weaponless. You narrowed your eyes as he stood in front of your protector.
It was your turn to do the protecting.
"We want our people." Rick said sternly. The man cracked a smile. You tightened your finger around the gun.
"You didn't answer the question." Before he could do anything else, a bullet shot through the leader's head.
Instead of the enemy group erupting in gunfire, they stood shocked. Nobody moved, nobody breathed. The leader, whom you'd later learn was named Gareth, laid on the ground with dark red blood pooling from his head. The man Rick was holding hostage stared in horror.
Your group glanced up to the rooftop and saw you peaking out, sniper rifle in hand.
"What? I didn't like his attitude." You yelled.
You saw Rick crack a smile.
—
Waking up in the mornings started to become more and more difficult. The night usually ended with Negan bringing you to orgasm at least twice before you passed out on top of each other. Once the morning came the air that swirled around the room was cold, but the warm sheets and large body next to you kept you content. As you wrapped your limbs around Negan you tried to absorb some of the heat that radiated off of him. He would usually make a comment about your freezing toes which you ignored.
Eventually he would wake you up with warm kisses and you would beg him to stay in bed longer so you weren't left alone and cold. He always left, but you were satisfied as day after day he stayed longer and longer. One lazy Sunday were you able to force him to lay in bed with you all day. All you two did was lazily fuck each other and have food delivered to your room by some random Saviors.
As you stood in front of the large crowd you wished you were in bed. In your room you felt safe. You could come undone without fear of everyone's eyes on you. More importantly, you could be yourself. And that included being with the fearless leader without anyones knowledge. They didn't know what went on behind closed doors and they didn't have to know.
Standing on the higher balcony your eyes surveyed the crowd. The entire base was called into the large factory building under Negan's orders. You've never witnessed all of these people in one place and it gave you time to really see who was living here- and who was under Negan's command.
Your eyes fell to Simon. He no longer stood along Negan's side as his right hand man. Instead, he stood near the back with his body guards standing near the door. He looked better than he did that day in the cell, his cheeks were fuller and he was clean shaven. His glare didn't relent but you didn't let it bother you. Of course he was pissed, and to make it worse, you were standing where he should've been.
You glanced over to Negan and saw he too was surveying the crowd. He stood tall with his hands resting on the railing in front of him. A feeling in your chest swarmed as you looked at his large hand and felt the urge to wrap your hand in his.
Sighing, you returned your eyes forward and tried to ignore your thoughts. The meeting today was for Negan to go over the plans- or retaliation- for Hilltop's attack. In the back of your mind you prayed for him to stay away from your home and the people inside of it. But, as most of your prayers went these days, it went unanswered.
Negan met with the leader of Hilltop earlier today and by the look on his face when he came back to the room, it didn't go so well. He was fuming and you offered your body for him to take his anger off which let him smirk, but he refused. To quote him, "I'm not usin' that precious pussy as a punching bag."
A loud voice startled you out of your daydream and you noticed Negan started to address the crowd. Bits and pieces entered your brain but the majority of his speech went unheard by you. Almost as if he noticed you not paying attention, your name forced you to look up at him.
"My girl and I will be taking a trip today to get some answers. Let me remind the crowd now that I have you all here. She is not to be fucked with, not to be questioned, hell I better not catch you even fuckin' lookin at her. But what you will do is respect her. If she gives you a fuckin' order, you take it. If that order is to chop off your own fuckin' dick, you better get that knife ready. Any issues with that you can take up with me."
He sent you a wink before continuing to speak but the only sound you heard was the pounding of your heart. The walls you carefully built around your relationship with your captor were crumbling before you. You were no longer protected by the four walls of your room. Not only did everyone know, but now you were more like Negan than ever before.
You weren't just some girl from Alexandria anymore. You were no longer Negan's prisoner. You were his ally. You held the same power as him now and your heart was beating rapidly at the thought.
Your palms shook at your sides as you tried to wrap your mind around his words.
If she gives you a fuckin' order, you take it.
It was strange to have so much power yet feel so powerless. You could order the whole compound to kill themselves, but you couldn't allow yourself to leave this fucking place and go back home.
You tried not to think of home and what that may look like. Going back there now would be almost like a culture shock. You were desperate for a time before all this, before him.
Negan finally wrapped up his speech and exited the facility and you followed silently. He was talking with his group of close men as you walked outside, the sunshine warming your face and hair. The citizens around you were going back to their daily jobs, and you caught a glimpse of Simon walking with two guards behind him. Maybe one day you'd let him be free of them, but not today.
Not after Negan's speech.
You heard Negan call for the trucks and you lightly gasped his arm, signalling him to turn toward you.
"Oh, I almost forgot you were there. You're so fucking quiet." He flashed you a smile and his hand came up to graze your cheek. You unintentionally leaned into it before continuing.
"Where are we going?" You asked, remembering him mentioning a trip.
His hand fell from your cheek and you tried not to show your disappointment. He studied your face and you became confused by his expression.
"Alexandria."
—
The gates opened for the trucks without question. Negan drove in and the trucks followed, parking at the entrance. Unlike your previous visits, your eyes didn't frantically search around the neighborhood for loved ones. Instead, you kept your eyes to the floor of the truck refusing to move. Negan's hand squeezed your thigh, the same hand that had been resting there the whole ride.
Any other location, and other time, your hand would've rested on top of his. But not to this destination.
You heard Negan exit and you sighed, preparing yourself to exit as well. Following him you walked toward the center of town, your eyes staring at you feet. You could see people forming in your peripherals, but you were too weak to look.
"Ah, patchy! How's that eye doing? Still gross?" Negan's cheery voice asked and your head shot up. You looked to Negan to see the direction he was facing and you whipped your head over the crowd. Carl stood there with a cold expression toward Negan. He wouldn't look at you, but you stared at him pleading.
You've never had children, and he and Judith was the closest you would get. You felt tears stinging your eyes as you wanted to do nothing but run toward his direction and wrap your arms around him. Protect him from this misery of a world.
Behind Carl was your house, and you watched Rick exiting. Your heart rate started to accelerate at the sight of him. He looked about the same, aside from his full grown beard. Memories of you begging him to shave filled your mind and you swallowed hard.
You tried to control your breathing, refusing to cry and look weak in front of Negan. You mentally told yourself to remain strong, to stop showing Negan how much this got to you. You didn't want to think his tactics were working.
Michonne followed close behind him and you looked confused. She was not one of the people Rick usually hung around, and her presence left you feeling bitter.
As they walked closer to the crowd, she grabbed his bicep. Your face was a mix of confusion and disgust as she stood so close to your... man.
Yours.
Was he?
"Damn, tough crowd." Negan muttered.
Carl turned and started to walk back toward the house and you felt a little relieved. You didn't want him to witness anymore of these visits that did nothing but cause everyone pain.
"Where's Ricky boy?" Negan asked, sneaking an arm around your waist jolting you from your thoughts. You tried to pull yourself away from him which just caused him to tighten his hold.
"Please," you whispered to no one in particular.
Your fingers were digging into your thighs and you felt them coated in something wet. You looked down to see you broke the skin, bright red blood staring back at you. It didn't stop you from continuing, it was the only thing temporarily giving you a release.
Finally, blue eyes met yours. Tears silently escaped your eyes and you felt yourself internally fall a part. Your lip quivered as you stared into icy blue irises, the outer whites turned to a shade of red. Rick's eyes were wet and tired, dark circles accompanying them.
Negan continued to hold you up as you fell apart next to him.
Your heart ached for the man across the crowd so violently that you thought it was going to rip out of your chest.
"Ah, Rick the prick, there you are. How are things going over here? I hope swell." Negan flashed him a smile and Rick didn't even have the energy to scowl at him. He just stared at him with an empty expression.
Negan beckoned for Rick to move forward and he attempted to move. Michonne kept her hand on his arm and he turned and gave her a reassuring look before she let him go.
Your tears stopped momentarily at her gesture.
You've seen Rick travel to hell and back. You've seen him lose his loved ones, lose himself, lose his sense of control and security. But he never looked as lost as he did now. You both were falling apart at the seams.
And both seeking comfort elsewhere?
"Well, I didn't come over here to play whose dick is bigger 'cause we all know the answer to that." Negan said before continuing, "My girl and I wanted to stop by. We were in the neighborhood. Hilltop decided to attack us a couple weeks ago, and I have a strange feeling you guys knew about it. Correct me if I'm wrong, actually don't, but I'm pretty damn sure some of your people were even there." Negan smirked at the end of his sentence and Rick just stared back, an empty shell that he once was.
"We don't have any association with them." Rick finally said, his voice low. God, you missed his voice. Your expression fell once he spoke, and you fought the urge to collapse to the floor.
"Yeah, I don't fucking buy that. Especially when the girl that was there, and who was screaming for my darlin' (Y/N) to kill me, is standing right back there." He pointed towards Maggie and she shot him a fearless death stare. She hated this man more than anything, with good reason.
Maggie's eyes flickered to you and she didn't change her expression. You were confused as to why she would be so angry at you. You didn't ask for this. Then it clicked.
She's pissed you didn't kill Negan.
She must've told the group.
They didn't want you back.
You were as good as dead.
I can explain! You screamed in your mind, your face pleading with hers. She slowly shook her head before returning her glower back to Negan.
"Anyways, I just came by for a quick little reminder that if any of you pull that fucking shit again, I will not hesitate to mass murder your entire fucking community. The only reason you're all still alive today after Hilltop's little stunt is this little peach right here." His hand came to the top of your head and he rubbed, your hair tangling in his hand. You stood there embarrassed to be treated like a rag doll.
"We'll be collecting our shit now and we'll be gone. Just wanted to send that little message so you guys can keep your lives. That's all. Tooda freaking loo!" Negan boasted, and the crowd started to disperse, except for Rick. He stood there unmoving, his eyes glued to yours. Michonne tried to pull him away, but he stood unrelenting.
Negan's eyes flickered to yours and Ricks as he stared at the interaction.
"Rick, there's just one more thing." Negan said, desperate to break the connection.
He placed you in front of him while his hands sat on your shoulders. He looked down at you and said, "Do you want to tell him or should I?" You furrowed your brows in confusion, unsure what he was referring to.
You remained silent and kept looking into Rick's eyes, tears falling silently down your face. Your expression was numb and your vision was crowded by salty droplets. Time seemed to stop around you while you looked into his eyes. He was much too far away from you to touch, but it was more contact than you've had in god knows how long. Both of you searched for something in each other, anything, to prove that you both were okay and that you loved each other.
"Ah, I'm too excited, I'll tell him. Rick, good news! We fucked!" He boasted, grinning ear to ear. Your eyes went wide at his words. Rick finally showed an expression, and it was formed into pure rage.
"It was great. Man, what a sweet pussy she has. But I won't go into detail; I know you know all about it. Anyways, we're off. We have some business to take care of." Negan winked at Rick as you stared at him in horror. His entire body was shaking, his face wet with perspiration. His face turned the shade of blood.
He probably thought it wasn't consensual. Why would he? Why would Negan be respectful and ask for consent? Why would you ever want to sleep with this horrid man?
But he was respectful, and he did wait. But that didn't answer the question: Why would you want to?
You didn't deserve to be here. Rick didn't deserve this. You fucked up. You took it too far. Maybe it would be best to let it go, let this place go. Let him go.
For a second, it was just you and Rick. It was like the streets were empty, and the skies were dark. The only thing that existed was you and Rick underneath the sky. You mouthed, "I love you." It was true, but you were worried it no longer held the same meaning it once did.
You noticed Rick's slight nod. You were suddenly ripped from your day dream as you felt a hand grab you away, breaking the connection between you and him.
—
You refused to walk back to your shared bedroom. You didn't know where you were going, but your feet were taking your somewhere.
Negan was close behind, following every step.
Entering the white building, you found yourself in the old wives quarters. Heading straight toward the bar you grabbed a bottle and brought it to your lips. You didn't know what type of alcohol it was and you didn't care, you just wanted to be numb.
The liquid burned your throat as you chugged. Removing it from your lips you gasped for air before slamming the glass bottle on the counter and glaring at your enemy.
"Why the fuck did you do that?" You asked venomously. Your eyes were dark accompanied by red rims. The circles under your eyes were a deep purple.
The drive home was uncomfortable as you sat next to him and silently cried the entire drive home, in between sighing with anger. His hands gripped the steering wheel but he didn't say anything.
This is what he does. This is what this monster of a man, your captor, always did. He laid out a smooth surface for you, a comfortable one, one you felt safe on. It was sturdy and provided you with support. And he did this just to rip it out underneath of you just because he could.
"What, you didn't want Rick to hear the exciting news?" He asked cockily, taking a seat across the counter from you.
"That I fucked you? Are you kidding me? As if it means anything," You said before scoffing, folding your arms in disgust.
"That incident today? It won't happen again." He said softly.
You scoffed, "Yeah? Why the fuck would I believe that?"
"I won't be taking you there ever again."
Your vision turned red at his words. "Let me make something perfectly fucking clear. What Rick and I have is something you'll never achieve. You can try all you want, but you'll never be him."
He raised an eyebrow. "I think I've done a damn good job, sweetheart. I've given you a cushy ass lifestyle here."
You shook your head, "It's more than that. The love- the places he reaches inside of me- you'll never," You stuttered with the words, tears filling your eyes. You brought the bottle to your lips and chugged the remainder of the bottle before throwing it across the room. It shattered against the wall, pieces of glass flinging all over the floor.
Negan didn't flinch.
"Guess I'll have to try a little harder." He whispered, reaching his hand across the counter to touch yours. You immediately retracted your hand and took a step back.
"Don't fucking touch me." You spat at him. Your eyes were shooting daggers at him, but he kept his expression neutral.
"Watch your mouth." He warned.
"Or what? Huh? Gonna go tell Rick how many times I orgasmed? Because we fucked a couple times? That your pathetic fucks were nothing compared to his? That his dick his bigger? Is that what you want?"
He stood and stormed over around the bar to you. He towered above you, his breathing heavy. You didn't back down. You stood tall as you stared into his eyes.
"You better watch your fucking mouth or else-"
"You know what, Negan? Just fucking do it already. Hurt me. Kill me. Whatever you fucking want. I'm tried of this. I don't want to live in a world where I can't be with them. With him."
You got close to his ear and whispered, "I'd be better off dead."
His arms came up and he grabbed your biceps, pulling you back so he could look into your eyes.
"I don't think you're really angry with me. I think you're angry with yourself." He stated.
"What?" You yelled at the accusation.
"If you don't want me, why do you move towards me while we sleep? Rest your pretty head on my chest? Say my name in your sleep?" He squeezed your arms tighter and you gasped at the pain. His head moved closer to yours.
"Why do you beg me to fuck you every night? How come every time I leave the Sanctuary, you come running to make sure I returned safely? Don't think I haven't been noticing."
You shook your head profusely. "Hear me when I say this: you mean nothing to me. You're nothing."
He closed his eyes and laughed without humor before returning his eyes to yours. "Baby, we both know that isn't true, or you would've pulled the trigger a long time ago."
You stared at him with nothing but anger, tears rolling down your cheeks. Your fingernails were digging into your palms drawing blood. The room started to sway as the alcohol kicked in, making your vision blurry and your thoughts heavy.
His hands moved from your arms up to cup your cheeks. This time, he was gentle. He leaned in and his lips ghosted over yours.
"Tell me you don't love me, and I'll stop all of this."
"Stop what?" You whispered, inhaling shakily.
"Tell me you're not in love with me, and I'll let you go. Without consequences, without fear. Hell, I'll drive you back myself. Back to your little fantasy world."
His lips moved toward your ear, his hot breath felt good against your skin.
"Tell me you don't love me, and all of this will be over."
You stood there silently with a war inside your head. He leaned back and evaluated your face, reading the thousand expressions that were flashing before him.
You took a breath and tried to steady yourself.
"I don't love you."
He was still for a moment before he began to speak, "Look me in the eyes and tell me you don't love me."
Trying to ignore the deep rooted feeling in your gut, you raised your head to look at him. He's eyes bore into yours, leaving no room to hide anything. His stare was intense as black eyes with blown pupils stared back at you.
You tried to speak, but every time you opened your mouth you eventually closed it. You were at a loss for words. The internal battle inside yourself marched on as he stood waiting for a response.
Finally, your eyes fell to the floor and you stood there defeated.
"I'll wait up for you." He said with a deep voice. You looked up to his face and saw him sporting a satisfied expression which caused your fists to ball with anger.
He turned and was about to leave until your palm collided with his cheek. The sound of your skin against his filled the room. He stumbled back and his hand came up to his now reddened face.
"Did you just bitch slap me?" He asked, more in shock than angered.
You snarled and walked forward to slap him again, except this time his hand caught your wrist before it made contact. He shoved you against the wall near the bar. His hands pinned your arms to your sides as his hips crushed yours.
"You sure you wanna do that?" He warned. His hard on grazed your leg and you leaned forward to bite his lip.
He groaned at the pain and when you let go, you noticed your teeth drew blood.
"You would be turned on by all of this. You're a sick mother fucker." You panted.
"Yeah? You're the sick mother fucker whose in love with me."
Your heart leapt from your chest as his words and you thrashed against him, unintentionally rubbing your crotch against his.
"Let me go!" You yelled, fighting against his hands.
He let go of one of your arms to bring his large palm up to your neck. Your head slammed against the wall and you opened your mouth to moan in pain, but your airway was quickly restricted.
"Now, why would I do that?" He said, his voice raspy and filled with lust. Letting go of your neck he brought his bloody lips to yours in a crushing kiss. You mouths battled each other until his tongue entered your mouth. It glided against yours, the taste of iron swirling around. It was disgusting and delicious all at once.
Part of you felt like melting, collapsing into him and letting him take you while the other half of you wanted to cut him up in pieces. You pushed against his hips with yours, begging for him to move off of you.
He obeyed, but the relief was short lived. He kept his lips on you as he guided you toward one of the white couches in the center of the living room. The six doors that used to home six wives surrounded you, a bitter reminder of your first few days here. All before your world was ripped up from underneath of you.
He shoved you onto the couch and you fell back, his weight collapsing on top of you. Your hands reached up to his hair and you pulled on it hard. He groaned and shoved his hips against you in retaliation.
You alternated between kissing and biting his lips as his hands swarmed your body. His fingers traveled all over your skin before lifting up your shirt to expose your breasts. He violently pulled your bra down until your breasts were released, his force almost snapping the bra off completely. His calloused hands were rough against you, but it was a different type of roughness than what you were used to. His movements were almost desperate and needy. It hurt a little more but felt incredible. It was as if he was trying to show you how much he needed to feel your skin while also feeling like you would disappear under his touch within seconds.
His lips traveled to your neck and he sucked hard, the sound of his mouth making you wet. Your hands pulled his hair again and he growled.
"Think you can treat me like this and get away with it little girl?" He asked. In any other setting, his voice and his threats would send shivers down your spine. It would make you want to crawl inside of yourself. But right now, filled with anger and passion, it only fueled your rage.
"Fuck you." You said sternly. His hand flew down to your shorts and quickly unbuttoned them before shoving them down to your feet along with your panties.
He leaned back and palmed himself through his pants as he stared at your wet glistening cunt. You shut your legs to his view and he gave you a threatening look. You didn't care or back down and he quickly released himself from his clothing.
He shoved your legs back open and his cock entered you without warning. He began to thrust furiously inside of you, his movements uncontrolled. His hand came up to your neck and he started to choke you as your fingernails scratched his back.
He groaned as he moved relentlessly above you, his weight heavy on you. He snapped his hips quicker and harder as his hand crushed your throat. You wanted to moan but you couldn't, any sound you made would go unheard with this hold he had on you.
"This is how I like you, fucking silent." He said breathlessly, his lips coming down to yours as he released your airway. You gasped for air in his mouth as he captured you in a sloppy kiss, his tongue licking all around you as his cock penetrated you.
He lifted your hips and your legs to wrapped around him, pulling him closer to you. This position allowed him to reach deeper inside of you. Finally able to moan you were loud, releasing a string of expletives as he fucked you against the couch. Your breasts shook violently against him as your fingers dug into his back, breaking the skin in its wake.
"My dick is bigger, you can't fuckin' say it's not," Negan stuttered, trying to get the words out as he was losing stamina.
"Fuck... You!" You yelled, reaching up to yank his hair. He responded by fucking you harder, and you thought his thrusts were going to snap you in half.
"I am fucking you, fuck!"
Close to a release your pussy started to clench around his member which was causing him to moan your name. The mix of passionate hate fucking was driving you toward the edge.
He leaned down and bit your earlobe and his hot breath covered your skin as he panted.
"Of course you're gonna cum. Your obsessed with this cock, obsessed with me. Just admit it." He said in your ear, his voice was husky and the stubble from his beard scraped your cheek.
"No!" You moaned, reaching your arms around his neck and holding onto him tightly as your clit was so close to sending you toward orgasm.
"Admit it!" He yelled, his voice booming. He brought his face above you now and your hands pushed his head against yours. You cried against his mouth as you came around him. Your release was enough to send him to orgasm and he shot inside of you, coating your insides with his hot cum. You moaned together and he continued kissing you as you both came down from the adrenaline.
Unable to move or think you laid there, watching as he tried to collect himself and stand from the couch. He lost his balance a few times and had to catch himself on the back of the couch before his clothes were on properly.
He leaned down until he was close to your face and you stared at him with a tired expression. "Like I said, I'll wait up for you." He kissed the top of your forehead before turning to leave.
Your eyes followed him as he exited the building leaving you alone. You eventually dressed yourself and walked back over to the bar, cracking open another bottle.
You never made it home.
Who's to say that you won't find love again?
Who's to say that you won't find love?
Who's to say that you won't find love
if I cut off my hands and make you clean it up
|
Marriage. It was always an abstract concept for Kara Zor-El. She had always known that it was expected of her. From the moment her planet exploded, she knew that she her dreams of finding a match her parents might approve of rather than an arranged marriage were impossible. Her father and Aunt had found a way to lift part of Argos City like a spaceship and the blast pushed them towards what they hoped would be their new home—Earth.
It was supposed to be an easy alliance. They’d trade technology and culture for a room to live on the planet. From their research, the humans had large unused tracts of desert that would serve them well. The sun would make them stronger and their technology could make the space habitable. Extending the dome around the city would be all they needed to make a space for themselves.
From a planet of more than a billion, they were the last 100,000 of their race. Travel was slower than they had hoped. What should have been a short journey took over a decade of darkness. The wonders of space were few and far between. Most of the time it was an inky blackness that threatened to consume them. Time moved in a strange way like everything was happening slower than it should be.
Marriages had to wait as resources were scarce and Kara was grateful for the delay. They arrived on Earth and many of them kissed the sandy ground, happy to see the sun and be filled with it’s warmth. It was colder than Rao who had always watched over them. The bright yellow harsh compared to the soft red they were used to, but it was home.
The first six months were peaceful as they rebuilt their homes and acclimated to their new planet. They helped the humans solve some of their issues with food production and often flew to aid them during natural disasters or other disputes. Kara’s parents entered into negotiations with the parents of a boy she’d known at school for her hand. She’d always particularly disliked him and said as much. It wasn’t for her to decide and her parents dressed her down thoroughly. Her responsibility was to her people now. She HAD to do what was best for them and their species. The codex had been rebuilt and made better and that was the way forward.
Before the negotiations could be finalized, the attack began. Russia bombarded them, dropping bombs on the city via strange robotic warriors that could explode with clouds of green. Kara’s father was lost in the blasts along with 25 percent of their population. Her mother called for war and her Aunt took control of the Kryptonian forces. It became clear that the Russians had been aided by many of the world’s powers. The only way to be safe was to make sure the humans would never be in a position to hurt them like that ever again.
It was a long war, but a lot bloodier on the human’s side than on theirs. The boy her parents had wanted her to wed had been among those killed. She felt guilty that she had been relieved. The war could be called a decisive victory except on the day they declared it, one last bomb went off. It was a biological weapon. It had been meant to kill the Kryptonians, but their ability to regenerate was greater than the humans had predicted. There was only one small problem—the Kryptonians had been rendered completely sterile.
Their DNA had been shifted to the point that even their birth matrices couldn’t overcome it. Their scientists worked around the clock and there was only one solution to stabilize the kryptonian DNA—hybridity. The codex would select humans for each of the remaining Kryptonians to ‘marry’. Concubines had been discussed but sex outside of marriage was forbidden by Rao and children conceived that way could not receive his blessing, so they changed what marriage was. Instead of two souls joining in this life and into the next, it was a Kryptonian getting a human and impregnating her as much as was needed. An aid was created for women to be able to participate as well. It wasn’t a partnership; it was a breeding program.
Kara was the first to be married under the program. Her mother was in charge of the City so it fell to her symbolically to be the first and to lead their people to their new destiny. Many were looking forward to taking their anger for the war out on the humans in such a way, but Kara wasn’t one of them. The happy wedding day that she’d dreamed of as a little girl was instead a small ceremony broadcast across the planet.
Her new wife was clearly not happy to be getting married and spent the entire ceremony glaring at Kara with her chin raised. They stood on the jewels of truth and honor. Kara bit the inside of her cheek as the farce carried on around her. She chose to study the woman glaring at her instead of listening to the words being said.
Catherine Grant stood before her. Her bride was a bit older than she was—a decade of difference maybe. She wasn’t sure if her wife’s beauty was a curse or a relief. Her hair was golden and hung in loose curls the bottom of them almost touching her shoulder. She was shorter than Kara, but her presence made it seem like she stood taller than anyone else in the room. It was a departure from what she’d been allowed to see of humans before.
The officiant began the official vow section, “In the name of truth and honor I declare the marriage vows binding upon you! From this day forward, throughout all time and space,even unto eternity…”
Kara stood still as her future was decided for her. Neither of them were given the chance to accept or decline the vows. Bracelets were placed on their wrists in a combination of red, blue and yellow—the colors of the house of El. It’s weight wouldn’t be more than a feather but it pulled her arm down like a lead weight.
“Made wives this day–and for all days hence. May the countenance of Rao ever shine on you,” was said to finish the affair. There was no kiss.
Kara started to move towards her wife, but was pulled away by her mother, “Kara, a few words.”
Kara started to object and gesture at the woman she’d just been bound to, but Alura shook her head. “They’re taking her to be prepared for you. It’s best to give them time.”
“Al—right.” Cat was already gone, most likely to the apartment that had been set aside for them in one of the taller towers.
Alura moved swiftly and with an assuredness that Kara could never quite invoke as much as she tried. They were alone in a small meeting room with a single window overlooking New Argos City. “This is important. While our lives are greatly extended by the Earth’s sun, I am far from being invulnerable. It will one day fall to you to lead our people and this is the first step.”
Kara nodded. She’d heard this a thousand times, but her mother remained convinced that it wasn’t sticking in her brain. Spending her time more concerned with her art than matters of state didn’t mean she was trying to be frivolous; it was just her way of coping with everything that had been lost. It didn’t help that whenever she would try and help with politics her mother would chastise her every contribution. As if reading her mind, her mother continued speaking.
“You’re too soft. I blame myself, but it cannot continue. You need to produce an heir to help stabilize things. There is political unrest and if we start fighting amongst each other then the human’s will seize any weakness. We are the last of our people. There are no second chances.” She moved towards Kara and put a hand on her shoulder. “I have faith in you that you will put aside childish notions and be what our people need.”
“Of course, Mother.” Kara didn’t quite meet her mother’s eyes, but managed to keep her voice level. She could do this.
“That is well.” She handed Kara a viewer. “Here is the information from the codex on the woman it paired you with. I don’t quite know its reasoning, but the program seems to think your genes will produce a good heir and we need that. There are whispers and dissention at this point could prove deadly—for all of us.”
Bright blue eyes scanned the file quickly. Her wife had been the owner of some of the human news sources. A television station, newspaper, and magazine were amongst the things she owned and it seemed like her company was expanding. She was quite successful before everything happened. Kara’s head cocked to the side as she got to one particular piece of information. “She has a child already. A son.”
Alura sighed deeply, “Unfortunately, yes. In less than two of Earth's lunar rotations he will have aged enough to go into care, however, so it is a trifling concern.”
Four Earth months old, Kara calculated. Infants could be placed into care at 6 months if their parents had jobs that made it difficult for the child to be cared for. He would have been conceived just before their arrival. “Isn’t this all a little fast? I mean…” She wet her lips trying to think of something to cover with. “It’s not healthy for the babies if the mother has them so close together…”
“You know the treatment our scientists devised so that the humans would be more compatible improves their health and healing. She’s quite healthy, having been examined and treated.” Alura put a hand on Kara’s back and started guiding her out. “The servants will prepare you for your wedding night. Remember to enjoy yourself. Though not acted upon for centuries, Kryptonians can enjoy women as well as men.”
Kara felt faintly nauseated as she let herself be led out and taken to her new home. It wasn’t that she didn’t like women. If she was being honest with herself ,she liked them far better than she enjoyed the company of men. This wasn’t how she wanted things to be. If she wasn’t to get love, then she had at least wanted them to be partners. The level of hatred in Cat’s stare combined with the fact that humans wouldn’t make good partners for Kryptonians in general made that impossible.
Alura stopped at the exit to the building and two robotic servants flanked them. She pulled Kara into an embrace. “You look beautiful today. Your father would be proud of you for this. I love you, Kara.” Kara held her mother back fiercely, but the rare moment was over quickly as Alura pulled away and put her judicial mask back in place. “We’ll speak soon.”
When she arrived in the apartment she was ushered into the dressing room. Her wedding garments were exchanged for a thin robe and she blushed as the robotic servants strapped her into the device that would allow her to bear children with her new wife. She had been told that human women enjoyed this activity quite a bit and that was why they exposed so much of themselves in their dress. Videos were shown of humans dancing very provocatively to music and singing about being excited by whips and chains and all manner of lewd acts. It was very different from Krypton to be so sexually open. She hoped that it was true and they could do this and be done with it. As much as her new bride was beautiful, her wife’s glares during the ceremony gave her a sense of malaise that made her not want to let her eyes linger too much.
She dismissed the robots and took a deep breath before heading into the the apartment to look for her wife. The living area was quiet and she headed into the bedroom, assuming that was where Cat had been left. She blinked a few times to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating as she took in the image of her wife with her hands cuffed to the top of the bed and nothing but a sheer sheet covering her from the waist down displaying a lithe. Apparently ‘preparing her wife’ was more of a tying her to the bed thing than a helping her into a robe thing. “Oh Rao…”
“Finally come to rape your new wife?” The woman sneered and looked her over, noticing the bulge and sighing. “I suppose that’s some sort of alien turkey baster, right? My new role as brood mare was explained, though lacking in critical details apparently.” She pulled on the cuffs once before turning her head away from Kara and staring out the window. “Just get on with it and leave me alone. Use some sort of lubrication as I want to be able to walk tomorrow.”
“I...this…” Words failed her completely as she sputtered. Her mother's words fell into place. The older woman knew that this was how it was going to be. It wasn’t meant to be a marriage even in the vague sense or she would have been left unbound. Kara’s feet felt like lead, but she took a step closer. She didn’t see how she had much of a choice in what came next.
Kara’s skin felt cold as the moment seemed to slow down. Her heart began to beat in her ears and her stomach flipped. Two more steps to the bed. She could make them, but her feet wouldn’t budge. All she had to do was reach the bed, spend a few minutes and then it would be done. Hardly any time at all. There was a soft wailing sound that seemed out of sync with the scene in front of her somehow. Cat’s head turned back to look at the door out of the room, pulling at her hands again in frustration.”He needs…”
“I’ve got it.” Kara saw the chance to delay things and took it. She unhooked the harness from herself and was out of the room in the blink of an eye using her superspeed. She checked the nursery first. The apartment had been set up with one, so she assumed that was where the child would be.
The nursery was empty and the cries were heard a few doors down. Her eyebrows furrowed as she pulled the door open. She was sure that was just a small storage closet. She wasn’t wrong. The closet was just large enough to fit one of the cages that the humans used for their offspring. There were a few human baby products on the shelves. It was a confusing mismatch of objects. Whoever had picked them out didn’t have much idea what was used for children or what they might need. It was also possible that they just care enough to make sure.
Kara turned her attention to the little boy instead of what had been left for him. Her enhanced sense of smell could tell something had gone very wrong even before she picked the boy up, holding him at a distance. She remembered at the last moment to speak in english as it would be more soothing than foreign words. “There there now, Little One. We’ll get you cleaned up.”
She walked him into the bathroom with the boy held at arm’s length, carefully activating the door control so she wouldn’t drop him. She had spent time volunteering with the war orphans. Kryptonians were so blood based in their family ties that it was hard to find new homes for them. Kara liked spending time looking after them and they seemed to like having someone to smile and hug them.
This little one, on the other hand, was quite upset. Kara didn’t think there would be any way to salvage the one piece outfit that he’d been put in. There were stains on the front even before taking into account the blowout in the rear. She started the bath on infant mode and tore the garment from him. “There you go. Now we’ll get the...puffy white thing off.” She tore that away and discarded it as well. “And you’re free.” The tub had moved to create a smaller tub in the center and it was filled with warm water. Kara placed Carter into the baby bath and began to wash him with the familiar kryptonian soaps.
She did her best to translate a baby song about the importance of cleanliness as she worked, but it lost a lot in translation. The little boy wasn’t too interested in it as he kicked and cried. It took a few minutes to get him wash up, but she was finally confident that he was clean. She picked him back up and wrapped him in a soft towel that could hold many times it own weight in water. “No more wetness of either variety, Carter. I’m sure that’s much better.” His cries stopped for a moment and he looked up at her with bright blue eyes. Her breath caught. He looked so much like Kal had at that age...like she had looked according to the holograms of her from that time.
It was a short reprieve before Carter began to cry again. “I’m sure you’re hungry, aren’t you?” She took the continued crying as a yes. Going back to the closet yielded a tub of powder that smelled...off...to her. Instead of following the instructions, she went into the nursery set up for her child and grabbed a bottle, filling it from a vacupack. She turned a bit too close to the lumir decoration and sent it to the ground. She tried to catch it with her foot but wound up kicking it into the edge of the door and shattering it with a loud crash. She still wasn’t 100% comfortable with her strength even a year out. Maybe she’d replace the six legged blue creature with a giraffe or something her child could actually go and see.
Carter looked up at her confused with the noise and she took the opportunity to give him the bottle. Human infants had the same dietary needs as Kryptonian. It wasn’t until they got a bit older that powers would begin to manifest that they’d need more to eat.
She sat down in an anti-grav chair in the corner for a moment as the boy ate, still wrapped in the towel. “You are a cute one, aren’t you?” Carter continued to eat. “I didn’t introduce myself, did I? I’m Kara. And I...well...your mother and I...” She tapered off.
Carter’s mother was currently still tied to their marital bed. She looked out the big window over the city. The spires rose high into the sky with little lights filled with people going about their lives just like she was. Except their lives were unlike hers in this moment. Everything hadn’t just been changed for them.
Before her father died, her mother had been so...normal. Even if she was not quite as warm as her Aunt Astra, there were times when her mother would hug her and tell her that she loved her. She would say how she was proud of her and her kind heart. Her mother used to stand for justice and now…now she was depriving humans of any sort of choice of their lives. They couldn’t choose where they worked. Some of them couldn’t even choose who they mated with and if they wanted kids. Diplomacy was dead and Kara wasn’t sure what that meant.
However strange it was for her, she knew it had to be terrible for her wife. Catherine Grant had been an important person on this planet. Her son had been planned and wanted. She was sure being shoved in a closet wasn’t the life that that the woman had wanted for him. Kara was even more sure that being the forced wife of an alien being was not on the woman’s agenda.
She was pulled from her thoughts by Carter letting the tip of the bottle fall from his mouth. She set the bottle aside and put him up on her shoulder, patting his back gently. “There you go. That’s a lot better now, huh?” He burped in response and Kara chuckled. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
She scanned the room and managed to locate something to put the boy in. The Kryptonian infant underthings would keep him dry and would get rid of anything else on contact, at least for about a day anyways and then they’d need reset. The only clothes in the room were one piece suits with the house of El crest. She dressed Carter in one of him and he looked for all the world like Kal El had before he’d been sent away. It seemed their city had more luck than his pod as there had been no sign of him.
Kara stroked Carter's hair and hugged him close, breathing him in. He was supposed to be sent away in a few weeks so she shouldn’t get attached. Kara frowned at the thought and held him closer. It wasn’t that he was really hers, even if he looked it in that outfit. What was getting to her was how small he was and how much he would need looking after. She smiled at him and he mirrored her for a moment.
She tucked him into her and sang again softly, in her own language this time. Her mother and her aunt had the most beautiful voices and she tried to do justice to the song they used to sing to her. She wasn’t sure if she succeeded, but Carter liked it better than her last attempt. He drifted off to sleep full and happy. She put him down on the floor bed on his back so he could look around the room. It was painted a reddish orange to simulate Rao’s light. It wasn’t the same but the sleeping child didn’t seem to mind. She grabbed a monitor and turned on it’s counterpart, taking it back with her.
Kara debated for a moment if she could just not go back in tonight and take refuge on the sofa, but that would be incredibly cruel considering her wife couldn’t actually leave the bed. Rao. When had it come to this?
She took a deep breath before walking into the bedroom, “I apologize...that took longer than…” She stopped as she came into the room. Cat had her face turned into one of the pillows and was sobbing. Her wrists were bleeding from pulling at the restraints. Before Kara could ask what had happened, Cat turned to look at her with a wild look of hatred spread across her face.
“What did you do to my son? Is he even still alive? I could have quieted him. You didn’t have to hurt him!”
“I didn’t hurt him! I don’t know why you’d think I’d…Oh...There was a loud boom and then the baby stopped crying…” She shook her head, “Hey...no…” Kara moved forward and looked around the nightstand until she found the key and released the woman. “He’s fine. I just knocked something ov—”
She couldn’t finish before Cat was moving past her. Kara averted her eyes before grabbing an extra robe and following after the nude woman. She watched as Cat looked in the little closet room before rounding on her.
“Where is my son?!” Cat moved into Kara’s space and while part of her knew the woman couldn’t do anything to her, she felt strangely intimidated.
Kara quickly hit the panel to open the door to the nursery, “He’s in there.”
Cat rushed forward, breathing a deep sigh of relief when she saw Carter sleeping peacefully. She bent down and pulled him into her arms cuddling him against her chest and rubbing his back. “It’s alright, my precious boy. Mommy’s here.” Her voice changed when she spoke to the boy. It was much softer and Kara wanted to hear it again. Carter stirred for a moment before settling comfortably against his mother. Cat’s tears started falling fast again.
Kara stood off to the side and tried to keep her eyes off of her wife’s body. None of this felt real to her. She felt like she was living pages out of an adventure book that her aunt would bring her back when she went off world. The values were skewed and nothing quite made sense. She noticed Cat shiver out of the corner of her eyes. “If you’re cold.” She set the robe down on the chair and walked back to the doorway.
If Cat had been aware of her nudity before then, she hadn’t shown it. The woman blinked a few times and put the robe on, covering herself. She eyed Kara up and down, her head cocked slightly in confusion. Her body looked tight with anticipation as though Kara were about to descend on her.
Kara wet her lips, “He...he hadn’t been changed in a while and it had gone up his back so I gave him a bath. His little outfit was gross and ripped taking it off of him so I put him in that. It uh...fit him well. I thought…” Cat was staring at her, so she kept continued and spoke a bit faster, “He was hungry after the bath. I mean. It seemed like he was and he drank a full bottle. I used Kryptonian food as the human food smelled off somehow. I don’t know. He seemed to like it and then he went to sleep after his lullaby. I thought he’d be more comfortable in here because his brain would get stimulated by the mirror and the window and toys and things on top of the fact the infant cage was still soiled and who keeps a baby in a closet?.” She ran her fingers through her hair. The woman wouldn’t stop looking at her silently. “I’ll, um, give you two some time.” Kara turned and went to sit on a sofa in the living room thinking that could have gone better.
—————————————————
Cat felt her shoulders relax as her ‘wife’ left the room. In her mind, she’d never said yes so it couldn’t really count. It was some sort of perverse alien colonialism where she was cast in the role of young native girl taken by the conquerors. Even with the fact she was a damned American citizen or had been since the country had been dissolved along with the rest of them, she was too damn old for this. Thirty-seven was supposed to be the age where people would leave you alone and let you terrorize your employees and raise your son in peace. That had been what she’d hoped for anyways. She breathed her son in, feeling his chest rise and fall. He was healthy and he was hers, but for how much longer she wasn’t sure.
She moved back to the chair and sat down in it, rocking her son back and forth. He was so incredibly perfect. She planned for him and imagined what he’d be like. He was more than she hoped, even though the circumstances changed wildly from the time she decided to start trying and the time that he’d been born. She couldn’t have planned for this.
If Russia hadn’t led that attack...or if the Kryptonians hadn’t come down so harsh after then maybe things could have worked out. It didn’t do to dwell on things that could have been so she forced it out of her mind and tried to come up with a plan to get out of this. Her attempt to escape after the aliens came for her hadn’t been successful and they’d threatened to take Carter into ‘care’ early if she tried again. He wasn’t a sickly baby, but he was sensitive. She didn’t think he would survive being one in a sea of children in little cots. She’d done a report on Romanian orphanages back in the 90s. It was incredibly grim and the thought of that happening to Carter was more terrifying to her than anything that could have happened to her back in the bedroom—not that she wasn’t frightened of that as well. She was terrified and torn between putting it off and getting it over as soon as possible.
Cat leaned down and kissed the crown of Carter’s head and turned to face the window. Her ‘wife’ was strange for an alien. Kara Zor-El seemed a bit hesitant to violate her compared to the doctors that had examined her or the guards who smirked as they tied her to the bed. It was common knowledge that the Kryptonians thought of humans as some sort of deviant primitive beings. Their lives weren’t worth much if anything.
She looked down at Carter. While leaving her tied up was horrific, it did seem as though Kara took somewhat competent care of her son. He wasn’t fussing like he had been after the off-brand formula hurt his stomach and his clothes were soft and clean.
Cat sighed. She needed to go back out there and face whatever would happen next. Kara had dressed Carter in her house’s symbol, so maybe there was a chance that she could get the girl attached to him in some way. Maybe she could even get the Kryptonian attached to her. There would be some protection in that as repulsive as it was. She was still Cat Grant and that meant getting people to do what she wanted. If her alien bride wasn’t some sort of princess or something she would stand a chance at making a run for it and reaching the resistance, but there was security everywhere. She would be found and Carter would be hurt or killed if she tried it
She stood up and kissed Carter’s forehead. “I will do anything I can to protect you, Sweetheart. I promise you that.” She laid him down on the bed. It was something out of a Montessori nursery—the entire room was. It was a big leap from the closet and an even bigger leap from what the Kryptonians called ‘Care Centers’. Frankly, it was similar to what she had started getting set up in his nursery at home before the building was destroyed. She could do what she had to so he could keep it and the first step to that was trying to play nice with alien barbie.
Cat forced her chest to expand in deep breaths, trying to keep from shaking. She reminded herself to keep walking and that she could and would do anything for her son. The alien needed her alive. She would survive this.
She was so engrossed in her thoughts that she almost missed the blonde woman sitting on the sofa and gasped when she realized Kara was sitting so close to where she was walking. “I assumed you’d be in the bedroom. You startled me.”
“I didn’t mean to frighten you.” She folded her hands in her lap. “Not before with Carter either.”
“I...he seemed well cared for.” Cat lowered herself into a chair as far as she could get from Kara and still be in the same living area. “He hasn’t been sleeping as well. I think the food they were giving him irritated his stomach.” She hadn’t been able to produce much milk, another way her failures as a mother were affecting Carter.
“It didn’t smell nice.” Kara looked up as though she was examining the ceiling. “I can show you how to use the dispenser for him.”
“I would like that.” She’d hate it, but she wanted to know how to get Carter his bottles. “Thank you.” The words tasted like ash in her mouth.
Kara looked down at her with a tiny hopeful smile, “It’s fine. He’s a sweet boy.” After a second her gaze lowered to where Cat was gripping the arms of the chair. “Do you uh...want me to help with your wrists? I grabbed the medical kit.”
Cat looked down. She had hardly noticed the way she’d cut her wrists against the restraints trying to get to Carter. “They’re fine.” She waved a hand, noticing the pain now that the injury had been pointed out to her.
“Are you sure? I...it wouldn’t hurt.” She shifted closer.
“Alright.” She didn’t want the alien’s hands on her, but she realized that getting the younger woman in the habit of caring for her would only help her goals. She held out her hands and tried to force her heart to slow down. It was possible that the Kryptonian could hear it.
It was surprising how gently and efficiently she was tended. Kara’s hands were warm as she applied some sort of cream and then ran a device over her skin. The bruises faded before her eyes and Kara lifted her hands to examine her work carefully before setting them down, “There you go. That should feel a bit better.”
“It does.” She drew her hands back and rubbed the places where the injuries used to be. “Do you have some medical training?”
“I uh, helped to treat soldiers during the war for a while. My mother put a stop to it after one battle where I went closer to the front lines than I was supposed to and caught a bullet to the shoulder pulling someone out. Wound up being one of yours.” She shrugged.
“Ah. They probably weren’t happy about that.” Cat played with her fingers, fidgeting in the chair.
“They really weren’t. My aunt went to bat for me, but my mother usually wins when it comes to things like that. I helped with the war orphans after that. As a volunteer job. I’m a member of the science guild, but I favor the artist guild.” She shifted in her seat.
The air was sharp in between them, and Cat held herself rigidly. “Ah...that would explain how you knew what to do for Carter.”
“Yeah. It um...wasn’t really different from the Kryptonian kids.” The alien picked at invisible lint on her robe.
“I imagine it wasn’t.” Kara liking kids in general would be helpful. Cat kept quiet as she didn’t want to tip her hand or move forward too fast.
Kara didn’t say anything else, but Cat watched as Kara clenched and unclenched her jaw looking like she was going to speak and then closing her mouth tightly. Her stomach dropped. The Kryptonian was wrestling with something and Cat would wager that it had everything to do with her. She didn’t want to wait and see what conclusion the girl would draw on her own.
“You don’t have to do it, you know. Hurt me.” She made a quick calculation to appeal to the girl’s nobility. “You don’t want to be a rapist. I can see it in your eyes. You’re kinder than that.” She didn’t quite believe what she was saying, but she spoke with conviction.
Kara slumped in her seat, “I…it wouldn’t be like this in a Kryptonian marriage. Even if you don’t care as much for each other, it’s not about you or love...it’s about serving your people and making a stronger next generation.”
“That sounds awful.” She tried to draw more out of the woman by voicing the unspoken sentiment. She needed more information.
Kara drew her legs up underneath of herself. “It wasn’t awful. I...my uncle defied tradition and met with his bride first to make sure he liked her. They fell deeply in love. My parents loved each other as well. I...thought I might be lucky in that regard as well, as childish as that is.”
“It’s not childish to want to love the person you’re married to. It’s the standard on our world. Marriage is a declaration of love in front of your family and friends.” She worked to let an idea build in Kara’s mind. She wondered if it might be easier to let the blonde have at her than to fake affection for her down the line, but this would be safer for Carter if she could play her cards right.
“I remember reading about that. You exchange rings rather than bracelets.” She played with the band around her wrist.
“Yes we do.” She was quiet for a moment giving Kara a chance to fill the silence.
“I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to do that to you. I…” Kara released a breath. “It’s wrong, but it’s a big political thing and my mother is always so disappointed in me…”
“I know a thing or two about that. My mother has never thought I did enough. In the end you have to carve out your own way so that you can live with yourself.” Cat swallowed. This wasn’t an offer that she wanted to make, but Kara’s nobility would only last so long in the face of that much pressure. “You can chose what you want your marriage to look like. You can take your time and find something softer.” Cat could fake it well enough. Playing at happy families was a skill she honed growing up with her parents. It was all about perception as long as she kept her feelings hidden.
Kara’s eyes shone with hope, “Really? I mean...even after...”
“Nothing happened.” She knew it was more because of her son rather than any restraint on Kara’s part, but she’d let Kara think she excused her actions. It would give her a chance to behave differently.
“I...you don’t seem like I was told you’d be.”
“I was building a media empire, you have to be smart for that. Capable.” Her voice took on an edge, but she couldn’t help herself. Kryptonians were so self aggrandizing. She fought down a yawn.
“You should get some sleep. Humans require eight hours a day.” She recited it as if it were some sort of interesting animal fact.
“We do.” She hadn’t gotten that much since she was a child, but sleep meant she wouldn’t be hurt for now. She’d have more time to push Kara towards something different.
Kara stood up. “Do you...they might look in on us. We’ll have to share a sleeping space.”
“Alright.” There went her chance of sleeping for the night, but she stood and went toward the bedroom all the same. “What am I expected to wear?”
Kara handed her a sleeping gown with the same ‘S’ that everything else had. Cat went towards the bathroom and changed in there as she used the facilities. When she got out Kara had already changed and was in bed facing away from Cat. The restraints were removed and a box was on the nightstand that showed Carter while he slept. Cat took the other side of the bed and stared out the window, settling in for a long night and reminding herself to take things one day at a time.
|
School is done for the day. The hallways are quiet, practically abandoned—save for Park Jimin, who is standing in front of a row of lockers, frowning and thinking this is stupid.
He’s clutching a bright blue slip of paper—just gently enough not to crinkle it—ruefully looking over the words he’d written on it the day before: “Whenever I see you, I feel like the world disappears because you’re shining so much brighter than the rest of them. I’ve been bumping into a lot of people lately, because of that, you know. But I don’t mind—I’d rather bump into people forever if it means you’ll always be around to light up my life. (: “
It really had seemed like a good idea the day before—but back then it wasn’t a bad day for him, back then he didn’t feel like there was some kind of strange pressure squeezing at him on the inside, making him feel like his organs are constricting and like he’s having difficulty breathing.
But now it’s a bad day for him, so he reads and re-reads his note over and over again and all it does is make him feel stupid, childish, like he’s found something he wrote back in middle school and he just realized how cringe-worthy it actually is. It makes him feel like all he would accomplish by slipping his note into Yoongi’s locker would be to make his friends (even Seokjin) have something to laugh about during lunch break, like he knows for a fact happened with the rest of the notes.
It doesn’t normally bother him—but Jimin’s having an off day, and that’s practically the worst kind of day to contemplate his embarrassing, clichéd and essentially shallow crush on Min Yoongi.
(Jimin was aware of Yoongi’s existence ever since he befriended Taehyung, and has seen him around at the Kim household before they went to the same school, but he’s only started paying attention to him earlier that year.
Some guys are yelling distasteful things at him—Jimin remembers what they were essentially saying, but not the exact arrangement of generic cruel words—and he’s about to walk off when he hears another voice butt in, telling his bullies to ‘Fuck off, effective starting now—unless any of you want to kick off the school year with a nice set of black eyes’ and scoffing after the group scuttles away.
“All bark and no bite—typical,” Min Yoongi, in all his (then) blond, pierced and leather-clad glory saunters over to Jimin with a scowl. “You alright, kid?”
Jimin, who knows he looks younger than his age yet resents being called a kid by someone only two years older than him, would normally protest. But he’s still trying to process what just happened, so he replies with a faint: “I’m fine.”
Yoongi raises an eyebrow. “Then why were you taking shit from those guys?”
“They’re just words,” he shrugs.
“Not words anyone should hear.”
Jimin stays quiet, because he doesn’t really have a retort for that. The elder squints at him for that brief moment of silence, tilting his head to the side, before a look of realisation crosses his face.
“Aren’t you Taehyung’s friend?”
“Yeah. Park Jimin.”
“Min Yoongi,” he offers in reply, like an afterthought.
“I know,” Jimin says before he can help himself, and watches Yoongi’s eyebrows rise in curiosity and barely concealed amusement. “Tae talks a lot about you,” he offers as means of explanation, feeling his cheeks heat up under the scrutiny.
“Ah,” Yoongi shakes his head, a hint of a smirk playing at his lips. “So I’m guessing that’s the reason why all the freshmen are scared shitless of me.”
Jimin giggles at the memory of Taehyung trying to convince Seungcheol that Yoongi was actually a real, (well, metaphorically) living vampire. “Probably.”
When Yoongi leaves, it’s not without looking back at Jimin and adding “You gotta start telling people to fuck off if they bother you unless you want to get pushed around your whole life. Got it?”
“Got it,” Jimin mumbles, unable to keep a smile off his face.)
Their first meeting—which left Jimin, for lack of a better word, a little starstruck—made him understand the admiration in Taehyung’s voice whenever he talked about him, like he’s some kind of super-hero.
Min Yoongi is not a super-hero—or a good role model, Seokjin would insist. He sleeps through his classes, he swings his fists before thinking about the repercussions, he cusses on every other fifth word that leaves his mouth, he constantly takes his anger out on people, he needs to be reminded to take care of himself sometimes, he has a hard time talking about himself and opening up to other people, and he closes off and becomes distant at the smallest provocation.
But he’s also heard Seokjin say on different occasions that he works the hardest he’s ever seen someone work for the things that truly matter to him, that he stands up for what he believes in without worrying about public opinion, that he sometimes beats himself up about things that aren’t his fault, that he only knows how to apologise to people in unconventional ways but he does it anyway. One time when he’s sitting on the bench with Hoseok, taking a break from practice to catch their breath, he tells Jimin he’s pretty sure that, no matter how cold Yoongi seems, he would probably kill and die for the people he cares about, if need be—and that worries him more than he lets on.
So of course, to Jimin, Min Yoongi became somewhat of a fascination.
Enough of a fascination that, during one of his better days, when he feels happy and confident and like he could take on the entire world, he waits until school lets out and slips a single note in Yoongi’s locker—I think you’re sweet like sugar. (;
Then another, and another, and another, until it’s been months and Jimin is standing in front of his locker, wondering if he should finally put this to rest. After all, he thinks, smoothing out the wrinkles of the paper in his hands, it’s likely that the only thing Yoongi does with his notes is laugh about them with his friends before throwing them out the first chance he gets. After all, Jimin’s never going to work up the guts to confess when there’s so much at risk and such a low chance of Yoongi liking him back.
After all, what is the point in continuing something that only he cares about?
“Hey kid, you’re blocking the way.”
Jimin turns without even thinking about it, with an apology on his lips that dies the moment he sees the figure of an irate-looking, messy haired Min Yoongi. But a second later, Yoongi’s stance relaxes and his features shift into something calmer, more akin the usual bored, sleepy look he favours.
“Oh, it’s just you,” he rolls his eyes, taking a step closer. “Still blocking the way, though. I forgot something in my locker and I need it, so it would be really damn helpful if you—“
Abruptly, he stops talking, eyes trailing downwards. Jimin follows his gaze all the way to the blue coloured paper he’s holding and for one horrible moment, he feels like his heart stops beating—before it picks back up, twice as fast.
He can’t say he’s never pictured Yoongi finding out about his crush on him, or that he hasn’t imagined worse case scenarios than this, but it’s still not the way he wanted it to happen. Getting caught in the act of it somehow makes it feel wrong, like it’s something he’s not supposed to do.
(Sometimes, Jimin can’t help but think that, maybe, it really is.)
What he knows for sure is that, in his current state, he is definitely not emotionally stable enough to deal with it—definitely not now, definitely not like this, definitely not at school, even if most of the students had gone home.
“Sorry, sorry. I was zoning out a little,” he says, forcing out a laugh that he hopes will come off as sheepish.
Adjusting the strap of his bag to its proper place on his shoulder with one hand and crumpling up his note in the other, he avoids looking directly at Yoongi. “Well, I’ll be heading home now, so—bye, hyung.”
He doesn’t stick around to hear Yoongi’s reply—if he had any—and on his way out, he tosses the balled up blue paper in one of the trash bins in the hallway, though he does so with a heavy heart and feeling like something is lodged in his throat.
That day, like on any other Bad Day, Jimin doesn’t go straight home. Instead, he joins Taehyung on the bus ride home and embraces the organised chaos that is the Kim household.
Taehyung announces their arrival in the loudest way possible, causing Seoyun to come out of the kitchen so she can greet them both (and give Jimin one of her bone-crushing hugs, that leaves him all warm and content inside) before hurriedly returning to a steaming pot of something that smells heavenly.
The rest of the family is in the living room: Sungho is waving his hands around and talking animatedly to Namjoon, who is resolutely shaking his head at something the man is saying, pointing at the TV for good measure, where a couple of penguins are innocently wobbling around. They’re both wearing glasses and bright-eyed looks that hint at the fact that they’ve probably been at this for a while before Jimin and Taehyung arrived home. Another thing that points at this is Seokjin, sitting next to them on the couch, looking bored out of his mind, occasionally tugging at his boyfriend’s shirt sleeve in a vain attempt to pull him away from the conversation and heavily pouting whenever he gets ignored (which is every time, though Namjoon occasionally tries to placate him with the apologetic ‘In a moment, babe’ eliciting an eye roll from Seokjin).
Once he takes notice of the two, Seokjin smiles at them and gives a small wave, which Jimin returns—tacking on a sympathetic look when the discussion seems to become more heated (“But the most recent study said—““I’m not saying they’re wrong, I’m just saying that there’s a lot of evidence that points to—“) and the elder lets out one last sigh before announcing no one in particular that he’s going to help with cooking.
In Taehyung’s room, Jimin makes himself comfortable on the bed, bundling himself up in the comforter, and closes his eyes, content to allow himself a break as his best friend zooms around in the room, placing and replacing things to his liking.
When he returns, Jimin cracks one eye open to be greeted with Taehyung looking at him gravely, eyebrows furrowed and jaw set.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, gingerly sitting down next to him on the bed.
Jimin knows why he’s asking—he always asks, but it never makes the topic seem any easier to talk about. He comes over so often that one time, Sungho admitted he forgets Jimin doesn’t actually live with them, but it’s not always because he wants to hang out with Taehyung, or talk to Seokjin, or talk period.
On his worse days, Jimin just wants a quiet space for himself and, paradoxically, the house of his loud best friend and his even louder family becomes his safe haven. Maybe quiet isn’t the right way to describe it, because there’s always so much noise—but it’s good noise, peaceful in a strange way. Nobody’s screaming at each other for hours over whose turn it was to do the groceries or whose fault it is that they can’t afford to pay the electric bill. Nobody pulls Jimin into arguments he’s got nothing to do with. Nobody makes him feel guilty for things that aren’t his fault.
(He knows it’s terrible, but sometimes he thinks his parents love arguing with each other more than they love him.
They must love him—he’s not sure if that’s a fact or wishful thinking on his part—but they don’t show it very much. Jimin’s not sure if it used to be better when he was little, because he doesn’t remember much, but he knows that it’s been really bad for a while. Bad enough that, as nice as his parents are to him individually, being in the same room as the both of them means getting caught in one of their many, many impending fights.
Some days, he can handle it. Other days, he goes out of his way and avoids his house until he knows one of his parents has gone to work or someplace else.
And Jimin thinks it could be worse, because his parents never yell at him unless they’re already yelling at each other, would never lay a hand on him—but it’s stressful, and though he doesn’t feel unsafe at home, he doesn’t feel loved either.
He remembers reading an article once—something that said people who are deprived of affection either grow up to be distant and fearful of it, or latch onto anyone who could offer it to them. Back then, he thought it sounded stupid.
Now, it’s something he relies on to explain his own behaviour. Why he falls for people so easily, so quickly, though he doesn’t necessarily believe in love at first sight. Why he cried after his first relationship ended even though the guy wouldn’t even look at him in public and constantly left him second-guessing himself and holding onto empty promises. Why he practically glues himself to people—like Taehyung and Hoseok—from the very day he meets them just because they were nice to him. Why he was so quick to accept caring and fussy Seokjin as his pseudo-older brother after his actual brother went to college and dropped off the face of the Earth. Why he revels in every one of Seoyun’s hugs, in every instance when Sungho jokes about him being their third son.
He figures his crush on Yoongi came to existence on the same basis, but he hates thinking about it. He hates thinking that his feelings are feeble, that Yoongi is just a placeholder for any other person, that he only likes him because of some sort of pathological loneliness. He doesn’t like the idea that something that feels so big and important to him can be disconsidered because he ‘wasn’t hugged enough as a child’.
But he also hates agonising over it so much—especially now that Yoongi knows, and he probably doesn’t even care.
It’s times like these he wishes he were on the other end of the extreme—jaded, closed off and mindful of his personal space—so he could stop being dependent on every smile thrown his way, and hanging off of everyone like a leech
And most importantly, he wishes he would stop offering his heart to anyone who’s there to catch it, to the point where he can’t even tell if his feelings are valid or if he’s just incredibly desperate.)
“Jimin.”
Startled, he looks up at Taehyung, who’s frowning at him.
“Hey—you okay?” he asks, softly and with so much worry that it makes Jimin’s heart hurt.
“Yeah,” he lifts his head from where it’s pressed into the pillow when the answer comes out muffled. “Sorry, I was spacing out. I don’t really want to talk about it.”
“M’kay.”
Taehyung nods, lifting the comforter so he can get under it; Jimin gratefully scoots closer to him and rests his head on his shoulder.
Then, they talk—or rather, Jimin stays quiet, curled up against Taehyung, while his friend tells him about the newest Captain America movie he went to see with Jungkook. He doesn’t care about the franchise or know anything about it, but he delights in Taehyung describing scenes from it complete with sound effects, and giggles at how offended he gets when he brings up the argument he had with Jungkook at the end of it, something about a Bucky (Jimin’s not sure if that’s a person or an object) that Jungkook apparently just doesn’t get.
It’s not uncommon for Taehyung to soothe Jimin with cuddles and spend hours on end talking about nonsense until his friend manages to crack a smile—it’s something even Jungkook has taken to doing on separate occasions, though it doesn’t come as naturally to him. Jimin feels pretty spoiled, nonetheless.
Eventually, it gets late enough that Jimin knows his dad’s shift has already started, which means a quiet house for him to return to.
“Text me when you get home,” says Taehyung, handing Jimin an umbrella once he finishes tying his shoes.
The younger tries to convince him to just spend the night after the downpour began, but Jimin declines. As much as he’d love to stay with the Kims –for the rest of his life, if possible—he’d feel bad about worrying his mother.
(Though, he muses, it’s not very fair that she doesn’t feel bad when she calls his dance lessons, among other things important to Jimin, a waste of money whenever she’s arguing with his dad.)
“Your inner Jin-hyung is showing,” Jimin teases, as means of response. Immediately, Taehyung’s face scrunches up.
“Don’t even joke about that, Park Jimin, or I’m taking back the umbrella and throwing you out in the rain.”
He’s still laughing while he walks down the steps of their front porch.
Things are looking up the next day—the food Jimin’s mother leaves out for breakfast is still warm by the time he gets out of bed, the weather is pleasant for a change, and his English teacher doesn’t show up for class, giving them a free period that Jimin spends talking to Jeonghan and Jisoo, the shy kid sitting next to him who transferred from America.
It’s a good day—good enough to take Jimin’s mind off of things he doesn’t want to think about.
Until he wanders through the hallways in the search for Taehyung and his box-shaped grin, and instead bumps into a very happy Hoseok and Yoongi, trailing after him and looking lethargic. His eyes move around lazily until he rests his gaze on Jimin, and the younger feels like his mouth go dry.
“Jiminie,” Hoseok all but coos, with his signature megawatt smile. “Long time no see.”
“Yeah—long time no see, hyung. It’s been like, a full day or something,” he lets out a laugh, before greeting Yoongi with a cheerful “Hi, Yoongi-hyung” like he’s not wondering whether Yoongi knows or not.
When the elder replies with a muttered, impersonal “Hi”, Jimin kind of starts suspecting the answer—and when he turns to Hoseok and tells him to “go ahead, I have something to discuss with Jimin” it shatters any hope he had about Yoongi staying blissfully ignorant to what happened the other day.
Even so, Jimin wishes he could stay blissfully ignorant—so after he waves goodbye to a departing Hoseok, he turns to Yoongi with a smile and a feigned innocent “So, what do you want to talk about, hyung?”
If anything, it only makes Yoongi’s eyes narrow in a way that spells out ‘You know what I want to talk about’ in bold, capital letters. It’s then when it dawns on Jimin that he looks tenser than usual, wearier, like he’s mulling over something difficult—how to turn down a pesky freshman, for instance.
Jimin feels bile rise in his throat at the thought of public rejection, but he braces himself for it anyway.
(He wonders if he could handle to stand still, grin and bear it, or if he should make a run for it before he bursts into tears and makes a fool of himself in front of the entire school.
He wonders if Yoongi would feel bad if he made him cry, but knows he doesn’t want to find out.)
Instead, Yoongi sighs, runs a hand through his pink locks of hair, and says: “Not here. You know the park next to the middle school? About fifteen minutes from here.”
“Yeah,” leaves Jimin’s lips, barely above a whisper. He clears his throat. “Yeah, I know the one.”
“Meet me there after school and—we’ll talk.”
He leaves as soon as Jimin gives him a small nod, without much preamble. The younger lets out a slow, shaky breath as he stares at his retreating back, feeling grateful for the fact that the scream that’s been building up inside of him during the conversation didn’t escape with it.
He has so many things to think about—all starting and finishing with Yoongi—but he doesn’t get to do anything because in the next moment, Taehyung just slams into him. Literally.
“Jesus, Tae,” he breathes out, rubbing at a sore spot on his hip.
“You looked like you were thinking too hard,” he starts pulling him away, in the direction of their next class. “Speaking of—did you do your science homework?”
“What does that have to do with thinking?”
“Hopefully a whole lot since I was planning of copying mine off of you,” cue the wide, cheeky grin.
“Really? It’s the same homework from last time. You’ve had almost a week to do it,” Jimin sighs, regarding Taehyung with his best imitation of Seokjin’s unimpressed look—which is not very good.
Taehyung winces, regardless. “Yeah, I know. And I wanted to, but I completely forgot. And if I get another warning from the teacher, they’ll get on my case again.”
“Your parents?”
“No, Seokjin-hyung and Namjoon-hyung.”
“So, essentially your parents,” he concludes, laughing when Taehyung grumbles something inaudible.
“Okay, here’s the deal—I buy you lunch for a week.”
He hums. “Two weeks.”
“You give them a finger and they take your entire hand,” his best friend gasps, theatrically. “Okay, two weeks. You greedy jerk.”
He jokingly elbows Jimin in the ribs—Jimin pushes him in return, snorting with laughter and they make their way to their next class trying to shove each other into walls while simultaneously ignoring weird looks from most of the student body.
And Jimin actually manages to keep himself from thinking about the fact that he will most likely be rejected by his crush later that day—for all of five minutes, and then spends the remainder of his Science class wondering if he should ask his teacher if there’s such a thing as a quick DIY on how to turn into an unicellular organism. |
Gansey had runestones and sacred carvings, boxes on boxes of them. He had ancient amulets, arrowheads. He had crates of earth taken from every ley-touched corner of the world.
Adam's cards were better than any of that. Eleven pieces of Cabeswater, like magic was a great cake or chocolate bar, and all Adam had to do was shave off a few slices and pass them around. It was very orderly and unexpected. Adam took to magic the same way he'd taken to everything else. Quietly. Diligently. The least wild of Gansey's friends.
And so Gansey passed his fingers lightly over the cards for a moment. They seemed like a good sign. They were a good sign.
But even so. They reminded Gansey that Adam was different now. Stronger now, and stranger too. All of the quiet hard work of Adam -- and how Gansey wanted that for himself, a life that did not need to seek purpose, a life that had it and breathed it in every moment -- all that was. Well. It was not gone. But magic and Cabeswater had watered it into something new. It was like finding a green shoot in the dust and assuming it might produce an oak someday, only to turn and discover it was really a towering beanstalk with giants and dangers and golden harps at the other end.
Was this what friendship was? Look away for too long, and the person could become someone new?
This idea had some hidden sting in it. Gansey blinked, focused on the road ahead, and put it away.
Next to him, Adam stared at the vibrant countryside all around them, like he was constructing a map in his mind's eye. The trees along the road were denser than before, but they sloped down to one side, giving them a bird's-eye view of that side of the valley. Every inch laid out plainly. After a moment, Adam seemed to dismiss this easy view. He turned to the passenger side, a wall of trees. After several moments, he straightened.
"Look," he said, pointing at a spot somewhere above the trees.
There were two spires there, dully grey and out of place behind the vibrant green. The road ahead seemed to curve to meet them. After several minutes, the trees dropped away sharply and they were in a clearing. A cathedral crouched there, stabbing the sky with its towers. It had a great door and above that a row of saints' statues, and above that a massive window with a design like bars or teeth or an old-fashioned comb. It was hideously real next to the rest of the valley, a transplanted thing.
It was full of people.
Somehow Gansey had not been expecting people, not even after Otto. Otto hadn't seemed remotely like a real person. But this was a whole community, too many people to not be real. They came pouring out of the church to the ringing of the bells. Gansey pulled up alongside the road -- there didn't seem to be any parking; how had these people come? -- and stopped the car. Next to him, Adam craned his neck to get a better view.
Gansey was reminded of places in Europe, in Peru, in New Zealand. Faces ran together, clumps of families like fruit growing on the same vine. Henrietta -- Adam's Henrietta -- had some of that. A look to an area, like every person was a pin on a map, and when the pins clustered close some secret part of the past jumped out and announced itself. The high surprised foreheads of Cesky Krumlov. The beautiful sparse eyebrows of Cajamarca. The wide-set eyes one of the first Henriettans had bequeathed to innumerable others. Gansey knew it was simplistic to think of it like that, but he didn't care. It was a lovely thought to him, the way things could carry through time and survive and survive until they seemed to give a place its definition.
The Henrietta look was slight-boned, old, the unusual homey sense of a worn photograph in a wallet. You wanted to cherish it even if you couldn't recognize it and it wasn't yours. A photograph of a stranger, sitting there looking ancient and unknowable and more quietly beautiful than you might think. It was the look that had created both Adam and Blue, each in their own way. These people did not have that. They didn't look worn or strange. They simply looked, Gansey realized, as vibrant as the valley all around. Large men and women as regally-designed as Blue's cousin Orla. Glossy, thick hair, jet black or nut brown or such a pale blonde that it seemed white. Large eyes, small noses, generous mouths. Movie stars lifted from celluloid, from a time when the movies had routinely shown people going to church in their Sunday best.
They should have been old-fashioned, but something about them seemed very new. Gansey just couldn't place what.
"It's like their skin is new," Adam said faintly.
Gansey stared at him.
Adam looked like he was trying to put pieces together, but they wouldn't fit. But as soon as he'd said it, it had fit. Gansey had the wild sense that these people had unzipped their old skins to reveal new selves somehow, like the process of dressing for Sunday service involved some careful witchcraft.
"I wonder," Gansey said in answer, "if they know anything about Welsh kings."
They left the car cooling in the shade and walked up the green slope to the church. When they reached the steps, the village had largely cleared off. Only a straggling child remained, tow-headed and slippery with laughter, in a frilly white dress. She made Gansey think of a small live fish hopping on a plate of frosted Italian glass. The priest was gently shooing her in the direction of her fellows. She went, tripping past Adam as she did so. Her eyes fixed on him and then hurriedly looked away, but Gansey she smiled at with far less curiosity than Gansey would have expected.
Surely this place didn't get many visitors?
Gansey felt the wasp's prick of uncertainty. Somehow the thought that this was not some great secret, something hidden from the eyes of all others, connected to Glendower and pulsing out for him like a signal tower -- that this place might not be that had not occurred to him before. Now that it did, he didn't enjoy the doubt. He had not experienced that sense that he might be straying from his quest in some time. Not, in fact, since coming to Henrietta.
"What's wrong?" Adam asked.
Gansey had stopped before the great doors of the church. He became annoyed with himself for stopping and worrying Adam. The priest. There was the priest. He was a dark-haired man in white vestments, tall, and he stood some paces away, looking into the cool dark woods after the retreating crowds. He could probably answer some of Gansey's questions. If this was not a hidden treasure linked to Glendower, if this was not the knowledge Gansey sought, then the priest might be able to make that clearer.
"Nothing's wrong," Gansey said curtly. "Come on. Let's ask the priest what he knows." Then, to the priest, "Excuse me."
The priest turned.
Gansey stepped back.
The priest was made of patchwork. Gansey saw this very clearly. The skin on his face and hands was criss-crossed, rosy in some places, pale in others. He was a man who had been stitched, of this Gansey was suddenly, resolutely sure. There had been pieces of him rolling around somewhere, and someone had lovingly gathered him and put him back together.
Then Gansey blinked and he was just a man with scars on his face.
Gansey couldn't connect it in his mind. He didn't know why he'd thought the man was patchwork.
"He's a crazy quilt," Adam said faintly.
Gansey's gaze snapped to him. His first impression had been correct. It had to be correct if Adam had seen it too.
"Can I help you?" said the priest. "You're late for mass. I'm afraid that's it for now."
He had a slight accent. Gansey should have been able to place it, but couldn't. It was like his voice had been sanded off somehow, like a stone worn away by a river. Again the patchworkness of him came to the surface. He was just a man. But he wasn't.
Gansey and Adam exchanged glances again. Adam now looked guarded and a little far away. Gansey put a steadying hand on his arm. He did not want Adam going anywhere, in that way Adam did. The blankness of a great distance, the aloneness of Adam that crept in around the edges. Gansey did not need that from Adam right now.
And he did not want that for Adam ever.
"You can come in," the priest said, when they didn't respond immediately. He gestured loosely at his church. He said, "But there won't be another mass until--" He broke off and something in him looked soft and inoffensive. "--there won't be another until the bells ring for it," he finished vaguely. Then he turned and walked swiftly back to his church.
"Come in, if you like," he said again.
They followed him in. After Otto's car garden, Gansey was expecting the church to be made of creeping vines on the inside, or for the whole building to be carved out of one hollow tree, or to find altar boys with bells for eyes. But there was none of that. It was nice enough, candles and vaulted arches and painted saints. It had the solemn and vague grandeur Roman Catholicism held for someone like Gansey, who classed all religion as generally useful and interestingly mystical and perfectly fine for people who did not know Welsh kings were much more useful and interesting. The priest beckoned them down the long center aisle, past the empty rows of pews, and turned sharply right at the altar until he came to a small door set off to one side. He passed through. With a look at Adam and a sharp tap to the Cabeswater cards to remind them both that they were protected, Gansey followed.
He heard Adam's footsteps just behind him as they proceeded up a circular stone stairway. They had to hold the walls to steady themselves. The stairway was narrow and cramped, appropriated from medieval Europe. Gansey approved. Buildings like this could not have broad stairways. It wouldn't have fit.
At the top there was a mild little office, with filing cabinets and a crucifix, a desk and a coffee machine, muffins sitting cold on a plate. The priest made an indeterminate movement towards the coffee machine. Gansey could not tell if coffee was being offered. He hoped it was, yet didn't want to overstep by demanding. Breakfast had been scanty.
"Can we have some?" Adam asked, without preamble. His voice was soft and polite, like it usually was, but the question itself somehow bolder than Gansey's upbringing would have permitted. In this, Adam was more like Ronan now. More unfettered. A part of Gansey felt wistful.
"Of course," the priest said. "Of course. Please." He'd been on the verge of sitting down behind his desk, but now he jumped up and produced coffee mugs and sugar. He looked almost grateful to have a task. When they all had their coffee he sat down again and said, without preamble, "I'm Father Tierney. I haven't been a Father for very long, though. Are you from here? You're not from here, are you?"
He said this eagerly. He had small, intelligent eyes in his patchwork face. They flitted from Adam to Gansey like they were looking for something.
"We came from Henrietta," Gansey allowed.
"Where is--Oh. It doesn't matter," said Father Tierney happily. Then, like he was confiding something. "I'm not from here, either."
"You aren't?" Gansey asked, surprised. That seemed unlikely. The patchwork priest fit this odd countryside, fit it just as well as Otto had. "Where are you from, then?"
"I--" Father Tierney began. He began to look soft and strangely meek again. Gansey realized that he was not very old. He was maybe a little older than they were. Gansey was reminded of Noah, the Noah he'd first met, before he'd known the truth about Noah.
"I don't know," said Father Tierney. "I--I've forgotten the details. Maybe I'll tell you. But first you tell me. Can you see it?"
He brought his mug up and gestured at his face with it. As he did so, he spread his lips wide to show his teeth, like a child practicing a smile. The patches on his cheeks crinkled. Both the free hand and the hand holding the mug traced the air before his face, following the lines of his scars.
"Can you see me?" Father Tierney asked again. "People can't, generally. But that's people from here. You're not from here. Can you see it, then?"
Gansey could. But Father Tierney inspired a strange mixture of compassion and disgust, and Gansey did not know how to begin telling someone that they did not appear human, they appeared patchwork. Gansey had to be more thoughtful with words than that. He was often so careless with them. And he knew that saying unpleasant things sometimes made them more true, made them inescapable. So he opened his mouth and then closed it very firmly, then rubbed at his lower lip.
"Yes," was all he said. "Yes. I can see you."
"Andwhatdoyousee?" Father Tierney said, so fast that Gansey could hardly parse the words. Gansey blinked at him.
"What do you expect me to see?" he said carefully.
Father Tierney put his coffee mug down and suddenly looked very forlorn. When he began again to steady some papers on his desk, the criss-crossed hands were shaking.
"Nothing, I suppose," he said again. Now his faint accent doubled and Gansey could almost place it. He added, sounding disheartened, "No one else here seems to see it. None of the people here seem to see it either."
Gansey could only assume that was a good thing. Father Tierney did not cut an especially attractive figure. Something about the way he flitted from fabric to flesh to flesh fabric was discomposing. Gansey didn't want to hold it against him, but other people might, and if something about the magic-soaked countryside here affected the people, kept them from seeing the Father as he was, then perhaps that was for the best.
Though as soon as he thought that, he felt ashamed. It was better to be seen as you really were, as your truest self. But Tierney the patchwork priest couldn't seem to decide what he really was, if he was entirely alien or merely something scarred.
"I can see you," Adam said suddenly. "You look like a crazy quilt to me."
Gansey stared at him. In the faint grey light of the grey stone office, Adam looked very alien and determined. Gansey felt like he'd turned and lost sight of Adam, and in the interim Adam had shot forward in a new direction entirely.
"I'm sorry," Adam said now, voice low.
Gansey could not tell who he was apologizing to.
"But it's true," Adam continued. "To know you're scarred, and have everybody pretend you're not in a loud way. I don't see how that helps. You don't look human to me. You look like a patchwork quilt."
Father Tierney exhaled hard. Then he buried his head in his hands. Gansey shot an alarmed look at Adam. Adam's defiance faded. He began to look appropriately regretful. For some reason, this switch was as disconcerting as Father Tierney's transformation from flesh to fabric had been.
"Thank God," Father Tierney said, after a moment. "Thank God. Oh, thank God. I thought I was going insane."
"What?" someone said. It might have been Adam or it might have been Gansey himself. More likely it was both of them.
Father Tierney's face emerged from behind his hands and he looked just scarred now, scarred and otherwise normal. He rested his face in the vee formed by his hands, like a child, and said, "I thought I was insane. Can I tell you something? You're the only other ones. I think there used to be some other people. Real people. Like us. From outside. But I haven't seen them in weeks, maybe. Maybe months. Maybe a year. Part of the trouble is that I can't tell, and most of the time the only one here is me. Can I tell you about that?"
Though it was Adam who'd answered his question, he addressed this primarily to Gansey.
Bewildered, Gansey gave him a slight nod.
-
Father Tierney was not from this place and he was very certain that he was not even from this country.
He'd been brought here to run the church. The people of the town of Secondborn needed a priest. Firstborn had a priest, and the city of Alter had several and even an archbishop. But Secondborn had had nothing, because Secondborn was the newest of the communities in these valleys. It glistened with newness. It was a bubble of hope and life, but it had no priest.
So. The Father.
Who was not, he added faintly, entirely sure that he should be a Father.
In fact, he was fairly sure he'd never even completed seminary.
In fact, he was fairly sure he'd never even applied to seminary.
He thought he was around eighteen. He was tall for his age, though, and he had a nervous disposition that made him look older than his years. He remembered distinctly that for a long time the only thing that had tended to calm his nerves was church. He remembered haunting St. Mary's, though he couldn't remember now what St. Mary's looked like, and he remembered talking a lot about the priesthood. Priesthood was good. If he ever got around to it, then it would be the priesthood for him, with pristine vestments and the liturgy and the good clean feeling to it all, like God was there waiting on the other side of the door to remind you to scrub behind your ears. It was a sacred calling like that. It was a political stance. It was a job. People used to say he'd be good at it. Or maybe they had. He couldn't quite remember.
The trouble with Father Tierney was not that there were scars on his face, but that there were holes in his memory.
He could see in the mirror that he was patchwork. Someone had cobbled him together and sewn the pieces into a reasonable facsimile of a person. Father Tierney did not need to see in the mirror to know that they must have forgotten to put in parts of the brain. Specifically, the remembering parts. He had only the slightest recollection of where he'd come from. Terraced houses, short and squat, with paint peeling on the brick. Fire. Grey skies. Evening mass. The stress of walking past a parked van all in a huddle. Morning mass.The muzzle of a rifle at the end of the street. Noon mass. A parade.
It was all a jumble. He could tell that he hadn't been from a happy place, but he'd been.
His clearest and happiest memories were things like the Liturgy of the Word. The Liturgy of the Eucharist. Being selected to read passages. He'd liked that. When you sat in the pew you said less: thanks be to God, and only a little more. If you were asked to be a reader, you got to see the whole parable spread out before you. You got to proclaim it. He'd liked that. He'd felt most himself there, and not just himself but his best self, calm and not anxious.
This, he thought, must have been why he was brought here. The Bibles here were not right, because pieces of them did not appear. There were simply blank pages for long stretches, as though the printers had become dissatisfied with those parts. Psalms was there in its entirety, and Genesis. Revelations was entirely scrapped. But if Father Tierney read anything out in his calm, smooth, worn-away voice, no one would know the difference. The people of Secondborn went to church because someone seemed to have told them to go long ago and they'd never questioned the mandate. But what church itself contained did not interest them. It was enough to have all the proper features of a church and inside it someone who could run the thing and enjoy it, but if part of the soul of the mass had been ripped away, no one really minded.
In fact, they didn't notice. Father Tierney could break off in the middle of a sermon and stare at them in silence for an hour, and they would stare back, smiling and handsome, until he started up again. The Father's congregation was dutiful and laughing, wild and young, every one beautiful in a sweet way that gradually grew seductive as they aged. It left the Father uneasy. He was patchwork, but human inside. They seemed like excellent examples of humans, but they weren't. Strangeness leaked out of them, a strangeness they could not contain because whatever it was they might wrap it up in had been discarded some time ago.
They left not money in the collection plate, but blue glass or gemstones. They adored holy water and splashed with themselves with it almost too-liberally. They fought for seats near the baptismal font. They liked nothing more than the idea of transubstantiation; in fact, it fascinated them. For years before coming here it had fascinated Father Tierney. But he couldn't see why it should hold any special appeal for the townsfolk of Secondborn, because everything near Secondborn was a miracle. The Eucharist wafers grew on a tree out back, and so did the vestments. The Communion wine bubbled up from a fountain in the rectory. There was a sprawl of bushes in the Father's garden that sprouted Roman-Rite liturgical books like fat leather-bound strawberries. If in fact Christ entered the wafers and wine, coated them in holiness like a second skin, that was no surprise to Father Tierney. Of course He did. He was like everything else here: miraculous.
The greatest miracle was the town of Secondborn itself. They could go and see it if they liked. In fact, they should. It would be gone soon enough.
Secondborn was a symmetrical village that had all the storied history and permanence of a campsite. It stood a little further into the woods, on the edge of Harps Valley lake, and it was full of identical white houses with very low eaves. On these eaves there grew vines and creepers and other green things. These chimed whenever residents appeared, and when they chimed the bells on the church would ring in answer and Father Tierney would know it was time for mass.
Long stretches seemed to pass between masses. The Father had tried to count the time out. He'd found that night never really approached, not even once, but in terms of hours it might add up to a stretch of seven days. It made sense to him that he had to wait seven days to start again. The townsfolk of Secondborn were dutiful but not devoted. The Father's garden grew no daily missals for them. Only Sunday missals. They came to mass only on Sundays. Secondborn existed, Father Tierney thought, only on Sundays. Only on the seventh day, mass day.
Whenever he'd gone out to the town between masses, it was entirely empty. Between mass days, the people of Secondborn simply disappeared. Their cool white houses were there, silent and abandoned. Their cool blue lake sparkled with life, fat golden fish jumping joyfully, ducks and large white birds roosting patiently along the edges. But the people were all gone. Father Tierney had tried to follow them once to see where it was they went. He'd been forced to turn away because it had begun to feel like an intrusion. The Secondborn villagers came in solid little clumps of families, beautiful sets. Men with jet black hair like ancient Spanish mariners, women with a fair glacial beauty, small rings of delighted children with wide mouths and button noses. Each family had a small white cave of a house, and they would come out onto their porches with food, drink, welcome. But something about them seemed to suggest that Father Tierney should not stay too long. They were closed units, the Secondborn folk, and they never divulged why or where it was they went. A secret to every family and every family a secret.
This did not eat at Father Tierney as much as it could have, because he had a secret himself. He was patchwork with holes inside, even if the people of Secondborn never noticed it. No, what ate at the Father was that he remembered discussing just this, this business of Secondborn, with someone else.
He thought he hadn't always been alone here. In fact, he remembered having a friend.
Father Tierney had come into this strange country with a brother in arms, a companion. He knew this very clearly, because even if he couldn't remember what had come before Secondborn, he could very well remember every instance of his life here once it had begun. The bells and miracle garden and clammy reality of the church had flooded into the holes inside him and filled him up. And he could count back through those memories to the point when he'd first opened his eyes here and found a friend staring down at him, smiling broadly.
At the time, Father Tierney had been thinking of a parade. He knew this. He could remember saying, "What happened to the parade?" He did not know why he'd said it -- just that he had.
The reply had been swift, forceful. An order. "Don't think about the parade. Come on. I've got something to show you. Something to tell you, too."
Don't think about the parade. The moment you were told to ignore the possibility, the more you thought about it. But tthe more Father Tierney dared to think about the parade despite his friend's instructions, the more pieces of his memory seemed to sizzle and burn away. He lost where he came from. He lost his explanation for the patchwork scars, and he lost his first name, and he even lost the name of his friend and he lost almost everything, in fact, but the sense that they had been doing something very big.
He remembered his first sight of Secondborn, and he remembered how his friend had seemed to produce the entire town from the pocket of his coat. Grand. Excited. Like he'd known it was there. What an adventure, and what meaning, and what significance to it all! All this time, Tierney, and they'd been looking for a place like this. Not a grey anxious place, but cool white and blue and green. Nothing dark or evil. A secret majesty that was for them, all for them, that singled them out and invited them in.
Singled Father Tierney out.
The church had been put here for the Father, so that he could be a priest, like he'd always said he wanted to be. Wasn't that strange? To have such a vague and improbable dream, and to see it answered. When you searched for yourself, your true self, your best self, it wasn't supposed to be so easy. Was it? Perhaps it hadn't been easy. Father Tierney couldn't tell because he couldn't remember what had led him here. He only knew that he hadn't been alone at first. He could remember flashes of a smile and a companionable arm. He could remember real people, a little boy like him with a nervous face and a little boy like his friend: solid memories. So he knew he'd never been like these slippery, beautiful Secondborn people. But instead maybe a real person, the person Father Tierney had been before all the pieces of him had fallen apart and had to be put back together again.
Maybe that was the price. There had to be a price for miracles, the same way you had to have a collection jar at mass. But no one who had never looked for a miracle could understand that.
Of course, they could understand. They were not like the Secondborn people. They were not here out of duty. They were looking for a miracle, weren't they? Why else would real people come here, if not looking for miracles?
-
The Father's tale had a visible effect on Gansey, if you knew where to look. The fingertips on the lower lip again, the shifting of the broad square shoulders. Gansey's hopes seemed to have been confirmed and it made him quietly delighted, pensive. Strangely honored to have someone finally see him for himself.
"Miracles," he considered, still passing his fingers over his lower lip. He looked more like a king than ever. He elevated the room several degrees. He said, "Have you heard of the legends of sleeping kings? We're looking for one. Glendower. Have you heard of him?"
"No," Father Tierney said. He traced a scar absentmindedly with a finger as he thought it over. "I've forgotten everything. It could be that I did know. If you want to find a king, I think this would be a decent place to look. The people here can be very kingly."
Adam could see Gansey file this away gently in his mind. "Glendower," Gansey continued, "Is underground. Do you know anything about people trapped underground, sleepers underground?"
"No, but you could always ask the town," the Father suggested.
Gansey considered this. He shot Adam a look as though to ask: was this sound? Adam was still -- still, months after first meeting Gansey -- flattered and ashamed by this. The way Gansey looked to him.
"We don't know what this village will be like," Adam said noncommittally, trying to see every angle. "Why would they know anything about Glendower?"
"Why would they know?" Gansey echoed. "Why wouldn't they know? We lose nothing by asking."
Lose nothing. A Ganseyism if Adam had ever heard one. Gansey lived with so many lose nothing situations. Adam lived with precious few. It was hard for Adam to really believe in them. It was suddenly exhausting to feel upset about it. The minor arcana had begun to burn again in his pocket, Cabeswater renewing its attempts to contact him. The forest was jittery with nerves and with fear of the unknown, and it wanted Adam to be jittery as well.
Adam did not want to be. They were here. It was done. Gansey was on the trail of his king, but he was not alone. That would have to be enough.
"Remember that he says they're not human," Adam pointed out, pointing at the priest.
Gansey said, politely, "And you're so cautious with inhuman things?"
As if to punctuate this, the minor arcana began to gently thrum. Cabeswater would not let him be. When Adam took the cards and out and turned them over they were washed of color and pattern, coated in strange writing Adam couldn't immediately identify.
Gansey raised an eyebrow at it, a magnificent and puzzled gesture.
Adam shook his head. He couldn't explain it. And it was more than he wanted to reveal in front of the Father.
"Let's go, then," he said simply. |
Edward didn’t move when the reaction came to an end and the by-now familiar sight of the academy’s auditorium appeared again. He sat there, crouched and still next to Roy, his golden eyes wide with shock and an unfathomable sadness. Roy had never met the Elrics’ mother, nor had he seen the face in the Gate like Ed had just moments ago. But he knew Edward, and he knew that his mother’s face was burned into his mind like a damning curse and a love spell at the same time. If Ed thought the person taking control of the Gate was wearing his mother’s face, then . . .
Roy was sure that was exactly what Ed had seen.
Children were crying and hugging each other all around them, looking relatively unharmed, but Roy only had eyes for the distraught young man kneeling next to him. He slowly reached over to place a hand on one shaking shoulder. “Ed . . .”
“Chief!”
With a soft sigh, Roy turned away and looked around to find the rest of his team running towards them. Riza looked undeniably frantic, while the rest of them simply seemed relieved to see them again. They were, Mustang observed with mild dread, notably missing the presence of the supposed third alchemist.
“What the hell happened?” Havoc demanded, whistling lowly at the cracked remnants of the auditorium floor. “One minute we thought everything was going fine, and the next thing we knew there was an eerie light and the whole pack of kids went missing.”
“It seems,” Mustang answered softly, “our alchemists acquired some confidential blueprints and used them to attempt to create a Philosopher’s stone. Luckily for us, that attempt did not work.” He glanced briefly to Edward. “Luckier still is the fact that Fullmetal was there. If not for him, we may not have made it back in one piece.” Even quieter, he added, “I am afraid he may have suffered some slight trauma from the experience, however.”
Riza’s gaze tightened slightly at that. Roy knew more than anyone else how much she actually cared about Ed and Alphonse. Ever since she had come with him to view the effects of Edward’s failed attempt to resurrect his mother, she’d shown a motherly side no one knew she even had when it came to them. Not that it showed in her voice, per say. “Sir,” she said, clipped and professional, “we can clean up here and retrieve witness statements. I insist that you and Major Elric step out through the back and take a moment to pull yourselves together. You could use a moment’s rest after your experience.”
“Understood, Lieutenant.” Roy offered her a grateful smile—damn, how he would really need to get some paperwork done—and pressed his hand to Ed’s arm. “Let’s get out of here for a moment,” he suggested. “The kids will be fine with the rest of the team.”
Surprisingly, Edward drew in a heavy breath and nodded. The gaze that met Roy’s was shaky and unsure, and Roy wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to dig up the reasoning behind that expression. But that was fine with him. He knew what Ed was like, knew he hated to talk about everything that he thought was wrong with him. What Roy really wanted was to lend an open ear—and an equally open heart—if his subordinate ever decided he wanted to let him in. He would never force him into spilling his deepest secrets or concerns . . . just as Fullmetal had always done for him.
He pushed open the back door to lead Ed outside, only to be bombarded by a journalist and a photographer loitering by the exit. Ed immediately cringed, ducking back somewhat behind Mustang to awkwardly hide his missing right arm.
“You have no authorization to be here,” Mustang barked with all the superiority of a general to back himself up. It wasn’t often anymore he got to use this voice. It felt rather nice. “If you remain in this area, I will have the local police relocate you to the nearest jail cell. And if I find so much as one illegally taken photograph hit the newspaper, rest assured that I will hunt the two of you down and refer you to military custody. Or I could just let you spend the day with the Fullmetal Alchemist here. Wouldn’t that be pleasant?”
He could feel Ed sullenly glowering behind him at the two men, and without further ado the two of them took off rather quickly.
“Ugh,” Ed announced faintly, “Why are you always so fucking needy?”
“Unless you’d rather the East City Herald to announce our unlawful relationship simply because we were seen leaving the site together . . .”
He shook his head and swallowed, staring down at his feet. No, Roy thought, that was the absolute last thing they needed right now. “Sit down,” he pushed softly, gesturing to a nearby bench that was likely used for the janitor’s smoke breaks. It certainly smelled of Havoc’s favorite brand.
“I’m not crazy, right?” the blonde man asked suddenly, turning to stare at Roy in some sort of crazed desperation. “That it looked just like her?”
“Ed.” Perhaps he needed a seat for this too. “From where I was, I didn’t get a good look at her. I never truly met your mother, in any case; all I had were old photographs on the Rockbell’s wall. So even if I had seen her . . . it probably wouldn’t have clicked.”
“Well, fuck,” he whispered, running his hand through his mussed golden hair. “It can’t . . . it can’t be her, why would she . . .”
“We have noticed that they—she—seems to be targeting you specifically right now. So perhaps she took on that form specifically to rile you up, to make you falter? What if it isn’t really her, but just her face, her body? Who does that remind you of?”
“Envy is gone,” Ed answered immediately, “and he wouldn’t be smart enough to do this. So . . . maybe it really is Mom.” Ed finally sat down. “She’s gonna hate me by now. Trying to bring her back to life. Dragging Alphonse into it. And then going and leaving him . . . “
“You loved your mother, Ed.” Roy didn’t know exactly what to say, to be honest. But he was damn well going to try anyway. He hated to see Edward like this . . . but it was a part of him he tucked away where no one could see. No one except what was left of his family. And now, perhaps, Roy. “You made stupid mistakes, Ed, but first of all, Alphonse was not one of those. He willingly put his hands down beside yours. And he knows that you left him trying to bring him back to a bodily form, left him without knowing you were leaving him. You were eleven years old and without a mother or a father. Anyone can see a child’s reasoning behind just wanting their mother back. Your mother included, for sure. No one wants to see you repeat those mistakes. But Alphonse certainly doesn’t blame you for them. He adores you.”
“I’m the only family he has left, he’s sort of stuck with his shitty older brother.”
“Alphonse is traveling all the way from Xing, all the way across the desert to see you again. I have a feeling he wouldn’t be doing just that if he thought you were a shitty brother. Don’t sell yourself short. He loves you, Ed. So even if that is your mother. Even if she no longer loves you, remember that Alphonse is always going to have your back. And so will I.”
“Yeah, but you’re an idiot.”
“On whose declaration?”
“Mine. Edward Elric stamped and approved. I should release a patent. Come see idiot the Roy Mustang bark orders at wild photographers.”
This was a relief. This meant Ed wasn’t so upset he couldn’t function like his normal smart-ass self which was exactly what Roy wanted him to be like. He wanted to see Ed open up more. But he wanted to see Ed do it his own way, in a comfortable way.
“You,” he said gently, “are amazing. You’ve fought through your past and you are working to gain yourself a new future. You defied all odds and got your brother’s body back for him, regardless of the cost to you.”
“Never once.”
Roy blinked. “What?”
“I never once regretted being stuck with the Gate. It was horrible, it was hell, but I never regretted it because I knew that somewhere out there, Al had a body again. God, you have no idea how much of a relief it was to know that the mistake I made was finally rectified in one way. I didn’t give a single shit fuck about how I was going to end up. I never thought I’d be able to come back. When I did I thought the Gate was just fucking with me, you know? It wanted to play, to try to mess me up inside some other way. But it actually needs my help. And I can see why. Truth might be the worst part of alchemy, but without the Gate we wouldn’t even have alchemy. We need it. And this person is inside it, controlling it, my mom or not. I have to stop them or Amestris is screwed more heavily than Father ever could screw it over.”
“And that,” Roy commented, “is what I admire so much about you. No matter how bad the situation is, you always manage to find the strength within you to get to the end.”
“I have things to protect,” Ed answered almost defensively.
“Things such as?”
“My family. Alphonse. My friends.” He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “You.”
“Funny . . . because all I seem to want to do anymore is to protect you.”
“Stop being cheesy, old man,” he groaned, nudging Roy gently in the ribs. “I can protect myself just fine, thank you. I’m even down a fucking limb and I’m still doing better than your old creaky bones.”
“Just wait another five years.”
“Geez, no thanks.”
“Are you alright?”
“Wha—I mean, yeah, I just told you, even if I have to take out whatever. . . whatever it is that has mom’s face, then I’m willing to do it.”
“That isn’t what I mean, Ed. You were stuck inside the Gate for three years; that was all you knew. When you came back you almost immediately had a panic attack under my desk.” Mustang shifted a little on the bench, turning to the side to fully face the younger man. “Did being in the Gate upset you in any way? That’s all I mean. They have a term for it, it’s called—“
“Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, yeah I know. I know you had it after Ishval. That’s why I asked you about that shit.” Ed shook his head, took a deep breath. “I’m okay, honestly, Roy. The Gate we saw just now isn’t the same place I was trapped in. All those dead bodies . . . all those discarded souls and the fact that Truth was nowhere in sight. That wasn’t what I experienced.” Golden eyes rolled back in some semblance of a mocking toss. “I would’ve preferred the dead bodies any day. At least then I’d know I wasn’t alone all the time, you know? At least I’d know the life I had before getting stuck there was real.”
He understood now. He understood why Ed had changed the way he did and why . . . why he needed to help let him know that he was certainly really back. Ed needed more than romance, more than just Roy courting him. He needed to be rooted here again. He thought Ed might still think he was in the Gate half the time, or that he would have to go back when this was all over. But he . . . he was going to make sure this golden-haired man never had to go back to that hellhole ever again. Even if that meant he had to go himself, even if he had to give his own life to secure Edward’s.
He didn’t say anything, of course. About that. “Trust me, Major Elric,” he announced smartly, “Immortal Homonculi and power-hungry Fuhrers are about as real as you can get these days.”
“You forgot to add soul-bound armor and finger-snapping Colonels,” Ed added with the first instance of a grin since they’d returned just now.
“Ah, my bad. Only, he’s been replaced by sometimes-snapping-sometimes-clapping Brigadier Generals.”
“Somehow I like that guy better than the Bastard Colonel.”
“Somehow,” Roy replied softly, “so do I.”
==
“So now,” the sometimes-snapping-sometimes-clapping man groaned loudly as he collapsed onto his couch, kicking off his military boots without so much as a care in the world as to how messy his study got, “we have to figure out how those alchemists wound up with Marcoh’s array blueprints on top of figuring out who it is we’re trying to stop exactly. On top of that, we have to deal with multiple attacks on your life and desperately need to find out if Alphonse is safe with that bodyguard from Xing. Why does it feel like we just keep piling on more questions instead of solving some of the ones we already have?”
“Don’t forget we also have to figure out exactly who attacked me in the first place,” Ed pointed out, sagging down in the nearby armchair, equally exhausted.
There’d been a short discussion once the immediate details of the case were wrapped up over what to do, but ultimately, the team decided to go ahead and catch the fastest train home. It meant they’d go even longer without resting, but the promise of their own comfortable and familiar beds at the end of a long train ride was more than worth it. Granted, Roy thought the couch in the study wasn’t so bad looking either. His behind felt like a sack of potatoes after sitting on the rock that was the train seating. He could never for the life of him figure out how Ed had always managed to doze off on them.
“We did in fact ascertain that it was not Shou Tucker, am I correct?”
“Yeah, it wasn’t that fucker. But can we talk about it later? I don’t know about you, but my head feels like Hawkeye shot a fuckin’ round at me.”
Roy managed a smirk. “I’m quite sure you wouldn’t have enough of a head left to say that had she actually shot a round at you.”
“Gee, Mustang, thanks for the mental image.”
Roy stood, wobbled his way over to the couch and held out his hand. “Come on,” he said. “I’m not letting you sleep down here by yourself, even if it is eight in the morning. You can sleep in the guest room if you’d like.” He hesitated and then added, “or you can sleep in my room.”
“Well shit,” Ed said, “you aren’t coming on thick at all, are you?”
“I’d like to think I am far more gentlemanly than ‘coming on’ to someone.” Roy raised an eyebrow.
“Well, fuck gentlemanly.” Ed offered Roy a casual grin and reached up to take the offered hand, and Roy’s heart soared to the sky. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to cope with this sort of reaction if Ed stuck around. He was amazing, though. So outside of Roy’s own comfort zone and he probably really needed that. He needed something to break away from the monotone life he’d fallen into after the Promised Day.
“If you’d like to take a shower,” Roy said as he led Ed upstairs to the bedroom, “feel free to use mine.”
Ed grumbled under his breath as his metal foot dragged a little and kicked the next step. “No offense, Mustang, but I think right now I’d rather sleep. Hope you don’t mind dead people smell.”
“No offense taken,” Roy chuckled lightly. “I highly doubt I smell much better than you. We can reestablish how much we need a bath after we take a nap.” He smirked. “Besides, if it makes me sick, that’s one less day I have to face the end of Riza’s gun when she finds out how much paperwork I have left to do.”
In spite of not wanting to shower, however, Roy decidedly did not want to go to sleep wearing his uniform. It would have been a decision he certainly would have regretted come when he woke up. So he reluctantly let go of Ed’s hand and slipped into the bathroom to change into a comfortable pair of sweats. By the time he returned, Ed had already burrowed himself into one half of the bed; the only things visible were the crown of his head and his half-closed eyes, following Roy throughout the room. Roy seriously doubted Ed had changed his clothes—not that he had many to switch between to begin with—and he did inwardly cringe as he thought of all the hidden grime he was probably concealing and rubbing all over his pricey covers . . .
But hell, it was Ed. He didn’t even care.
He slipped into the free half of the bed, sighing comfortably as he sank into the mattress. The train ride home was definitely worth it at that moment. Worth it because Roy was in his favorite environment with one of his favorite . . . no, Ed was his favorite person too. There was nowhere else he’d rather be right now.
Roy shifted a little closer, not quite touching Ed but close enough to smell the automail oil and sweat. It should have made him cringe. It made him want to bury his face into that mussy blonde hair and never leave the bed again.
He thought Ed had already fallen asleep and had very nearly done just that when the head underneath the pool of messy hair spoke, so quietly Roy almost missed it. Hell, he hadn’t known Ed could be that quiet in the first place.
“Hey, Mustang.”
“Yes?”
Ed popped his head out from under the covers once more, blinking sluggishly at Roy with a furrowed brow. “I must be a fuckin’ idiot,” he announced, “because I know what the results are to bringing someone back to life, whether it works or not. But did you ever . . . did you think after this whole shitty thing started ‘I really wish this person would be brought back’?” Ed shifted. “Cause I did. When I heard Nina was back I . . . God, I didn’t even waste any time thinking ‘maybe mom can come back too’. Haven’t I . . . I’ve done fucking enough wishing. You’d think I’d learned my lesson when I almost lost Al. But I still couldn’t help . . .”
Roy sighed softly. He should have known this conversation would have come up at some point or another. After all, it was Ed. He was the product of what not to do when a loved one died. And Roy . . . well, he was too, even if his mistakes weren’t visible like Ed’s were. Gingerly he reached over, draping one arm comfortably against Ed’s form. The body beneath stiffened just for a moment before eventually sagging back into the bed’s comfortable mattress.
“The first thing I thought when we figured out what was going on,” he murmured softly, “was that now there was a chance for Maes to come back. Now there was a chance for him to be returned to his family, and everything would be okay again. I thought, ‘maybe now Hughes can get back the life that was taken from him so wrongly’. And if you recall, it was him that Pride attempted to coerce me into reviving on the Promised Day.”
“You said he forced you to in the end,” Ed mumbled under the covers.
“He did. But I can’t deny thinking while he did, ‘what if this works?’ It didn’t, of course.” Roy slid closer, lips now close to the face-shaped lump under his blankets. “But this time, I did have something that kept me from wishing on Maes too hard. Something before we found out what the person inside the Gate is doing to them.”
“What w’s that?”
“You, Ed. For three years, I have seriously contemplated what I could possibly do to get you back. It was only the promise your brother made me make that stayed my hand. That I would never try to retrieve you from the Gate. But we all thought you sacrificed yourself for him, not just your alchemy. Had any of us known that, we would have fought tooth and nail to get you out of there.”
The blanket eventually lowered as Ed snorted. “Pretty sure that’s how Truth wanted to make it look. You never would’ve known.”
“You’re right. I never would have known.” Roy raised his body, propping himself up on an elbow, and looked down at the blonde with an affection he was afraid the other was going to make fun of as was his way. Surprisingly, he didn’t. “You were a missed opportunity for me, however. I didn’t realize until you were gone just what I had lost. An invaluable team member, someone I could trust with everything I had, and someone I cared deeply about. I spent three years ‘moping’ as Riza put it, with no purpose. And then you quite literally fell out of the sky.”
“Technically,” Ed stressed, “I just sort of materialized right there due to a—“
“Ed.”
“What.”
“You fell from the sky.”
“The fuck are you so damn cheesy for?”
“Let me have my moment, okay?”
The look in Ed’s eyes made it clear he thought the admission was probably the sappiest thing he’d ever had the pleasure of hearing, but Roy studiously ignored the look in preference for continuing. “So,” he answered, emphasizing his words now, “the point is, I can wish Maes would be brought back, but what would he have to do? What would his cost be for coming back to life? Killing his best friend? Killing his wife and child? The moment he came back, we’d have to lock him up to keep him from hurting the ones he loves. Because he would be entirely conscious the entire time. I miss him. But I would never wish that on him.”
Ed was silent for a little while, his gaze locked on the dresser beyond the bed. “Guess I never thought about it that way,” he eventually admitted, turning those tired golden eyes back to Roy. “Even if Mom came back she might have to kill me or Al. And then she’d know . . . she’d know what we did to her, probably. And maybe she’d want to kill us.”
“You have Alphonse,” Roy replied, “and really, that’s all you need. You’ve taken care of him for as long as you can remember, and he’s done the same for you. It’s been long enough, Ed, that you can put your mother to rest for good. Even if the woman in the Gate is your mother, she isn’t the mother you knew in loved. So really, it isn’t even the same thing.” Roy reached out, gently sliding his fingers through Ed’s hair. “I’m just happy you were able to return. You may have lost your arm again, and you may think of yourself as not whole, but this is you. You aren’t being controlled, you aren’t being manipulated or forced to do things beyond your will. You’re simply Edward Elric. So perhaps you should remember that. And remember that you have practically an entire army to back you up this time.”
“Are you calling your team an army again?”
“Are they not?”
“I mean it’s mostly Hawkeye, she’s a fucking one-woman army or some shit.”
“Not that you aren’t two armies put together.”
“I’m waitin’ for a compulsory short joke.”
“I wasn’t even planning on it.”
“Bullshit.”
“It’s just that no one can see you coming.”
“I’m gonna fucking kill you in your sleep.”
==
Roy got a solid eight hours of sleep before the downstairs phone rang and disturbed whatever sort of heavenly realm he had ascended to. He rolled out of bed with a groan and a curse. Ed didn’t so much as stir, and a bleary look up at the bed showed he’d relaxed quite a bit over the course of the night; he was practically invading the entire bed at that point which was . . . quite a feat considering how small he was compared to the mattress. The phone ringing didn’t cause him to so much as stir, and Roy mumbled another soft curse under his breath as he scrambled downstairs for the phone. He jerked it up to his ear and prayed to all the gods that be that it was not Riza.
For once, it wasn’t.
“Mustang Residence,” he groaned into the phone, exhaustion clear in the raspy tone his voice had taken.
A chirpy, definitely-not-asleep voice answered him. “Brigadier General Mustang! It’s Alphonse, I figured I’d call you again. I figured that was where Ed might be hiding himself away.”
It took Roy a minute to process that Alphonse was actually calling them. And another minute to process that Alphonse was supposed to be in the desert and not able to call the house while in the middle of nowhere. “Aren’t you traveling?” he asked several seconds later, feeling there was probably some silly explanation to all this.
Turned out, there was.
“We made it to the Xerxes ruins,” Alphonse confirmed. “I brought some materials along with me in the off chance I needed to contact you. I was able to transmute some wires and a couple other things to create a phone line directly to your house.”
Roy blinked. “Oh. Is that all?”
“Did I wake you up, Sir?”
“We . . . had a rough couple of days, I’m afraid. Your brother is still sleeping. Knowing Ed, he could be a few more hours at least.”
“That’s okay, I wanted to talk to you for a minute anyway. Did you . . . want to make some coffee or something first? I know how you and Ed are with needing to wake up.”
“Is this thing very serious?”
“Ah . . . potentially.”
“I’ll be just a minute, then.”
More like five, for he found himself brewing enough coffee to drain one so fast his tongue would be burnt for days. Totally worth it, though, because it was just what he needed to wake himself up. Well, and figure out how badly he smelled. He decided not to think on that until he was done talking to Alphonse at the very least. He settled back down on his couch with a second cup of coffee and picked the phone up again. “Alright, go ahead.”
“We’ve noticed something a little . . . off about old man Fu,” Alphonse admitted. “And May and I were wondering if maybe you knew anything about it.”
“I dare say I do,” Roy sighed. They must have been attacked or at least noticed some unusual movements. “What happened?”
“It’s not that he’s done much, exactly,” the younger Elric brother explained. “He said that sometimes he feels like he isn’t fully in control of his body. That once in a while he will do something he didn’t think about doing, or his arm will move without his control. I thought maybe . . . something was overriding his basic movements. Something like that. Has Brother ever had that problem?”
“Not Ed,” Roy affirmed, “but we’ve already confirmed that he was never dead in the first place, and the Gate merely sent him back to Amestris. We think this specifically is the reason he was sent back. There is someone inside the Gate who is bringing all of these people back to life. We think it has something to do with Ed, or maybe you too. We received further confirmation of that yesterday. But you are correct. The one controlling the Gate has the advantage of controlling anyone they bring back to life. You could very well be in danger, even if it’s clear he doesn’t intend to hurt you himself.”
“I think he would be willing to let us keep him restrained, if that’s the case. I know he would hate for one of our deaths to be on his shoulders, even if it wasn’t his intention.”
“I think that is for the best,” Roy agreed. “They revived Shou Tucker and he managed to find Ed. Thankfully he is no longer an issue but the concern is very real. If it weren’t for your brother’s quick thinking, Tucker may have gotten him.”
He heard Alphonse’s sharp intake of breath, but he wasn’t going to scare him any further. It was serious enough that they knew what might be coming for them. “What about Nina?”
“Nina is fine. Gracia is looking after her. As far as I know, she was only brought back to life to give Ed hope at first. But if she does try something, Gracia is certainly ready and has been warned.”
“How is Ed doing?”
“Overall, he’s fine.” Roy glanced over at the stairs where the person in question had just emerged, blinking owlishly into the study looking like he’d just walked into a wall. Perhaps he had. “Coffee in the kitchen,” he mouthed with his hand over the phone, and Ed took off like a rocket. He pulled his hand back down. “He just woke up, so I’ll let you ask him about it after he’s had his daily dose of coffee. He could probably use the talk. If you have the time, that is.”
“I always have time to talk to him, you know that.”
“That I do. But perhaps he doesn’t. I suggest you remind him.”
“Who’re you talkin’ to?” Ed asked from the doorway, cradling a cup of coffee in his hand.
Roy turned around and held out the receiver. “Why don’t you find out?”
“I gotta put down my coffee.”
“I think it’s worth it.”
“Well shit.”
And certainly, the way Edward’s face lit up as soon as he found out who it was made Roy think it most certainly was worth it. |
One of the hardest things Newt had ever had to do in his life was not molest Tommy in his bed. Thomas had stripped down and changed into a pair of pyjama pants and Newt had gotten into his usual sleepwear. Newt, used to sharing with Minho had jumped in bed right away and gotten comfortable, Thomas had hesitated.
He slipped into bed easily enough after a moment though and Newt remembered that this wasn’t the first time they’d shared a bed. At Wicked, after they’d left the party, Newt had fallen asleep beside Thomas. It had been easy then, after Newt had gotten over the awkwardness of ‘you just saw me naked and having sex with my best friend’.
Thomas settled into the blankets and Newt reached out a hand, lacing his fingers through the brunette’s and letting them rest between the pair. It would be so easy to reach over and kiss Thomas, to place his hands on Tommy’s bare chest. Newt wanted more than anything to explore the half-naked boy mere inches away. But he wouldn’t. If Newt started something now while Thomas was feeling vulnerable, how could he forgive himself?
So instead Newt pushed all of that down for the moment. He could create mad fantasies later using this as inspiration. For now Thomas was feeling upset, and Newt’s job was to comfort. Newt thought back to what Minho had said as well. ‘Be nice to the kid’. Not ‘get in there’, not ‘blow him for me and tell me later’. If Minho was thinking about Tommy’s wellbeing over sex then Newt definitely would be.
Thomas seemed to fall asleep quickly, which helped Newt’s resolve. Thomas looked adorable now, resting peacefully. Newt placed a hand on Thomas’ arm between them and he traced soft patterns on the forearm. Newt fell asleep to the lull of the repeating action.
Newt could feel a touch on his skin, soft and fluttering. Thomas was tracing patterns on his arm, where it lay between them, he could feel the slide of fingers, first up to his shoulder, then circling round to zigzag down to his elbow, lastly tickling their way to his wrist.
Newt smiled and hummed softly, the touch felt nice. In response Thomas repeated his pattern, pressing slightly firmer now that he’d had a response. Thomas had a smile on his face too, one that Newt loved, paired with a slight blush at being caught. Newt chuckled softly, he’d been afraid Thomas would learn to control his blush, learn to stop it, he liked seeing it.
Thomas blushed deeper at the sound of Newt laughing and wiggled closer in defiance, his fingers moving to Newt’s ribs, poking at him. It was weird, Thomas wasn’t quite acting like himself, but it was nice, perhaps it was just initiation confidence.
“What confidence?” Thomas asked.
“Initiation,” Newt whispered back, “You always have it when you act first.”
Thomas nodded, quirking his head as he considered the idea. “It’s less nerve wrecking then wondering what you might do next.”
Newt felt his brow furrow at that but Thomas pulled him forwards to kiss the scrunched skin between his eyes and it smoothed immediately. Newt wiggled softly, barely feeling the movement as he crept into the space between Thomas’s arms.
“Go ahead then, you pick what happens.”
Thomas bent his head and drew Newt into a deep kiss. He hummed into it and tried to stay as still as he could where his lips weren’t meeting Tommy’s. Thomas’s hands moved from Newt’s ribs, one flattening to feel Newt’s chest, the other coming to rest on his hip.
Newt sighed into the kiss. There was a feeling in his back but he ignored it. He didn’t want to break away from his Tommy, who was kissing him so sweetly. Newt felt Tommy’s fingers dip under his pant-line cautiously and moved his body upwards, forcing the wandering fingers further while simultaneously bringing his chest flush with Tommy’s.
The pressure at his back eased, then came back, more persistent. Newt swore that whatever it was would get thrown out of the room immediately and burnt shortly after, once he was done with Tommy. He reached his hand behind him to push it away but it refused to budge. He pushed again but instead felt it push closer, almost painfully so.
Newt woke up, as he did many mornings, to the warmth of another body beside him. He felt an arm around his waist and a knee, firmly planted in the small of his back.
Newt rose his head groggily and looked next to him. Tommy. He had to admit it was a little disappointing, to have woken up. He groaned softly got out of bed softly, untangling himself and making his way to the bathroom.
Newt reconsidered Tommy’s predicament as he went about his morning routine. It wasn’t the best situation and Newt hated himself for putting Tommy in it. He was, of course, grateful for the length Thomas would go to in order to protect Newt’s image but he wondered if it was too much. They’d known Teresa would react badly, was Newt selfish for wanting to keep Thomas, was Thomas going to realise he’d made a mistake and go back to the sister he had loved for years.
Newt shook his head. This wasn’t a ‘her or me’ situation but if it had been Thomas had already chosen Newt. He kicked himself for thinking that way. He had to reconcile this, somehow. The faster the better.
For now though he would make them both breakfast. He didn’t have work at Glade today so he had plenty of time to think about it. Newt didn’t have as much in his fridge as he would have liked if he’d known Tommy was going to stay over so breakfast was just going to be boring. He set the kettle to boil and pulled out all his cereals, placing them on the counter with the milk and a bowl for Thomas.
Thomas rose shortly after Newt had finished fixing himself a morning cuppa. He breathed in the warm steam coming off the top as Tommy awkwardly walked towards the counter and sat at the kitchen bar. Tommy rubbed his hands over his pants nervously and Newt had to smile. Tommy quirked his head questioningly at the pleased look Newt sent him but returned the smile til they were both grinning like idiots.
“Why are we smiling?” Thomas finally asked.
“Because you haven’t remembered what bloody trouble you’re in yet and it’s nice.” Newt said.
Thomas’s forehead crinkled in confusion and then his head fell forwards heavily, landing with a thud on the hand he placed on the counter.
“Why?” Thomas groaned.
Newt briefly wondered why he’d broken their moment too. “Because, I can’t let you get too comfy. You’ve gotta talk to her, Tommy.”
Thomas gave him a sceptical look, “Talk to her?”
“Yes,” Newt nodded, “You have to call her and try to fix this. Hopefully overnight she’s cooled down.”
“It’s obvious you’ve never known T when she’s angry before.” Thomas grumbled.
“She wasn’t angry every time I’ve seen her? Those death glares are normal?” Newt joked.
“She doesn’t give you death glares.”
“Better change that tense to ‘didn’t’. I doubt I’ll get off so easy now.” Newt took a slow sip of his drink, letting it warm him thoroughly.
Thomas didn’t bother to fight that one.
“Look, Tommy,” Newt started, “I’m not saying I want you gone. You are welcome to stay here as long as you need. But honestly the whole bloody ‘not molesting’ you thing is just gonna get harder to keep up over time.”
That brought half a smile back to Thomas’ face. “Your rule, not mine.”
Newt chuckled at Tommy’s response. “I’ll take that into consideration. After you call your sister. Who knows, maybe it’ll go great and we can have celebration sex. Or it’ll go awfully and we can have cheer-up sex.”
Thomas chocked on the air for a moment, face turning red. His voice barely made it to Newt’s ears as he croaked a “Win-win.”
“Exactly,” Newt smiled, “Now, eat some cereal and call that mental sister of yours. I’m going to shower. Get nice and clean for later.”
Newt gave Tommy his most promising wink, Thomas’ blush making its way further down his neck. He took another sip of his fresh cuppa and turned to walk towards his bathroom, it was too good to let get cold, he’d make a space for it on the shelf in his shower.
He tried to take a little longer in the shower than he normally would, give Thomas some time to call Teresa without him hovering.
~
Thomas was honestly a little curious as to what Teresa would say when he called. Mostly terrified but a little curious. It was that small fragment of curiosity that made him actually pick up his phone after he’d wolfed down some breakfast instead of going against Newt’s advice.
He could tell Newt was doing his best to make sure Thomas fixed this argument he was having with Teresa. It didn’t make sense to Thomas, that Newt was so fine with what Teresa had said. Yes, he’d heard some bad things before but this was Tommy’s sister, and he wasn’t freaked out at all.
Thomas was certainly annoyed enough at Teresa. But after spending the night away, with Minho and then with Newt, he felt like most of the anger from the night before had gone. That didn’t mean Teresa’s would be. He dialled the number with a hint of trepidation. This was going to end badly.
After the third ring Teresa picked up, “Thomas.”
“Hey, T.” Thomas tried, making his tone as casual as he could.
“Well?” Teresa asked after a moment of silence.
“What?” Thomas replied cocking his head.
“You called me.”
“Yes,” Thomas agreed, feeling his heart make its way to his throat, “Yea, I did. T, I called to say I’m sorry about last night.”
“You’re sorry?” Teresa’s voice sounded doubtful.
“Yea, I shouldn’t have stormed out like that.” Thomas tried, “I get that it’s a lot to take in.”
“A lot to-” Teresa sounded annoyed. “Thomas this is more than ‘a lot to take in’.”
“I get it, T, I said I’m sorry.” Thomas tried again.
The line was quiet for a moment, Thomas worried Teresa had put the phone down and walked off. It wouldn’t be the first time.
“You’re coming home then?” Teresa finally said.
Thomas looked around Newt’s flat. Newt’s warm, safe, accepting and not Teresa filled flat. He wanted more than anything to stay there, away from his sister’s judgement. He couldn’t though. He’d already put Newt out and he knew that making up with his sister would make Newt happy.
“I- uh. Yea, I’m coming home.”
“Good.” Teresa sounded relieved, “Should I come round Brenda’s and pick you up?”
Thomas felt his heart skip a beat. Teresa thought he was at Brenda’s. “I’m not at Brenda’s. I’ll get home myself.”
“You’re not at Brenda’s?” Teresa asked, and Thomas could hear the suspicion. “Where are you?”
“I said I’ll get myself home, T.” He tried, ignoring her question.
“Oh my God,” Teresa said softly, “You’re at his? Aren’t you?”
Thomas cringed in anticipation, “I’m at Newt’s.”
There was silence on the line again. This time Thomas didn’t think she’d walked away, he could feel her fury building on the other end.
“Brenda said I couldn’t come over and, well, I’m dating Newt so it was the best choice…” Thomas tried, speaking through the silence.
“You’re what?” Teresa asked, scarily quiet.
“At Newt’s, I stayed here last night.” Thomas tried again.
“No, the other thing.” Teresa said, “You’re dating him? Still? I thought you said you were sorry?”
“That I stormed out,” Thomas could hear his voice rise and could feel Aris look at him pleadingly despite the boy’s absence. “I’m not sorry I’m dating Newt.”
He could hear Teresa take a breath on the other end and then, in a dangerous tone she started, “I’m not going to yell at you, obviously that doesn’t work, but I can’t stand by and let you do this. Don’t bother coming home, not until you break up with that thing.”
The call cut out as, Thomas presumed, Teresa hung up. That could have gone better. Looked like he’d be having the ‘cheer-up’ sex. |
One.
Steve finds the basketball in the fourth floor gym. He'd never been particularly good at basketball--as a kid, stickball was the only game he'd been able to manage, because sewer to sewer was about as far as he could run without wheezing--but it's pouring out and he's bored. Bruce and Tony are cooped up in the lab, Natasha is off being dangerous somewhere, and Pepper is working, so he'll have to entertain himself.
Steve bounces the ball and then tosses it at the basket. It circles the rim and falls through.
"It does not seem a very challenging game."
Steve turns to find Thor hovering in the doorway. "There are usually people defending the basket," he says, brushing his hair off his forehead. "Typically, five of them. But we can play one on one."
"You will explain the rules?"
"Put the ball in the basket."
"Yes, I had figured that one out," Thor says wryly.
Steve looks up and grins. Sometimes he forgets that Thor isn't just a giant Labrador puppy of a man, and that just because he doesn't know a lot about things like basketball doesn't mean he's stupid. Steve should know better; he hates it when the others treat him that way because of some future thing he hasn't gotten the hang of yet.
"Okay," he says. "If you make a basket from inside this line," he taps the three-point line with his toe, "it's one point. If you make it from beyond that line, it's two. Whoever reaches twenty-one points first, wins, but you have to win by two points." The rules aren't exactly what they were when he was a kid, but since he's been back, he's played in a couple of pickup games in the park near his apartment, and it's not like Thor's going to be a stickler about it if he gets something wrong. "You can use your hands to try to steal the ball and to block it but you can't sweep it out of the basket--that's called goaltending and is a foul." Thor cocks his head curiously, but thankfully, no cock jokes are forthcoming, so Steve continues. "Since there are no refs here, we'll call our own fouls. After you score, I get the ball, and vice versa. Once you get it, you have to take the ball out to half-court before you can try to score."
"It seems simple enough. Let us play."
Steve bounces the ball once and then, because he's a good guy, he tosses it to Thor, who barrels over him to the basket and sinks it.
It's been a while since anyone took a run at Steve like that who wasn't trying to kill him, and even longer since someone did who could actually knock him over. He hits the hardwood floor and winces. "Okay, big guy, that's a charging foul. You're technically not supposed make contact."
Thor grunts and tosses him the ball. "Let us begin again."
Thor picks up the game pretty quickly, and it's a lot of fun to play against someone he doesn't have to hold back against. Steve's pretty aware of his own strength, and he's good at harnessing it, but sometimes it's nice to be able to just throw an elbow without worrying about breaking somebody's ribs.
Clint, Darcy, and Jane show up when the score is fourteen-twelve in Thor's favor. They're eating red vines and cheering for Thor.
"Clint's got winner," Darcy says.
"No, no, that's okay," Clint says when Steve goes skidding across the floor after Thor drives to the net. "I don't need any more broken bones."
"We will go gentle on you," Thor says. "Since you are so tiny."
Clint looks like he wants to argue, but Steve distracts Thor and Darcy distracts Clint.
It turns out Thor is a trash-talker, though Steve only understands about half the references he makes. But he doesn't have to know what a bilgesnipe is to get it when Thor says, "Your mother lies with bilgesnipe."
"Ooh, Cap, you gonna let him get away with that?" Clint calls.
Steve elbows Thor in the ribs, steals the ball, and goes in for the layup. "I guess they play the dozens even in Asgard," he says, laughing and tossing the ball back. "That's nineteen-seventeen for me."
"You refer to my insult to your parentage?"
"Yes."
"Then yes, we do play these dozens, but I spoke in jest. I'm sure your mother was a fierce and lovely woman, to have produced such a warrior as you."
"She was," Steve says, but doesn't let nostalgia stop him from blocking Thor's two-point shot attempt. He takes the ball out to half-court and sinks it. "That's game."
"You are a formidable opponent, but I will get the best of you eventually," Thor says, slinging an arm around Steve's shoulders. "Now let us celebrate with red vines and pop tarts."
Steve grins. "Sounds good to me."
*
Two.
Tony has a copy of The Wizard of Oz on DVD, and there's a small theater in the tower (forty-third floor), so Steve watches it one afternoon, but it's not the same as watching it in a theater with other people. With coming attractions and hot buttered popcorn and people.
"There's a theater down in the East Village that does a midnight show," Darcy tells him when he mentions it. "People dress up as the characters and sing along with the songs. Every Friday in May."
Thor perks up at the mention of people dressing up and singing. "This is the epic of the flying monkeys I have heard so much about?"
Steve smiles. "That's the one."
"You wish to see it, though you've seen it already?"
"Yes." He shrugs. "It sounds like fun." It sounds like the kind of thing Bucky would have dragged him to, probably dressing up as the Tin Man and insisting Steve go as the Scarecrow in the bargain.
Thor grunts in what might be agreement.
There's a lot of talk of making a night of it--Darcy of course wants to dress up and she almost convinces Steve to be the Scarecrow to her Dorothy, but Avengers business keeps them occupied on the first three Fridays, and then it's the holiday weekend. Tony and Pepper are off to the Hamptons, Bruce in tow, Jane and Darcy have a wedding to go to in Puente Antigua, and Steve's given up trying to figure out what Clint and Natasha get up to when they're not around.
He dithers about going by himself--normally, it's no big deal, he's done it before, many times. But this seemed like it was going to be a fun group thing and Steve is a lot of things but he's not really the type to go out alone and attach himself to a fun group. Especially when he's still not sure what fun actually is in this day and age.
He finds Thor on the couch in the living room, watching television.
"I don't suppose you want to go see The Wizard of Oz with me," Steve says.
Thor doesn't look away from the TV. "After my program is complete."
Steve huffs a soft laugh. "Of course."
The movie is fantastic, of course, big and bright and a reminder of everything Steve's lost and everything he still has, though it turns out that Thor doesn't have what Darcy calls an inside voice, but it's okay because everybody's talking back to the screen, and for once, Steve doesn't even mind.
Afterwards, they wander into a hookah lounge where there's some sort of after hours poetry reading happening, and Steve isn't sure how it happens, but suddenly he's listening to Thor recite The Lay of Thrym to thunderous applause.
Thor doesn't want to talk about Loki, so Steve doesn't ask. They all have secrets and sore spots and Loki is one for all of them now. Instead, he orders another round of drinks and hands Thor a glass when he comes back to the table, gaggle of girls dressed in black in tow.
Some of Thor's newfound fans are art students, and Steve finds that he can still talk to people about things that aren't SHIELD or war-related, even if he still has almost seventy years of art history to catch up on. He goes home with several names and numbers jotted down on napkins, and while Darcy teases him about his ability to hook up, they're all for art supply stores and galleries.
Maybe it's time to try his hand at painting again, now that he can afford oils and canvas. He knows portraits aren't popular in this day and age, but he's always done well with life drawing, so his first subject is Thor, microphone in one hand, beer stein in the other, reciting the story of how Mjolnir was stolen from him and how he and Loki tricked the Frost Giants into giving it back.
*
Three.
Thor bangs his shot glass down on the bar and yells, "Another!" and one of the Yankee-cap-wearing young men calls out, "I'll have what he's having!" and the bartender pours out two more shots of Wild Turkey.
"I like this game," Thor says after they both down their shots. "My friend Steven and I will match you and your friends drink for drink."
Yankee-cap-wearing guy--his name turns out to be Tyler--says, "Awesome! We accept your challenge. Losers pay the tab."
Later, Steve is pretty sure this is where the night spins out of control, but at the moment he simply leans over and says, "Trust me, son, you don't want to do that."
"Don't worry, old man," one of Tyler's friends--this one is named Griffin, and Steve wonders when everybody started having last names as first names--says, "we'll put you in a cab when you pass out."
"We cannot let this insult to our honor stand," Thor insists, and really, Steve thinks, the only way these kids will learn is through experience. The experience of terrible, terrible hangovers.
"Okay," he says, "but I hope you boys understand that this is one competition you're not going to win." The kid rolls his eyes and Steve wonders if he was ever that young and arrogant.
Five shots later, he feels a slight buzz behind his eyes that clears almost instantly, Thor has started dropping his shots into his (apparently magically-refilling) beer mug and yelling, "Boilermaker!" and the four young men (Tyler and Griffin introduced them to Dale and Cooper in between rounds of shots) are listing to the left, their eyes glassy and their faces flushed. After shot number six, Griffin is the first to put his head down on the bar. Cooper tries to shake him awake but he just mumbles something about bananas and goes back to kissing the copper.
"Let him be," Steve says. The last thing he wants is to have to call an ambulance and have the kid's stomach pumped. "A man's got to know his limitations." He's just watched three Dirty Harry movies in a row and can't help himself. It occurs to him that maybe the alcohol is having a slight effect on him, because he should be way more worried about this kid passing out than he actually is.
"Do you yield?" Thor demands. Tyler, Cooper, and Dale nod. Thor knocks back the rest of his beer, and then raises his hands above his head as if he's just scored a touchdown. "We are the champions," he says, then he slaps Steve on the back so hard it stings and nearly knocks him off his barstool. The sensation is ridiculously familiar and yet alien at the same time, and maybe Steve used to be a maudlin drunk but he isn't drunk now so he's not going to let himself be maudlin, especially not when Thor's still proclaiming their completely unfair and yet strangely satisfying victory to everyone within earshot. "Let us escort our adversaries to their chariot and send them home to sleep away their shame."
Steve waves at the bartender for the check, the total of which makes his blood run cold. He has a platinum card--Tony gave one to all of the Avengers, and Steve has never pursued how it gets paid, though he know that it does on the rare occasions he's used it--and he's still drawing pay from both the Army and SHIELD, but he forgets sometimes that it's not ten cent beers and quarter shots anymore. Still, he signs off on it--the kids are in no condition to pay even if those were the terms of the contest.
They get the kids into a cab and Steve hands the driver a hundred and says, "Make sure they get home." The cabbie looks at him and Thor, eyes rolling white a little in fearful recognition, and nods his agreement.
When they head back into the bar--Steve needs to take a leak and Thor wants another boilermaker--the speakers are blaring "We Are the Champions," and Thor says, "We were triumphant this night, Steven. Hear how they sing of our deeds."
Steve doesn't have the heart to tell him that he's heard the song at at least three different sporting events since he's been back. He simply claps Thor on the shoulder and smiles.
*
Four.
Steve decides to walk back to the tower after the brunch for the FDNY widows and orphans finally winds down. Thor falls into step beside him, a smile creasing his face--he likes brunch and they don't have it in Asgard, apparently. "We do have elevenses," he says, "but there is a sad lack of mimosas. I like mimosas."
Steve likes mimosas, too, and eggs benedict and French toast and bacon, but the speeches came after the food and there were a lot of speeches.
They hit Fourteenth Street, and Second Avenue is roped off for ten or twelve blocks, as far as Steve can tell, and if the delicious smells of grilled meat and fried dough weren't enough of a hint, the big balloon archway with the sign that says Second Avenue Street Fair would do it.
"Come on," he says, "I think you're gonna like this."
Their first stop is the souvlaki truck, because Thor always appreciates grilled meat, and also it's the first food stand they come to.
"Don't fill up on this, though," Steve says. "There's ten whole blocks of food to get through."
They buy large cups of lemonade to wash the souvlaki down, and Thor pauses to look at the caricatures an artist has pasted up on a board. There are the usual pictures of famous actors, and then there are caricatures of the Avengers.
"This does not look like you at all," Thor says, pointing at the Captain America sketch. He's not very good at keeping quiet about their identities. Of course, after having been on television without his helmet the first time the Avengers were in action, Steve's identity isn't much of a secret, though most people in the city are pretty good about not bothering him in public.
"If you don't like it, you don't have to buy it," the artist snaps, and then she looks up and her jaw drops. "I, um, didn't realize--I mean, can you sign it for me?"
Steve smiles and autographs the picture even though it's fairly awful. "It's a caricature. It's not supposed to look realistic." He wrinkles his nose. "My ears don't stick out like that, do they?"
The artist is too starstruck to answer.
With a shrug, Steve keeps walking. There's a stand selling hotdogs and hamburgers nearby, and they both eat one of each before moving on. Kids run back and forth, dragging parents or siblings or friends along in their wake, the music is loud but far enough away to be nothing but a jumble of bass, and the sky is bright and blue overhead. Steve feels more at home right now than he has anywhere but on the Helicarrier.
The smell of sausage and peppers entices them onward, and Thor says, "This moveable feast is ingenious. I will have to suggest it to my lady mother when next I return home to Asgard. Though I think Volstagg might object to having to walk while he eats."
There are booths selling all manner of knickknacks and trinkets, and Steve buys a painted silk fan for Pepper and a Hello Kitty makeup bag for Darcy. He hesitates over a pair of lacquered hair sticks with brilliant teal and purple peacocks painted on them, and then buys them for Natasha. She can always stab him with them if he's out of line.
When Thor realizes what he's doing, he starts picking out gifts for the ladies, as well, and soon they have a shopping bag full of tiny items for Thor's mother and Jane and the Lady Sif. They find a Legolas action figure for Clint and Gandalf one for Bruce (or possibly it's Dumbledore? Steve still isn't sure they're not the same character, but he's got a big pile of books back at his apartment, waiting to be read) and a set of Batman magnets for Tony (Steve spends about ten minutes trying to explain Batman to Thor, and he's still not sure Thor understands he's fictional and not one of their colleagues at SHIELD). It makes juggling food and drinks a little more difficult, but Steve thinks it'll be worth it.
"Ooh," he says, catching sight of the next delicacy he wants to try, "funnel cake."
They're both sticky with powdered sugar and warm grease when they hear the shrieking, loud even over the endless blaring music. They set off at a run through the crowd and push their way past the teenage girls who are insisting, "No adults and no shoes in the moon bounce!"
"What is this sorcery?" Thor says as they stumble around, the floor bouncing beneath a group of jumping kids.
The screaming quiets as the kids stop jumping to stare at Steve and Thor. Steve can feel the tips of his ears burning.
"I think we've made a mistake," Steve says, backing away as recognition dawns in the kids' eyes.
"It's Captain America," one kid shouts and they all start bouncing closer, flinging themselves at Steve and Thor, who can't do anything but bounce and catch them.
"This is a merry game," Thor says, tossing one little curly-haired girl up in the air and catching her while she shrieks with laughter.
They play with all the children and sign some autographs for starry-eyed parents, one of whom has even managed to gather up their abandoned shopping bag of gifts, so they don't have to head back to the tower empty-handed.
"I want a snow cone," says the little girl who's attached herself to Steve's left hand.
"Snow cones for everyone," Thor booms, delighted, and the children cheer.
"Luckily," Steve says later, as he's telling the story to everyone gathered in the living room at the tower, "we had enough cash to cover snow cones for all the children."
"They are most wondrous," Thor says, sticking out his tongue. "See how my tongue has been turned purple by the grape flavored ice?" Jane, seated in his lap, playfully slaps his shoulder, and everyone laughs.
Steve's tongue is, of course, blue, and he pretends not to be just as pleased about it as Thor.
*
Five.
"My friend, why so melancholy?" Thor asks during their morning spar, when he gets three shots in under Steve's guard and Steve doesn't retaliate.
He shrugs. The weather's warm enough now that he gets the old familiar itch under his skin for the boardwalk and the ocean and hotdogs from Nathan's.
"Let's go to Coney Island," he says before he can think better of it.
The ride out to Brooklyn is almost too much adventure in and of itself--he hadn't realized Thor hadn't been on the subway before, or he would have insisted on taking one of Tony's cars, but now they're on a first-name basis with a number of second shift workers who happened to be riding the D train home, and if Steve understood the conversation correctly (not always a given these days), they're scheduled to play some two-on-two basketball in Prospect Park on Sunday with Jamal and Derek.
"If you don't gotta go save the world," Jamal says.
Thor nods. "Yes. If you give me your digits, I will text you should an incident arise to make us cancel the game."
The exchange of phone numbers complete, Jamal holds out his fist and Thor bumps it enthusiastically with his own (though not hard enough to inflict damage; at least, Jamal doesn't wince) before they get off the train at Fort Hamilton Parkway.
"Settle down," Steve says. "We've still got a ways to go."
The neighborhood looks shabby and small to Steve now, and every dilapidated building looks like it might hold memories or ghosts, but the ocean doesn't change--it's still vast and blue and rough, and the Cyclone still looms over everything. They're too big to fit in a car together, and Steve has no desire to ride it anyway, but the booming music from one of the other rides attracts Thor's attention, and he can't help but go along when Thor suggests they get tickets.
It's been a long time since Steve folded himself into the seat of a bumper car, and never after he became Captain America, and if it's a tight fit for him, it can't be any more comfortable for Thor, but Thor's beaming.
"Come, Steven, let us bump cars."
The ride starts up and the music with it, vaguely familiar from the music mixes that Tony and Darcy keep making for him.
"This is my jam," Thor exclaims, and starts singing along, though his singing is more like bellowing half a second behind the beat. "They see me rollin', they hatin'."
Steve nearly doubles over with laughter, and Thor bumps his car repeatedly before he can get himself under enough control to bump back.
After the first ride, he holds his fist out, and Thor bounces his fist off it with a gleeful grin.
They spend more time than two adults probably should riding around in bumper cars, but at the end of the day, Steve is glad he went, and glad that he took Thor with him. He's learning that the best way to lay his ghosts to rest is to make new memories with new friends.
*
Six.
Steve's too keyed up to sleep after spending the night fighting the Serpent Society; he always sleeps badly after big fights anyway, his mind too full of memories and nightmares masquerading as memories to let him find peace.
After a hot shower, he makes his way to the living room and finds he's not the only one still up. The blue light of the television flickers and he can make out soft murmurs in a language he doesn't understand.
"So," he says, sitting down next to Thor on the couch. Steve had expected him to be tucked away with Jane, but now he remembers that she's at a conference in Melbourne and Thor's on his own, as much as any of them ever are when they're staying at the tower.
"Shh," Thor says, holding a finger to his lips. "Jerzy has just discovered that Agnieszka is pregnant with Piotr's baby."
Steve glances at the television. A pregnant woman is crying while a tall blond man yells at her in Polish. Steve knows a handful of words in Polish--enough to identify the language, but that's all. Gabe had handled most of the translations when they were in Europe, and since he's been out of the ice, he's spent most of his time trying to learn Spanish, because it's what a lot of his neighbors in Brooklyn speak. But Thor doesn't seem to have any difficulty following along.
Finally, after a tearful embrace, the show cuts to commercial and Thor turns his attention to Steve. "Yes, my friend?"
"I think I'm going to have some pop tarts. Do you want any?"
"Yes," Thor says. "And some red vines."
Armed with a couple of boxes of cinnamon sugar pop tarts (they both know better than to eat Jane's chocolate ones) and a bag of red vines, they settle down on the couch to watch a week's worth of recordings of Thor's program, while he earnestly tries to explain the plots and characters to Steve, who loses track after the first evil twin returns from the dead.
Steve falls asleep with the taste of cinnamon on his tongue, his clothes covered in crumbs, and a smile on his face. He doesn't dream.
end
~*~ |
They were going to Skype that night. Jackie hadn't been so sure of it, but she trusted her daughter. In a world without soulmates, she wasn't sure she would've allowed it, but soulmates were forever, and if anything uncooth was happening, she would know. Those motherly instincts of hers were quite strong, after all, and so she was going to take that for what it was. She told Rose as such, who blushed and said that she was going to be alright.
She set her computer on her bed and sat cross legged before it, looking blankly at the home page and chewing her lip nervously.
A little blip floated across the screen and she smiled.
Friend request from TheDoctorJohn
She laughed a little. He had tried being creative. He was going for his doctorate after all, it made perfect sense.,
Not any more original than mine, She told him smugly.
Oi, should I not call you or something?
No, no, that's not what I meant, she reassured him.
She could hear that tell tale sound of laughing against and it made her so happy she thought she would burst, not that she knew exactly what it sounded like in real life.
Rose accepted the friend request and he immediately called her. She answered the call immediately and saw his lovely face pop up on the grainy screen.
"Hello, Rose!" he said, though it sounded like a quiet yell, because he didn't want to speak too loudly in his house still.
"Hi," she replied, grinning, a bit like a loon, she imagined, "How are things?"
"Things are fine, thanks," he said, "Are you quite ready for summer?"
She tucked her hair behind her ear and nodded. "Yeah. Got one more final, then all I really have to worry about are my A-levels next year."
"Oh, you'll ace those, I have no doubt," John said, waving his hand, and Rose thought that if John believed she could do it, with as brilliant as he was, then perhaps she could do anything.
"No, I don't want to talk about school," she said, looking at the work that was in front of her, almost on the keyboard of her laptop. "It's all so overwhelming."
He sighed and put on his glasses, which she had only seen in one of his pictures but thought made him look rather fetching. He glanced around his surroundings. "You're not kidding. It doesn't get any better, I promise," he said, chuckling a little to himself.
"That's encouraging." She said, softly, "But I don't think I'll ever get into Uni, not to mention that we can't really afford it, mum and me."
"Try for some scholarships," he encouraged her, "You're more brilliant than you think you are, Rose, you can and will do amazing things, I promise."
She felt a bit overwhelmed by his affections, as she always did, because he was so bloody nice to her that she could hardly stand it. "Bet you say that to all the girls," she teased.
John's brows furrowed. "Rose. I don't... I don't even talk to other girls."
She smiled. "I know."
"How's, um... How's Mr. Mickey, then?"
"He won't reach out to his soulmate," Rose said, running her fingers through her hair. "I think he's trying to get..."
"You?" He asked softly. "I know he is. I want to see you."
"You're looking at me."
"I want to see you in person. I find myself becoming quite possessive of you and it's quite embarrassing really, because I know that we're pledged and soulmates and I trust you, but I don't trust him."
She smiled. "I honestly think that Mickey always assumed that we would be getting together, that we would be soulmates. And now that we aren't, he doesn't know quite what to do with himself."
"It's been three years." John replied, "Isn't that enough time for him to get over you?"
Rose raised her eyebrows at him. "You were right, you are a bit possessive, aren't you?"
His shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry. I know that's not right of me, at all, that I should trust you explicitly, and I do, it's just everyone else that I don't trust."
"Mickey being one of them?"
"Yes. Rose, you're beautiful, absolutely gorgeous. I think there are certainly boys in your school noticing that. Of course there are. There are probably a million boys out there wishing you were their soulmate."
"John?"
"What?"
She smiled at him. "A million boys don't go to my school, John."
He laughed, his smile lighting up his entire face. "You're right, of course," he said. "But I meant that I want to see you. I just can't travel this summer."
She bit the inside of her cheek. "Neither can I. We can't afford it."
He scratched the back of his neck. "I really do wish that we lived closer," he said, "You're the best friend I've ever had, Rose."
Her heart felt as though it was about to burst with affection for him. He was the purest and sweetest boy, no, man, she had ever known. "And you're mine," she admitted, "You're incredible," she said, "Clever and all, too." She sighed, "I can't believe that you're gonna be a doctor."
"Well," he said, drawing it out and looking up, squinting, "Not a proper doctor, or a medical doctor, not really. I wanna be a teacher, teach physics at Uni."
"And then have all the girls there hit on you?"
"Blimey, both of us are terribly insecure, aren't we?" John asked, laughing a little awkwardly.
She blushed, because she knew he was right. she was worried because John was the most attractive man she had ever laid eyes on and she had a hard time believing that other women weren't noticing that. Women more his age. Women closer to where he lived.
"How's your aunt?" she asked, changing the subject rather blatantly and picking at a spot on her duvet.
"She's good," he said, and she could feel him watching her through her computer monitor. "We've been... Talking. I've been talking to Donna a lot too, I'll have you know."
"Good on you!" Rose said, lifting her eyes and smiling, "I know that's hard for you, John. I really do."
"Well, it is, but like you said, they're family, and it's time I stopped holding a lot of things against them, I think."
She tilted her head to the side and watched him carefully. "Do you think things are better? I know nothing can replace your parents, but you love your aunt and your sister, don't you?"
"Of course I do, it's just not the same," he admitted.
"JOHN!" A loud voice called from off his screen.
"That's Donna." He said, smiling at her through the screen but making it feel as though he was right there.
"John!" The voice called again, even closer, and the door to John's room opened and he looked up with surprise on his face.
"Oi! My room!"
"Yes, and Aunt's house." Suddenly a woman with sleek red hair appeared in frame, and she looked at the screen. "Oh, and this is Rose?"
"Yes, Donna, this is Rose," John rubbed his thumb and forefinger against his forehead and took his glasses off. "I've told them all about you."
"So that's what you talk to them about?" Rose asked, smiling a little bit.
"Oh, yeah, you're all he talks about," Donna rolled her eyes. "Mad for you, he is. Which I guess is good, because you're his soulmate and all that."
"Donna, was there a reason that you came in here?" John asked, his cheeks tinging pink. He didn't look at the computer for a few moments.
"Oh, yeah," She stood a little straighter. "Some mates and me are going down for a pint or two at the pub. Do you want to come?"
He looked at the computer. "I'm a bit busy."
"You're gonna be busy all night?"
"Most of it."
"You should try leaving the house."
Now, Rose was no expert on siblings, but she knew that if they had been a normal brother and sister that John probably would've shot something back about the fact that Donna should be minding her own business. But John wasn't like that. Or at least, not now. Maybe in another reality, where his and Donna's parents had lived, he would have been able to banter with her like that. But he couldn't, not in this reality. It nearly broke her heart. She had spent a lot of her life wishing that she had had a sibling. It never occurred to her that maybe a sibling wasn't the best thing in the world.
So John just stared at Donna, his face blank, until he sighed and said quietly, "Could you please leave me and Rose alone now?"
"Yeah, sure." She left, and slammed his door behind her.
He jumped a little. "She thinks I need to go our more, explore the world. And I want to, but the world consists of more than just pubs. The world is landmarks and oceans and lovely and terrible things. The world is not where people get drunk on Tuesdays."
She smiled softly at his words. "I think you're right," she said softly, "Let's travel together. One summer. Let's go to America."
He smiled. "Yes," he said, his voice a bit happier than it had been a moment ago, "Let's go to America. Where will we go, Rose?"
They talked for hours, until Rose's mum knocked on her bedroom door and told her it was time for bed.
Rose was a little embarrassed by her mum's intrusion, but it didn't seem to bother John at all.
"She's right," he said a little regretfully, "You need to get your rest. And honestly, so do I," he admitted.
"Was I keeping you up?"
"Oi, are you calling me old?" he teased.
She shook her head and giggled, "No, of course not," She said, "But you're the one that's gonna be the Doctor here, so I guess you should probably be getting lots of sleep too."
"I've got a whole summer to demolish my sleep schedule before school starts," he said, smiling at her, "And I hope you'll join me in that?"
"If we lived in the same city that would be the most suggestive comment anyone has ever made to me."
He blushed again, a sight that she thought was rather becoming on him. "Rose, I'm sure you know that's not what I meant, I mean- of course- I guess-"
She laughed and shook her head. "I'm kidding, John. Now, I've got to go, for real, now, okay. I'll, um, talk to you tomorrow?"
"In your head or over the phone, I'll be there," he told her. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight. I love you."
"I love you, too, Rose."
She ended the call, and felt her stomach still filled with all kinds of little butterflies. He was a bit too good for her, if she was honest, but in a way, she was glad that no one else got to have him. And he had turned down a night with his sister to spend time with her.
Rose was feeling a bit fluttery as she prepared for bed.
John?
Tsk, tsk, Rose, you're supposed to go to bed.
We can... I want to save money to meet you, when I turn eighteen, she said softly to him, as though she couldn't speak too loud or someone would hear her.
Rose?
What?
I want to come to you. I want to meet your mum and start something that's going to last forever.
Really?
Yeah.
I can... I could make the money, though, I could get a job.
How's this. We spend half the summer in London when you turn eighteen, and half with my family? Then you'll be back in time for Uni, and I'll be back in time for Uni.
She pondered this, and realized that it was probably the best idea for both of them. She smiled to herself a little bit. Okay, yeah. I like that.
Good! So do I. Now, goodnight, Rose.
Goodnight, John.
She might not be able to make the money but she could try. She could get a job over the summer, at the pool or at a convenience store. She wondered when her future started to seem so real and realized that somehow, it had always been that way.
John didn't regret his decision to not go to the pub. Talking with her were always hours better spent. |
“You...kissed him.”
Harry flinches. “God, it’s so weird to hear someone say that out loud.”
Niall laughs once, then pauses for a moment. He’s thinking, giving the statement room to fill the silence, letting it sink in. Harry kissed Louis.
Harry’s surprised to find he’s able to let the silence happen without panicking again. Especially considering how much his brain has been working against him these last few hours, frantically searching through how ever many years’ worth of memories to find every reason to support Louis’ rejection. It seems weird that when the single most regrettable thing he’s ever done is mentioned, he feels almost peaceful. It’s like his anxiety has quieted down to a buzz, the night of no sleep finally catching up to him, the exhaustion that comes with multiple panic attacks finally settling in.
It’s probably just Niall, Harry thinks hazily, his eyelids drooping. He adjusts himself so he’s sitting a little closer to the boy. Niall has always been pretty good at calming him down.
“He any good?”
Harry’s eyes snap open again. “Hmm?”
“Louis, at kissing.”
Harry lets out a brief, startled laugh. “I, uh. I dunno. It was all pretty quick.”
“So it was just a peck?”
“...Not exactly.”
“Well, what was it, then?” Niall says a bit impatiently, shoving Harry’s shoulder and eliciting a giggle from him.
“It was--I just sort of--” Harry sticks his arms out. “Grabbed his face, and. Y’know.”
“Stuck your tongue down his throat?”
Harry laughs and shoves Niall right back. “You’re such a shit.”
Niall steadies himself, grinning wide and staring ahead. After another few moments, “Did he kiss you back?”
“Maybe?” Harry’s only been thinking about this particular question nonstop since it happened, and still, “I’m really not sure.”
“Dude, coming from you that probably means you guys made out.”
Harry scoffs. “It lasted like, three seconds, and he ran back upstairs immediately after.”
“Wait, he ran away?” Niall asks, confused. “I thought you ran.”
“We, uh. We both ran.”
“Jesus christ,” Niall mutters. “Pair of idiots, you two.”
“Hey,” Harry draws out, mock-offended.
“No, it’s a good thing! Means you’re perfect for each other.”
Harry lets himself smile at the thought, but ultimately he can’t find a response.
Niall sighs for what must be like, the hundredth time. “You sell yourself short, you know that, Haz?”
Harry stays silent, and leans down to rest his head on Niall’s shoulder.
“Like, Louis? Really? You could do so much better.” Harry outright laughs at that, and Niall rolls his eyes. “Whatever. He’s still just a person. A stupid fucking person who’s confused and doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing. And I know you know that, you probably know it better than I do. But the part you always seem to forget, is that’s all you have to be, too.”
Harry can’t stop staring at his hands. “That’s deep, bro,” he manages, and he thinks it might’ve come off a bit more sarcastic than he meant.
But Niall doesn’t take it to heart, just laughs instead. “Pointing out the obvious to you is what I do best.”
* * *
The bullying doesn’t stop. It starts small but picks up pretty neatly from where they all left off the year prior. In fact, Harry barely gets his foot through room 3A’s door before the same kids from last year are hot on his heels, snickering as he passes and roughly bumping into his shoulder and taking his toys even when it’s very obvious he’s playing with them.
So he shuts down. A bit preemptively maybe, they still haven’t said anything. But it’s the protocol he knows works; mouth shut, head down, ignore ignore ignore.
Except. “Wait a second, he was playing with that,” a confused voice says from above him. He almost lifts his head to look but catches himself in time.
“Uh...what?” Johnny says, slightly incredulous. Harry would have to agree.
“He was playing with that, why don’t you get your own?” That’s. An Irish accent, right?
Oh. That’s Niall Horan.
Harry, head still firmly down lets his eyes glance up, catching the edges of Johnny’s fingers tightening around the yellow truck. “I wanted this one.”
“That kid had it first,” Niall says, somehow unafraid in the face of Harry’s worst nightmare. “At least ask if you can have it, first.”
Johnny’s body shifts a bit, and Harry’s eyes snap back to the ground. “Harry,” he sneers, squeezing as much contempt as he can into the two syllables. “Can I have the truck?”
Harry nods once.
Niall doesn’t say anything when Johnny makes an infuriatingly satisfied little sound and saunters away, and Harry still doesn’t lift his head.
“Your name’s Harry?” Apparently Niall’s sat down beside him. He doesn’t answer. “Harry, what was that?”
“He, uh. Wanted the truck,” he explains weakly.
“So he just took it?” Niall asks as if it’s really that hard to believe. “That’s not fair.”
Harry shrugs. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”
And for some reason Niall doesn’t believe him. Somehow Niall is able to see when Harry’s upset, how he’s slipping into his weird shutting-down thing he does where he’ll literally say anything just so people will forget he’s there.
So Niall pushes himself to his feet. “No. That’s not okay.”
Harry finally looks up then, because what? “What?”
“Just a second,” he mutters before stomping off to the other side of the room.
Harry’s eyes follow him until he’s standing over Johnny, absentmindedly pulling the truck back and forth along the table in front of him while talking to one of his friends. Harry watches in horror as Niall reaches down, grabs the truck, and walks confidently back over to him as Johnny starts yelling.
He holds the truck out to Harry who just stares at it, dumbstruck. “Harry, take the truck.”
Harry’s voice catches in his throat. “I--”
“Harry, it’s your truck, take it.”
“Hey, give that back!” Johnny yells as he approaches. Harry’s hands ball into fists at his sides.
“It’s his truck, you took it without asking!” Niall says, finally raising his voice.
“He said I could have it!
“Yeah but you didn’t ask very nicely!”
“He still said it though!”
“And you were still mean, of course he’ll give it to you if you’re mean!”
“So what, it’s mine! You can’t just take my truck!”
At which point the teacher intervenes and Harry has shuffled off to the corner of the room where he’s watching anxiously with his knees pulled into his chest. He watches as Niall’s face gets progressively redder, gesturing wildly as he tries to explain the situation, and Johnny’s eyebrows get more and more furrowed and Harry’s never seen a giant look so small.
Johnny gets the truck. Niall keeps yelling and gets sent to the principal's office.
They both get beat up after school. Routine for Harry, wholly terrifying for Niall. Despite his fear, however, Niall flails around impressively, albeit a bit aimlessly, and is even able to protect Harry a bit before Harry is able to catch sight of a window, grab his hand, and sprint all the way home.
|
You gently brushed the soft, white hair on top of Risotto’s head, avoiding his large horns and tracing your hand over the spot as it shined. He was sat on a hay bail to help you reach, tail swishing patiently. He lets out a huff, head slowly dipping lower and lower as he falls asleep under your sweet, soothing movements.
It’s easy to appreciate his full size and handsomeness now that he’s not glaring down at you. Strong muscles, sculpted from his previous job of working fields. He was a rescue, now living his days happily on your farm being pampered. Though, it’s taken longer than you expected to make him this tame.
You take this moment to quickly pull a long pink, sating ribbon from your pocket, carefully moving to his side to reach his horns. God, you couldn’t resist wrapping them around the long, dangerous, could-probably-kill you things. Three times around and then topped off with an adorable little bow, snipping the end once you were done.
His breath tickles your arm as you switch to the other side. He looked so handsome relaxed like this. You danced a finger over his cheekbones, admiring his soft face. Ah, you were getting distracted. The bow is tied to his other horn and snipped apart from the rest of the ribbon, but you couldn’t help feeling like something was missing. His tail. Oh, god, you hope he didn’t notice until he was in his stall.
The final bow is tied around the tip of his tail, which had thankfully stayed still long enough for you to finish. You pocket the rest of the ribbon, quietly walking back to his front. Shifting your focus to fixing his bangs you almost have to stand on your toes to reach them, using your scissors to tidy them up a little more. After the first snip, he opens his eyes, a little surprised to see your face so close to his.
Or, at least you thought he was surprised. Unbeknownst to you, Risotto was awake the whole time. Well, most of it. He felt you wrapping the tiny bows around his horns, which was all he really needed. He let you gussy him up a bit, of course.
There were a few things he had learned since arriving on your farm. You were hard working, darting around the farm with various pails and wheelbarrows. You preferred hand milking your beasts than using machinery, claiming that you didn’t have too many rescues and that it made the product better quality. It made you tired, though. Your feet would gradually drag on the floor more and more.
He found you attractive, that was no surprise, but as the days went by with you getting him used gentle pets on the head, your general routine with rescue bulls, he noticed something about you. You treated him a little differently. He wouldn’t go so far as to say it was favouritism, but there was something in the way your eyes drifted down his body, the soft little touches to his cheek. But, as much as you looked at him, you never once actually touched him like you did the others on your farm.
Risotto was a little jealous, to be honest. Every time he heard the sound of your and another bull together, he felt his blood boil as his cock grew harder. He couldn’t help but let his mind wander, imagining your small hands trying to wrap around his large cock, or your lips, or any part of you really. Which, brought you to this situation.
His red eyes stare down at you. You smile sweetly, blind to the thoughts behind those dark orbs.
“Good morning, sleeps-a-lot. I’m almost done, just hold still,” you hum, lightly biting your tongue between your teeth. He slowly brings his hand up, brushing a finger down your jawline, making you stop. His ear flicks in anticipation.
Not wasting another minute, he tosses you over his shoulder, marching his way through the barn, up the stairs of your house and directly to your bedroom. He knew the path well, watching you from either his window or paddock. He even heard you playing with yourself on nights that were lonely. You wouldn’t be lonely anymore.
“Careful with the roof!” You call over his shoulder, hoping he wouldn’t damage himself or your roof when walking inside. He was the largest bull you had ever seen, let alone on your farm and your house was built for someone more your size. He hums in acknowledgement. “Actually, why don’t you just uh... put me down?”
“No.”
“Please?” You ask.
Silence. He was going to get to your bed whether you liked it or not.
Risotto quickly makes his way to your room, crouching down to avoid hitting either of your heads. You’re tossed onto the bed, bouncing a little before he cages you under his body. His lips immediately attack your neck, moaning at the taste of your skin while licking a long trail from your collar bone to your jaw. You arch into him, gasping at the sudden contact.
With a grunt, he rips your clothes off, feverishly kissing your skin. His dark eyes connect with yours as he wraps his large hands around your hips, tossing your legs over his shoulders. He straightens himself up, kneeling in front of the bed, then pulls you towards him. His tongue glides from the base of your genitals to the top, making you groan. Your hands latch onto his as much as they could.
Over and over, he runs his tongue across your sex. The noises you made were music to his ears, spurring him on more. You tasted so good, he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. He ground his hips into the edge of the bed, moaning into you as his hard cock dragged against the sheets. It didn’t take long for you to get close to your release, squirming and bucking your hips into his expert movement. His mouth wraps around you, suckling on your sweet spots.
“There, right th-theeerrreee!” With a slurred cry, you cum, spilling into his mouth. He gulps down your orgasm, popping off of you with a satisfied groan. He releases your hips, letting you collapse onto the bed gently, then he riffles through the pockets on your discarded pants, looking for the pink ribbon you used on him before.
You look over at him sleepily, eyes trailing down from his dangerous horns, down his sculpted body right to his long, hard cock. It was intimidating to look at, to say the least, but still, your mouth watered. He quickly tied your hands above your head with the ribbon, tying it into a bow like you had done to his horns, then he snipped off the rest, using that to tie your legs together. He started binding your thighs together, then just below the knee and finally around your ankles. To add to the pink decorations along your body, he used the last of the ribbon to tie a bow around your neck in a kind of tight, choker necklace.
Risotto hummed, pleasantly satisfied with your bound body. He stroked his length lazily, then slipped it between your thighs. There was no way it was going to fit inside you, not yet, at least, so this was the next best thing. You flexed your thighs, keeping it nice and tight as he slowly began to thrust into the space. He was close enough to your genitals for you to feel him dragging along them, teasing you. You were already so sensitive it didn’t take long before you were moaning again.
He grunted above you, holding your legs in one arm while the other rest beside you on the bed for support, doubling you over. Even just your thighs felt amazing. The feeling of that plus the taste of your last orgasm on his tongue drove him mad. He closed his eyes, breathing heavily while trying to keep control. A particularly delicious flex of your thighs had his head tossing back in a groaned “~Fuuuck.”
Suddenly his pace was faster, chasing his orgasm with fervour. Your voices moaning together filled the room along with the slick sounds of your skin rubbing together, aided by his precum smearing along your thighs along with the remnants of your orgasm. He was close, so, so close. His dark eyes watched your face, contorting with pleasure and that was it. Your beautiful face sent him over the edge.
With a low almost dangerous groan, Risotto thrust his hips flush against you and then spilled his seed over your chest and stomach, painting you with his orgasm. You followed soon after, adding to the mess. His tail flicked behind him, watching your back arch and your thighs tremble with your second orgasm.
Gently, he kissed the side of your shin, slowly pulling away while taking your legs into his hands and untying the bows, deciding you’d want to use them later either for decoration or for something similar to this. He kissed his way up from your ankles, over your chest, careful to avoid his cum, then untying your arms. With a sigh, you burrowed your face into him while wrapping your arms around his neck. He hummed, returning with nuzzling the top of your head.
After a few minutes of catching your breath, he lifted you up, carrying you towards the bathroom. The last thing you remembered before falling asleep was his warm chest against your back in the bath while he held you close, rinsing the mess off of you with a soft hand. |
Cloud Recesses...two years since Wei Wuxian left Jianghu and died after the trial of Jin Guangshan, and their cohorts that led to 'forceful retirement' of other Sect Leaders involved with cornering Wuxian for his tool out of thirst for power, Xichen checked on his brother who basically lost the will to live out of heartbreak and despair upon seeing...what was left of the man he loved. A bloody mess, and a shattered black flute.
They had to carry him home as he was a shell of himself, unresponsive to anything, as life was snuffed out of his eyes, that what remained, was the expression of despair.
Xichen has had regrets as a brother since. Wangji kept insisting Wei-gongzi was innocent and a good man. But their family refused to listen to even him as well due to their many rules, their uncle's own bias towards the man that Xichen worked alone with Mingjue without the support of his own sect to help his brother. The truth came too late and he indeed, died.
Huaisang angrily lambasted them all out of grief. They all owed Wei-gongzi big.
Without him, they would lose the Sunshot Campaign as it was him who took the bulk of the army while the Jins and their sycophants were fence-sitters until the last minute and shamelessly hog the glory when they hardly did a thing.
Without his best friend, they would all live under tyranny by now! And yet what did they do in turn to a real hero who was also a genuinely good person?
But no, they all chose to listen to the Two Whores of Jianghu and to those who whored themselves for Jin gold to aid evildoers in their thirst for power, and there are those fooled and exploited by silver tongues from hypocrites because they were easily manipulated by knowing how they work and think!
That latter was aimed at their sect, thankfully not at him and his brother. Huaisang's vicious when pushed to the brink that during the trial, their uncle was speechless. Xichen would have been among the fooled and exploited, had Huaisang and Wangji not set them up in Da-ge's office.
And now, Huaisang ensured all of Jianghu knew the truth about what's going on. If the Jin Camp ruined Wei-gongzi through rumors by fooling the gullible populace, he used that same weapon against them now, that a large number of Minor Sects that supported Jin Guangshan and Guangyao lost respect in society. Its now their turn to be vilified.
Madam Jin and Jin Zixuan cleaned up Jinlintai of all those involved with Qiongqi Path that caused Wuxian to take the survivors away for safety and they know who using the Empathy technique Wuxian left behind that they were witness to the atrocities going on in there.
Zixuan had them all executed for war crimes that Jinlintai lost half its military force as the remaining half, were shidis in training that can still be disciplined into better people. His father and half-brother's cultivations were abolished and kept in the dungeons as death was too cheap for them that they are to 'lose everything and are powerless' for the rest of their lives as punishment for their crimes. He also abolished the 'despicable culture' of Jinlintai that it was a classist and sexist sect, and made it a better sect in his tenure. Equal-Opportunity the good and fair way.
Moling Su Sect was also abolished as Su She, a former disciple of Lan only gained that sect in exchange they support Jin Guangshan and Guangyao. That Su She and his disciples executed for doing dirty work for Jin Guangshan most of which, are crimes beyond the pale, had their properties granted to Jiang Cheng.
Zixuan said, 'You can do what you want with their money and resources, even if it won't bring back elder brother-in-law, but its a start. Its also a comfort to A-Li that what remained of evil is used for good this time.'
Xichen had all his family elders in seclusion to reflect for being naive to listen to evil and for not being there for Wangji when needed most and instead let his own personal biases and old grudges fuel his opinion instead of judging fairly, Qiren was also chucked to Seclusion 'until he sees sense'. Huaisang and Wangji saved him from that same naivete, and changed the rules on the walls and books to be taught to Gusu Lan to make it a kinder Sect for the future. Rigidity and inflexibility is never good.
'Wangji? It's Xichen.' Xichen knocked before entering, only to find an empty room. His young master robes and ribbon on the floor, just seemingly discarded, not even folded as well as shoes. And a letter under an incense burner. There was also a small shrine dedicated to a god that was a recent addition to his room...
He had a bad feeling as he took the letter.
Xiongzhang,
I can't stay here any more.
I feel that the longer I stay,
the more this place will kill
me by killing my heart.
Mother. Wei Ying. Two people
I loved, taken away from me by
our own people. I can't take it
any more.
Before I'm strangled more, I
need to leave while I still can
instead of slitting my throat.
I will look for the Wen Survivors
and protect them for Wei Ying.
That is my only reason to live now.
Someday, you will meet your fated.
They can never be like us, we whogrew up shackled by three-thousandrules, but to us, they're a vibrantspark of life in our hearts, but oursect...sigh.
Do not be like me.
Do not let this sect take from you your heart.
It gouged my heart enough, you don't knowhow much it hurts. It hurts to lose everything.
Don't let this sect gouge your heart and makeyou like them. Heartless.
You are kind. Warm. Comforting. Understanding.Nothing like them.
Please stay the way you are, and chooseyour heart over several thousand chainsin the hands of the heartless.
I should have done this sooner. My regret wasnever putting Wei Ying first. Our rules never savesnor protects. Only condemn. Condemn by rule yetnever listen as to why, when and how.
I lost him and what could have been.
Forever.
-Wangji
Xichen's eyes pooled with his tears as this letter gouged his own heart after reading it.
His brother seceded. Forever.
"Wangji...if only I was stronger..."
With the old crowd out of his way, Xichen resolved to make Gusu Lan a much kinder sect. So nobody like his brother will suffer ever again. He hopes that one day, if his brother hears of the sect he will create, will return home one day. With the Wens, maybe...
He analyzed what rules to keep, studied and dissected it, before editing it. He tore down the wall, and plastered a new one over it and he began a meeting with Sect Teachers regarding the changes and why. He used politics and humanities as his reasoning, but not his brother's personal despair...which was his real motive.
The teachers agreed with the changes since they too, were in discontent, but unable to say a word before...
(Took several weeks to let it be known that Wangji seceded.)
The job to Banyue Pass led to age old history, exposing Xie Lian to Wei Ying as a God, considering the war he's been in with Ban Yue was AGES AGO. And her friend was the cause of events in here that enabled Wei Ying to meet two more Goddesses Shi Qingxuan and Ming Yi.
'Gods sure are common down south, San-xiong...' Wei Ying mused as Xie Lian talked to the women. 'Nobody else reached godhood where I'm from.' he said. 'If anyone became a God in the North, they'd brag it to anyone to spread rumors for sure.'
'Ahahaha...' San Lang sweatdropped at his comments.
'Well at any rate, let's bring back the herbs...the merchants back there are poisoned as well as one cultivator whom we've never even seen.' said Wuxian. 'I'm just glad nobody's ballsy enough to cross the natural barrier that keeps us safe...so cultivators down here, I can trust.' he confided in relief.
Down south, people cultivate to Godhood if in north, Immortality.
Xie Lian cultivates with Abstinence. Wuxian cannot imagine life without wine! Brrr...
Then there are those who cultivate through internal organs by only eating magical flora and fauna, corvee labor and even sex!
'By the way San-xiong...when you taught me about stuff earlier, if some people cultivate through er, bedroom matters, was there a God for that, other than Juyang Jiangjun?' not far from them, Feng Xin stiffened, hearing what he said just now. San Lang and Mu Qing were trying hard not to laugh. Feng Xin tried not to throttle the mortal and tried to stay absolutely still while red-faced...he had to remind himself that the kid is clueless about southern culture!
'Pfft...what's with the question all of a sudden?' San Lang snorted, amused at the god's expense as he knows Feng Xin is annoyed with the kid.
'Well, you told me how people down here cultivate to Godhood so surely there's others...'
'Ahahaha...there's the Pleasure Goddess Ranshao Jiqing...she does not discriminate in gender nor age in sex, as long as her followers or those who pray to her have bodies mature enough for that.' San Lang taught him. 'As long as she's worshipped, you can have all the fun you like and never worry about catching nor spreading STDs nor get unplanned pregnancy. She only accepts mild-smelling incense as offerings as strong-smells ruins one's senses during fun time.'
'Heeee...'
'So gods that cultivate through Abstinence like gege and General Xuanzhen is a foil to her. Thinking of doing it with someone?' San Lang asked him with a shit-eating grin.
Wuxian only snorted.
'Given my situation, its impossible, even after you and Xie-xiong helped me out...I thought destroying it will kill me too due to backlash, it's that powerful but no one must have it that it absolutely must be gone even if I die for it...and now that I lived thanks to you guys, I'll never be with the one I want to be with anyway as that person is too bound by law and submission to their elders, and I cannot make him defy his family for this one.' he said solemnly. 'There's no one else for me.'
'Sorry to hear that...'
'I'll be alright as long as I have my family though.' Wuxian grinned. 'Doing what's right is a thorny path scratching you bloody, but at least I can live with a clean conscience with no regrets after. That's my only comfort now.' San Lang's eyes softened. Wuxian indeed has someone but alas...only in next life if its kind, can they be together.
He did what he feels was right...at his own expense. He has an impressive record of...selfless sacrifices as due to his upbringing, his childhood...ensured he had no self-worth at all. The Wens were his therapists that everything in his life, was wrong that no child deserved, but at least, he was a better person for it in the end. The Wens were his true family as they cared for him back when all he's known was all-take on his end, and no give from others. He was left a husk psychologically and emotionally.
But his years of suffering while always doing what's right is repaid in the end through his karma by having a better family, and someone praying to Ling Wen for justice, so she nudged people into finding things out, putting an end to the culprits responsible for Wei Wuxian and the Wen Remnants' suffering. He also regained his golden core thanks to gege, that restored his ruined body no thanks to using Yin Energy in a body that solely cultivated only Yang energy that hurt him in the past back when he had a core. But now, with guidance, he cultivates both energies and is now more powerful than ever and regained his youth.
They had to make a fake body of the poor kid blown into bloody gory mess beyond recognition, as well as he sacrificed his flute Chenqing to make it all the more believable, and they blew up Yin Hufu in the Burial Mounds.
They watched all Sects assemble like an invasion to find what they wanted them to find on purpose...
They had to hold back Wuxian as they watched the Jiang Siblings, Nie Huaisang and Lan Wangji openly grieve at 'his' corpse, while everyone else was 'horrified with how far he was willing to go to deliver' to keep his tally away from Jianghu's greed and wanting to be the next Wen Ruohan for it. Everyone involved, paid for their crimes now, at the cost that Wuxian can truly never go back home ever again due to their stunt.
Wuxian was utterly sorry for making those who truly cared for him cry that he too, cried on them before they went home and he drunk himself to sleep for a week.
That was some time ago, before he healed and continued his new life. A life without hypocrites hounding him to sate their greed for things they don't even deserve. Cultivator aside, he lives life as a farmer, using his powers to grow crops instead and his sword skills...incase a monster really DID show up.
After Pei Su and Ban Yue was dealt with, the Goddessess have to go to Court about the matter so its just their group again, and Shan Yue herbs to cure the poisoned...
But!
'N-no way...how...?' Wuxian was deeply shaken when among those poisoned, was a familiar face. 'Lan Zhan...' he croaked as his knees gave up on him. 'How'd he get here?!'
Lan Wangji was among the poisoned. And to his shock, he was dressed as a typical daoist, no longer in Lan Sect robes. His hair is also down in a braid.
'Never you mind, give him the antidote already!' San Lang booted him closer to the man in question by a kick, making him 'fly' in a comical arc towards Wangji.
'Gyaaa!'
'San Lang...' Xie Lian sweatdropped at the man's antics.
'Those two are fated...no matter what.' San Lang told him mysteriously as Wuxian fussed over Lan Wangji and gave him the antidote with great care, and gave him his energy for him to wake.
'Wei...Ying...' Wangji groaned weakly, and happy to see him hovering over him, and looking better than last he saw him. 'You're really alive...I prayed hard to Ling Wen...and he showed me the way...home...'
'Home? But you're here and not in Cloud Recesses?!'
'...Wei Ying...is home.' said Wangji softly. 'I left Cloud Recesses forever.'
'But why?'
'...I kept losing what I truly cared for the longer I stay there...it keeps taking and taking from me, killing my heart through big blows...' Wangji told him with a bitter smile. 'Ling Wen-zhenjun gave me hope when I could have just slit my throat and be done with it when I saw that body in the Burial Mounds.' Wuxian choked at his words...for Lan Wangji of all people to say those words, he was horrified. 'I saw a vision that you're actually alive and that corpse I saw was fake all this time...and I followed the visions to get to you. No words can describe my gratefulness. I am home where you're home.'
That, was as good as a confession already, the others thought.
'I just want to go home. To you.' Wuxian went beet red...before he cried. Wangji smiled as he got his words across it reached his zhiji.
'Dummy!! W-well life as a farmer isn't easy, OK? Warning you now!'
'Mm. I'm fine with that.'
With that, they went home using Distance Shortening Arrays, with Wuxian supporting Wangji as he was still weak from poison.
In no time, they were back at Puqi Village. Still nighttime.
'Where is this?'
'...home. This village is warm, though I haven't been to a town or city yet down here.' Wuxian told Wangji with a wistful smile. 'Everyone is kind and friendly. They have one real face compared to our homeland where almost everyone is two-faced and black-bellied hypocrites.' he chuckled bitterly. 'The people here are culture-shock to us...but A-Yuan is more important. He'll get to have a good childhood here. He has a few friends now too and grew up happy and healthy.'
'I see...'
'Xie-xiong, San-xiong, Fu-xiong, Nan-xiong, I'm going on ahead and take this guy home and make him dinner.' said Wuxian, dismissing himself when the gods and one ghost nodded, and he walked away, supporting Wangji.
'...he knows we're gods, right?' Mu Qing, a.k.a Fu Yao pointed out. 'Why not refer to us by our titles?'
'Its only gege whom he knows is a god because Wind and Earth Master isn't subtle and he had to talk to them.' said San Lang wryly. 'But to him its weird as they were friends for three years.'
'...you live alone?' Wangji asked him as Wuxian lives in his own cottage. Its a well-built homey cottage.
'Yeah. The Wens live together in a Siheyuan Compound though.' said Wuxian. 'I don't mind living alone since I experiment on new talismans and mistakes tend to go boom, so explosions are bad for elderly and A-Yuan. They won't be able to sleep at night Qing-jie will have my entrails as fishnets for it.' he said with a sheepish grimace. 'I have to come up with good stuff since I got rid of that amulet for good thanks to the new friends I made. What would you like for dinner?'
'Anything will do...Cloud Recesses Rules no longer matter to me now. I seceded.' Wangji informed him. Well, that's a lot of options for him to cook, Wuxian thought, but he'll have to be careful with flavors. What's normal to normal people, will be too much for the bland vegetarian so he'll slowly help him adapt by changing taste levels every week. 'What's life like down here?'
'No Sects for one thing...and people cultivate to godhood through virtue and martial might instead of cultivating Golden Cores. So being a decent human being is basic requirement, which most of the people up north lack.' Wuxian told him with a derisive snort as he went to take out foodstuff and prepare them, taking out a number of vegetables and eggs. 'And yes, gods do exist as you know, if you prayed to Ling Wen-zhenjun.' he said and he began preparing the vegetables first as well as condiments with agility without compromising on quality. 'I and the Wens pray to Huaguan Wushen. Xie Lian-xiong is the priest of his shrine and he teaches children and A-Yuan during the day. Do you like to build a shrine here for Ling Wen-zhenjun tomorrow? He is your patron god now since you prayed to him for help in finding me and gave you his blessing.' he offered.
'..you've become religious?' this wasn't what he expected from Wuxian, but as the so-called righteous sects failed him, the gods helped him and those under his protection, earning them their faith.
'Yeah...our prayers are always heard and it gives us a peace of mind and comfort, after being stressed for so long by Jianghu. We sorta feel comforted in the fact that we're saved.' Wuxian said with a gentle smile. Xie Lian is a God. He was actually Huaguan Wushen all along. Priest his lily-white ass, but he was actually a God who prefers the mortal world for some reason, and living in a shack that his family had to renovate. Then again, he was a martial god of humility and virtue, so being humble even in way of life is part of his schtick...
He blesses his worshippers with the ability to learn quickly, high pain tolerance and formidable intuition against danger even if they don't do abstinence like he does.
But he was actually friends with Xie Lian for years, trust was built that he was actually a God who cares for his worshippers.
'Humans can become Gods, if and only if they are fated to be one. A person can cultivate for his entire lifetime only to be disappointed and die through age or disease or accidents. So its up to destiny really.' Wuxian shrugged as he began lighting up his stove after tossing a few firewood in, to reheat the rice and prepped a wok, taking out a bottle of oil and heated it up, along with diced aromatics and savory spices.
'As for names, its only birth names here. Nobody uses courtesy names, so don't introduce your courtesy name. Even the qianbeis know me as Wei Ying when Xie-xiong taught us how the south works. Southern people are a lot kinder and more friendlier, as well as virtuous, though rich people and nobles are exactly as how they are up north. There used to be countries down here but defunct as of nearly a millennia ago so its now like jianghu up north, no more nationality.'
'I'm used to calling you Wei Ying anyway.' Wangji piped up. Wuxian laughed.
'That's true! I'm also always calling you Lan Zhan...except when I was at my worst.' he said as both boys were reminded at the one time he did back at Chongyang Pass. 'I'll wait for you to be ready to tell me your tale. All I can do for you is teach you how to enjoy life in these southern lands. You did say you're not restrained any more.' he reassured Wangji. 'Everyone is just doggone nice...being treated well sure is nice and friendly!'
'I'll hold you onto that.'
After Wuxian tossed the vegetables in for sauteing, he cooked the chopped vegetables plus bean sprouts to his liking, before tossing in beaten eggs, effectively making scrambled vegetable eggs. Which he served with rice to Wangji. 'You're still recovering from Scorpion Snake poisoning so this is a helpful yang dish.'
'Thank you...' Wangji smiled a barely-there smile, but it meant a lot for them both.
'Xie-xiong taught us about the nasties down here too...don't worry about the Scorpion Snakes, they only stay within Ban Yue ruins. Its apparently a cursed species that came to exist as a curse no thanks to some idiot arrogant king in Ban Yue's history.' Wuxian began his tale as Wangji ate his meal. 'Centuries back, said dumbass caught two spirits born of a scorpion and a snake while on a hunt. Believing the two spirits would cause havoc sooner or later because of their venomous nature, the king decided to take them back to be executed despite the spirits begging him not to.'
'During a festivity the king forced the two spirits to mate in front of a drunken audience and executed them afterward. The queen who felt pity for the two poor spirits, but can't go against the will of the king, covered their corpses with a Shan Yue leaf. The spirits became malicious ghosts and cursed the descendant born of their mating to forever remain in Banyue kingdom and destroy its people as revenge. However, the Shan Yue leaf that his queen used to cover them in an act of kindness then became the only antidote to their venom. So Shan Yue leaves, when discovered that its the only cure eventually, became precious as gold.'
'So that's how it is...'
'Yes, so as long as people avoid Ban Yue's ruins, everyone is safe from that snake. The snakes never leave that place due to the curse.'
After a meal, Wuxian offered Wangji his bed while he sleeps on the couch, until they can buy a second bed tomorrow.
'...I'll buy it.' Wangji told him. 'Its already enough that Wei Ying offered that I can live in your house. Its the least I can do.'
Next day, he bought a large Luohan Bed enough for two people to sleep in in comfort.
Wuxian was speechless.
'Two beds are a waste, we can just share one.'
Wuxian, remembering his words from the ruins, sembled a tomato now. |
Prompt: A gallya fic where Gabby and Illya are spies in the present day?
“What if I told you to smile?”
The edge of his lips twitch but Illya refrains from giving in. Instead he keeps his head low and hands busy, hooking one cable into another, tying them with talented fingers while she pouts.
“Illya,” She practically draws out his name in the silence of the office that is all dark glass and sharp angles. There are no filing cabinets, which means no paper evidence. Gaby however, has that handled as she toys with the phone in her hand, pausing to lean back. Her shoulder brushes his chest and her leg slides back into his, letting her sit gently on the edge of his knee. The sudden contact makes his throat tighten and Illya glances up just in time to be caught with the eye of the lens. Gaby’s thumb brushes the smooth glass of the screen and she snaps their photo before he can look away.
He does scowl though, through thick golden lashes at the slope of her neck just inches from his dry lips. Her pulse jumps and he licks his bottom lip just as the phone chimes in with the password to the computer she’s hooked to.
“Oh,” She turns her head over, the tip of her nose nearly touches his own but he pulls back before they get too close and nudges her gently with hands on the back of her hips, towards the desk where the tablet lays like a bright beacon in the dark room.
“Delete that photo.” Illya murmurs softly, letting his hands linger a moment too long.
“No.” Gaby says with a final argumentative tone on her tongue.
“Gaby,” He warns softly, but nothing comes of his warning. Instead he watches her work, plugging her phone into a small slender cord that attaches into a port on the tablet. The screen goes dark then lights back up. Bits of data are dragged from one screen to another as Gaby runs the tip of her finger across the glass fronts.
“It’s just a selfie Illya,” She hums softly as she leans over the desk. The light of the phone and tablet cast her in a blinding white light while the rest of her is swallowed by shadows.
“Waverly will not --”
“Waverly won’t know. It’s just for me.” She doesn’t bother looking up. Instead his little hacker is working on diving into the operating system of the computer, digging for corporate ledgers that funnel the funds into markets that the government can’t quite reach.
Illya scoffs softly, “You said that about the last one of those.”
“To be fair,” Gaby starts softly, “You got a ton of likes from that last photo.”
He can see her grin in the darkness, all cat-like and mischievous, reminding him why he broke so many rules and regulations just to kiss her.
“I only care if you like me,” Illya says softly, retaliating against her argument about the photo of him she snapped while he wore her short robe open, crawling over her. She had promised him there, in between kisses that the risque photo was for her and her only.
Hours later it ended up on instagram and minutes after that, Waverly rang.
While Gaby works on the technology, Illya finishes his knots. He’s re-tied Gaby’s harness for safety measures, they are moving against a very fast clock, one that will alarm them thirty-seconds before the state of the art security system goes off, leaving them to the dogs.
“I think I’ve found it.” Gaby’s excitement is tangible. He watches as she bounces up on the tips of her toes, leaning over the desk. Her dark hair is tied high in a bun but several pieces of dark hair escape. Her bangs need trimming, they’re too long again and she blows out a soft huff of air just to temporarily knock them away.
“Good. We are short on time and the Cowboy is waiting.” Illya’s harsh accent washes over her and Gaby turns her head up just to send him a wink.
“I’ve got their books. Lots of money going from here to this shipping company in Rome. Vinciguerra?” She taps the screen of the tablet and then furrows her brow as the screen turns a dark shade of red. Gaby taps it again and then panic slides over her delicate features. The tablet lets out a loud squeal and the screen goes black with red lines streaking through. Yanking the cable free of her phone, she stuffs it down into her pocket and grips onto Illya’s arm.
“Time to go,” Desperation bleeds into her voice and she yanks him away from the desk. The tablet’s squealing is joined by a louder sound overhead. The lights in the dark office illuminate all at once, flickering on with bright accusing beams.
“What did you do?” Illya asks fumbling for a moment for his watch, trying desperately to tap the screen. The digital face of the watch flickers blue and then a small face appears.
“You two have triggered the security alarm. Don’t know how you did it, but every police officer this side of Manhattan is coming for you.” Napoleon’s smooth American tone is hard to hear over blaring alarms, but Illya holds his arm up higher as if to get better reception.
“How do we get out?”
Gaby crosses the office for the glass doors but they do not budge. Locks have all slid in place, caging them in for the night. She turns back to Illya, “Looks like we can’t go that way. Any other plans?”
“We could go swimming.”
“Absolutely not.”
“I’ve got a boat!” Napoleon chimes in, head to the south side of the building, break a window and use those super spy powers of yours Peril. Surely a sleeper agent like you can scale a building.”
“Napoleon,” Gaby warns him soft and low, a growl escapes her as Illya goes dead still as if caught up in the shame of his past. He is constantly trying to outrun the shadow of a country that made him a psychological experiment. Gaby’s hand slips down the length of his arm and falls into his own. She squeezes his palm, “If you’re on the south side of the building. How do you expect us to get down twenty-stories?”
“Can’t you use your phone to hack the elevator? Or is this how MI-6 caught you?”
Gaby reaches over with her free hand and taps the face of Illya’s watch, silencing their annoying partner for good. She squeezes Illya’s palm one more time before pulling away, “Illya, we need a way out.”
He nods to her and glances back at the desk. There’s a heavy metal chair behind it and a few sharp columns hold up the ceiling overhead. Within minutes they are out. A chair falls from the top floor, bringing a sprinkle of tempered glass behind it. It falls into the Hudson while Illya pulls on Gaby’s harness once more, hooking her to him with a heavy clip. She shakes and he tucks her in, closer -- tighter. Her face finds his neck and he gives them a good tug for safety.
“Gaby…” He edges along the broken glass, holding tightly to her. She digs her hands into the front of his vest and turns her head up just enough to catch his blue gaze, “What if I told you to smile?” |
Peek beneath the curtain, get a surprise
I'll sing you a lullabye to pull you inside
Grab the brass ring, I'll give you a thrill
I'm your nickelodeon
"Hasn't he finished it yet?" Tony grumbled, drumming his fingers on the workbench as fire-solution code skimmed through the air before him. He'd never been good at waiting for the other shoe to drop, but he had enough sense to realize that Cap was probably using exactly that impatience against him.
He could wait his turn in this duel of theirs, he told himself; rules of engagement and all that -- gentlemen's conduct, for certain dubious definitions of 'gentlemen'. But that didn't mean Tony had to wait gracefully.
To his credit, Jarvis didn't bother to ask for clarification this time. "I believe the Captain is still editing his video, Sir."
"What, with scissors and fish glue?" Tony snapped back. "It's been, like, a week!"
"It has been two days, eight hours, and twenty five minutes, Sir, and in that time you have queried me on this topic no less than –"
"Spare me the statistics, J," Tony growled, punching 'save' and sweeping that program out of his way. "I'm just glad to be opening a dialogue with the good Captain after our earlier misunderstanding. I'm eager to hear what he has to say next."
"I had noticed your fascination with the Captain's lingual skills, Sir."
And really, Jarvis' sarcasm was getting right out of hand. It was probably Pepper's fault. "You know what? I do not want to know about it if he's a cunning linguist, I just do NOT want to know." Tony cut both hands through the air to demonstrate his disinclination as firmly as possible. "That data is not relevant to my interests, except as it reflects on the question of whether he has a gag reflex or-"
"Captain Rogers appears to be saving a video file to a portable memory device, Sir," Jarvis interrupted him. "Would you like me to divert a copy to your desktop before he erases the master file?"
"Quit asking stupid questions and get me that file, Jarvis," Tony barked, setting the workshop windows to opaque and spinning his chair to face the largest monitor he had.
As before, the video clip began with sound – a hissing, friction noise this time, long and slow and rhythmic, dry against dry, smooth against rough. Just enough to make Tony's mind flood with all the fucking gorgeous things Steve could be petting to make that noise (and if that list included himself, well nobody had to know that, did they?)
Then the screen bled into color and motion; a hand – Steve's hand -- stroking long and slow over a gleaming landscape of worn brown leather, the fingers curling and cupping gently along the folds, as though to soothe some timid animal. After a moment, Tony recognized the old brown jacket Steve seemed to love, its faded, proud wartime patches peeking out of the shadows. Steve's voice, when it came in, was close and warm, cut to the rear speakers, so Tony felt like he was perched between Steve's mouth, and those gorgeous, competent, restless hands. Damned nice touch, that one.
"When I was in Hollywood making those silly movies, I met this gal," Steve said. "She was tall and rangy, big hands and feet, but sweet as anything, and a hell of a flirt once she caught me looking. She called herself Lotta, but later she told me her parents had named her Udo."
Tony smirked, imagining the newly minted Captain America getting a facefull of sexually aggressive transvestite back in the day, but before he could so much as picture Steve, cornered, awkward, and in full blush, the camera panned back a little more to show the man himself, sitting tailor style on his bed with the jacket spread across his lap... and not a goddamned stitch of other clothing anywhere to be seen.
He was not, Tony noted with some chagrin, blushing.
"She was a costumer for the studio when I met her, but before the war, she'd been a dancer in Berlin," Steve said, his face easy and fond as he picked up a tin of saddle soap and a wet brush, and started to work up a lather. "She'd seen the writing on the wall when the Nazis closed all the cabarets and brothels down, and had got while the getting was good. Said she ran to America because some of her favorite customers had been Americans, and she'd wanted to see where all the big spenders came from."
He huffed a laugh, gently spreading the gloss of foam across the leather with one hand, only to wipe it quickly away with a rag in the other, ease of long and loving habit in his movements. "Hell of an irony, I thought, her coming to America looking for wealth in 1934, but Lotta just smirked and patted my face when I said so. Said, 'California has been gracious to me, Steven, I don't complain.'" And no, Tony absolutely did not shiver when Steve put on that low, throaty German accent, he just fucking did not!
Steve slid the jacket around to get at the dry side, somehow managing not to flash a single glimpse of his package as he did so. The shiver he gave as the damp leather skidded across his skin was just as hot though, twitching like a breeze across all that pale, pink acreage, rolling Steve's head back, stretching his throat out long, and bringing his nipples to hard little points just begging to be licked. Steve took a moment to catch his breath. Tony took it to get the cord of his sweatpants untied.
"One day while we were shooting America Triumphant," Steve went on with a sly smile for the camera, "Lotta was doing some fitting work on the costume, and I noticed some stuff she had tucked away in a corner. Stuff like they wear now for blue movies and music videos; all leather and straps and nickel studs and rings and such." He turned the coat again and went for more lather, the soft brush and cloth whispering together under his words.
"I thought it was horse tack at first, all the straps and buckles. Couldn't figure out what it was doing in there with the showgirl outfits and bustle dresses. But when I went and took a closer look, it was clothes; pants, vests, girdles – corsets, I guess technically – all shining and so buttery soft when I touched them, so silky and heavy in my hands I almost expected them to sigh. And the smell..." Steve pulled one of the jacket's sleeves to his face and breathed, eyes hooded low, utterly unaware of how his pale, creamy thigh, and the steep curve of one hip slid into view beneath the hanging leather. Tony swallowed dryly, and took himself in hand.
"You have to understand, Tony," Steve said after a moment, letting the sleeve drape along his throat as he set his rag and brush aside and reached for another metal pot beside him on the bed. "The leather goods I saw growing up were all sturdy, heavy, and hard-wearing; boots and belts, doctor's cases, butcher's aprons. If they smelled like anything, it was street mud, iodine, blood or the sweat of their owners, and that sure didn't make you want to stand there petting them on the hanger."
He pried the lid away, and Tony snorted when he got a glimpse of the can's label; 'Huberd's Shoe Grease.' But then Steve stuck two fingers into the viscous, dun goop, and damned if the thick, filthy squelch of it didn't go straight to Tony's dick.
"Fuck," Tony sighed as his cock spurted precome across his thumb. "Cap, you're killin' me here..." But of course, Steve didn't hurry. He just rolled his greasy, gleaming fingers into the palm of his other hand, and then smoothed them together till both his palms shone wet and slick. Then he began to stroke the grease along the long drape of leather, from the sleeve curling along his throat, all the way down to the standing ridge his erection made in the hanging tail, and Tony had never been so jealous of an article of clothing in his entire life.
"And with what the serum had done to my senses..." Steve went on, giving the camera another heated, furtive glance as his hands rubbed the grease in, "well, let's just say it made everything a little more... intense." Another shiver. This one just fucking had to be deliberate. "I hadn't yet figured out how to tone my senses down and stay focused then, and things like the satin lining in a coat, or brushing my hand against a velvet curtain could cause some pretty embarrassing moments."
He rubbed himself through the leather then, blue eyes fixed on the camera, pink lips quirked in a 'dare you' smile as his hands framed that gorgeous cock of his, plain as day behind its brown leather shroud. "Touching that leather, with the smell filling up my head like reefer smoke, I tell you Tony, I was halfway to getting off right in my pants and not sure I cared."
Tony cared. Tony cared very fucking much, thank you, and he didn't bother to stifle his heartfelt groan as Steve dug more grease out of the can and rolled his palms together again.
"Then I realized that Lotta was behind me. Right behind me, so close that her breath tickled my ear when she said, real low and quiet, 'Those will not fit you, Schatzi. Much too small.'" He laughed, as if he could see how fast Tony's hand was moving over his prick, as if he knew how Tony's breath was dry, quick and shallow over the pool of sheer, aching horniness gathering in his belly.
"Course I tried to jump out of my skin, but she steadied me, put the britches I'd been fondling back into my hand again." Steve's eyes locked onto the camera, hot as the goddamned sun, and his voice sank back down into that velvet black Berlin drawl. "And with your coloring, I think you should not wear the black. No, for you, we will make it special, hm?"
And then the video cut out.
Two furious, cursing strokes later, Tony failed to care. He also failed to think, to breathe, to remember his own damned name, and in short, to do anything that was not directly involved in coming his damned brains out all over his half-cleared workbench. It was only later, as he was wiping himself down with a shop rag that Steve's final words bubbled back up to his forebrain again, accompanied by something very like a memory.
"Jarvis," Tony yelped, his feet slapping to the floor as he bolted upright in his chair. "Dad's collection: the Cap shrine. Jarvis, I need to see the catalogue right now!" The data screen to Tony's right lit up obligingly, and he scrolled frantically down through the pages until... "Hoh-lee shit."
"Sir?"
Tony selected the tiny image and flung it out large in holographic glory; a Steve-sized mannequin, dressed in a version of his old USO costume which at first glance looked fine, but upon closer examination was anything but proper. Even the colors were off – the blue too dark, too dusky, the red deepened toward burgundy, the white grimed just enough with grey to blend. And then the cut of the thing... Tony enlarged it again, noticing how the leggings were actually chaps underneath criminally tiny booty-shorts that laced together at the crotch with a generous allowance for package distribution.
Above the shorts, striped in burgundy and grey, was an honest to fucking God waist cincher that just skimmed the rise of the mannequin's nonexistent nipples. The cropped blue 'jacket' was a fantastical piece made up of thick, quilted, armor-like sections that faded abruptly and nonsensically from Gladiator-vibe into punched out lace patterns in the leather, exposing flashes of white at unexpected, but strategic points. The wrist, for instance; inside the elbow; along the ridge of a collarbone; at the curve of neck into shoulder; all places where someone might want to kiss, suckle, or bite. The cowl was just about the same as the one Steve wore back then, except for how the little wings trailed off in long, whippy white thongs that draped, obscenely suggestive, down either side of his head to tickle his throat.
"Jesus..." Tony said as his spent prick twitched again. "I always thought this was from a knock-off porno."
"According to my records of the visual media in that branch of the collection catalogue, there is no production involving an actor wearing any approximation of this costume," Jarvis provided. "Though it is possible that such a film was made, and suffered the inevitable degradation of silver nitrate immolation at some-"
"No," Tony decided, turning the figure again and examining the cut of the booty shorts more carefully. "Look at the build – in fact, transpose this mannequin over a mock up of Steve's body, proportions accurate...and... there, see?" He nodded at the perfect match, both hands busy tucking himself back into his pants. "That wasn't made for any actor but the original. Shame it's in such shitty condition though."
"The catalogue says it was bought in an estate lot in California in 1973. It appears to have been stored for some decades in an attic."
Tony winced, noticing how some of the cutwork was actually held together with wire, the blue painted onto the mannequin beneath to try and disguise the damage. "Yeah, no coming back from that kind of neglect." He turned the figure again, wondering what the leather had felt like when it had been new; wishing he could have seen Steve's blush turned the first time his friend put it on him and laced those shorts tight over his inevitable erection. That was one hell of an outfit right there; parts of Tony were still saluting.
"Jarvis," he decided with a clap of his hands. "What was the name of that fetish designer out in So Cal? The one with all the organically raised, hand tanned..." The website popped up on his largest monitor, and Tony grinned, evil and relishing it.
"That's the guy. Find me his number and put in a call. We've got a project for him..."
~*~
"Potts here," she said, half turning from the table and setting her serviette beside her plate.
"What do I need to know about the Avengers Exception?" Natasha asked without preamble.
Pepper blinked, then shoved her most charming smile into place for long enough to excuse herself from the table. "Why hello, Ms. Rushman," she said, archly sweet as she made for the ladies lavatory. "My, but it's been awhile, hasn't it? How have you been keeping?"
Natasha gave a chuckle. "My manicure could use a touch up, I had to give my masseuse a raise, and my laundress has quit in tears. Apparently, ectoplasm is hell to get out of delicates. Oh, and I need to find out whether my ridiculous teammates are about to blow up the best tactical unit I've ever seen because they can't seem to keep their pants on. You?"
Pepper had to laugh for real then. "I'm sure it can't be that bad already," she said, "It's only been a week."
"You have met Anthony Stark, haven't you?"
"Once or twice," Pepper grinned, leaning against the sink. "But it's nothing to worry about. From what Steve told me when he started this, I'm pretty sure they're just having a fairly typical dick measuring contest, not a whirlwind romance-slash-nuclear-annhilation."
"Mm hmm. Hold on, I'm sending you some videos..." The audible smirk in the agent's voice was warning enough for Pepper to go and throw the bolt on the bathroom door before she played the first one. Several minutes later, after the last one cut off -- as they all had done -- frustratingly short of the happy ending, she was very glad she had.
"Well..." Pepper said once she was sure she could speak without panting. "That escalated quickly."
"That it did," Natasha agreed, wryly amused. "So you understand my concern. Now; Avengers Exception?"
"Hmm... Nope. Still not seeing how it's actually your business," she answered, mostly to see what the agent would do -- and ok, it was remotely possible that some of Tony's bad habits could be rubbing off on her a little.
"Aside from how I actually am an Avenger, and therefore included in this unknown Exception, you mean?"
"Aside from that, yes."
Natasha snorted a laugh. "It's not my business. But that sort of nicety hasn't bothered me for decades. Now I'm assuming it's some sort of monogamy pass?"
"Basically, yes," Pepper gave up the game with due grace and turned to examine herself in the mirror, cursing her fair hair and the pink complexion that hung onto a blush like the Hatfields held onto a grudge. "It's my not wanting to waste energy wondering what could possibly arise out of five stunningly hot people essentially rooming with my boyfriend, whose poor impulse control is a matter of public record, if not actual legend."
"Definitely legend," Natasha said. "Spoken of in awed whispers wherever drinking geeks gather."
"Exactly." Pepper ran the cold tap and patted a bit of water on her neck and throat. It wouldn't do to return to the luncheon meeting looking like she'd just snuck away for a wi-fi quickie, after all. "I knew exactly what I was getting into with Tony, and I didn't go into this relationship expecting to change who he was or is. I always figured it was a matter of 'when', not 'if', especially since I travel so much for work." She dug her lipstick out of her purse, quickly touching up there too. "Once I saw how he was about all of you, I figured we'd better sit down and get that bit of negotiation right out of the way."
"You're not jealous then?" Natasha sounded odd -- curious, but detached, like she was asking for details on an obscure artist, or an interesting sort of fish. Pepper knew just enough about her, though, to realize that only meant she was more invested in the answer than she wanted anyone to know. And strangely, that was something of a relief.
"I honestly don't have time to be jealous about Tony," she answered, finishing her touch up and smoothing her suit. "Not where the team is concerned. You look after Tony when he's risking his life in that damn suit, I figure you're not going to stop once he's out of it. So long as he tells me when it happens, and he keeps it out of the news, the Exemption stands." She chuckled then, and went to unlock the door. "Besides, if Tony's going to sleep around on me, I'd sure rather he do it with Captain America than with the Olympic Soccer team again."
"Again?"
"Athens, 2004."
"Men's, or women's?"
"...'Or,' you say?"
"That.. should really have been in his file," Natasha muttered after a moment of silence.
"Money talks," Pepper answered, smug and proud. "It can also buy a lot of forgetfulness."
"So hypothetically," Natasha's voice went canny and sly, "if I were to seduce Stark one morning, ride him like I'd stolen him and then put him away wet, you'd be all right with that under the Avengers Exemption?"
Pepper had grown up with brothers. She knew what a challenge sounded like, and just how to egg one on. "Hypothetically, I'd be impressed as hell, given that he still talks about how you can't be trusted around his neck with a hypospray. But if you were to provide photographic evidence, I suppose I'd have to believe you."
Natasha laughed then, short and sharp, like it had been startled out of her. "Pics or it didn't happen. That's actually a new one in my line of work"
"Not in mine," Pepper smirked.
"And is it fair," Natasha let her voice curl low, like a threat, or a filthy sort of promise, "to assume the Avengers Exemption is... bilateral?"
Ten years and Tony Stark ago, Pepper would have blushed and run at that, maybe stammered something awkward for which she'd have kicked herself later. Now she just let her grin out full and said. "Everything's negotiable. Lovely talking with you, Natalie. I'll call you when I get back into town. We can do lunch or something."
"Or something," Natasha answered in a purr as she rang off.
~*~
The latest video was still every inch Tony Stark though, and that meant anything but subtle. The music was loud, rude and raucous, the colors bright, the angles dynamic and the action fast. It reminded Steve of nothing so much as one of those car commercials that come on during sports games, except that instead of some too-skinny girl in her underwear posing with the vehicle, it was Tony Stark in torn and dirty jeans. Tight torn and dirty jeans, actually, and nothing else. And from the way he was standing, he was very well aware of what those jeans did for his backside.
"You wanna know what the kinkiest part of the suit is, really?" he asked once the music faded down a little bit. He looked over his shoulder like a pin up girl, but his grin was anything but coy or sweet. Downright filthy would be a closer call.
"It's not what you'd think, I don't have a hidden fleshlight attachment in there or anything. Although sure, I totally could do something like that, but come on; armored battlesuit does not equal sexual romper room, even for me." Steve had to chuckle at the bright, hectic glitter in Tony's eyes, knowing that the scandalous notions that flickered through his mind were Steve's own doing, but seeded in fertile ground by the imp on the screen.
"So yeah, work and play not mixing there, because what could possibly go wrong, but still I gotta tell you that these bastards," Tony held up one of his repulsor boots in his palm beside him, the weight of it making the muscles of his arms bunch in the light, "sometimes do blur the line." He turned, settled his hip against the worktable, and shifted the boot to both hands, so the light played along the gold and red like fire, and drew Steve's eyes inexorably to the region of Tony's crotch, and damn, but those jeans were really snug.
"You ride a bike, right?" he asked, rolling his hips against the heel of the boot as if he couldn't help himself, "So you know what it feels like, having a powerful machine between your thighs; all that velocity, all that thrust," (Jesus, Mary and Joseph, how filthy he made that word sound,) "cradled right there..." Tony rutted again, then closed his eyes and gasped out a showy shiver that peaked his dusky nipples and made the light dance across the gleaming boot. Steve wanted nothing more than to pry Tony's lip out from between his teeth and chew on it himself.
"Every time I hit the juice, the vibrations run right home to Daddy, knowwhaddImean?" Tony gripped the boot closer, obviously grinding himself against it now. "I can usually ignore it if there's a battle going on – keep my head in the fight and all, but I gotta tell you, Cap, I'm sporting a semi every time I put this bad boy on." He gave his hips a little circling grind, making the trapped flesh bulge and roll around the unyielding alloy. Steve could swear he heard the damned zipper straining against itself.
"Can I tell you a secret?" Tony suddenly stopped still, dropped his chin and peered through his lashes at the camera, though the shooting angle still put his crotch and that damned boot dead square in the focus of the frame.
"Just between you and me, I might have, once or twice, flown around the city on a good day, firing the thrusters in tiny-" his hips rolled again, "little-" and again, "bursts-" and kept on rolling, greedy, and utterly without shame, "and if I time it just right, rock back into each one..." The camera angled up fully now, cut the gleaming boot, the grimy hands, and the grinding crotch out of frame, and zoomed in on Tony's shit-eating grin. "Well let's just say it's a good thing the undersuit I wear inside this thing is washable, and leave it at that, huh?"
Then the video cut out, of course, leaving Steve red-faced, hard in his pants, and grinning at his tablet like a fool. His plan to get Tony over his mortified missishness counted a definite success – the man was bold as a badger now, with not a lick of shame to be seen in person or in these silly, boastful little dares they were pestering each other with now. Tony was back to baseline – brash and flashy and not even a little bit sorry, and honestly, Steve was glad to see it. Though it was going to make it darned tough for Steve to do that video one better without crossing the line between bragging and unwelcome exposure.
And this latest development was definitely going to make it tough for Steve to watch Iron Man flying around in battle without getting at least a little distracted by the thought that he might be rubbing himself off inside the armor on his way home after.
~*~
Tony cut his torch and flipped up his welding mask at once. "Well?" he demanded as War Machine's cooling gun mounts ticked and smoked. "What did he think? Did he freak out?"
"The Captain did not tender his opinion with me," Jarvis replied, with a distinct air of nose-elevation in his tone, "And while to judge by his biometric readings he did have a reaction to the video's contents, I cannot in good faith classify it as 'freaking out'."
That was when Rhodey's boots hit the workshop floor like the crack of doom. "What video are we talking about here?" he demanded, coming around the deflection glass to loom over Tony's shoulder. "You trolling Captain America now, Tones?"
"He started it!" Tony replied. "He totally did," he carried on at Rhodey's skeptical look, "I am not even lying right now! Jarvis! Tell Muffin here that I am innocent of this particular instigation!"
"Technically, Captain Rogers' video was the first in the chain," Jarvis admitted like it hurt.
"In the chain..." Rhodey said.
"It's more like a dialogue," Tony offered.
"A dialogue in which you can legitimately expect your team leader to 'freak out'."
"That's not a good way to put it, really."
"The Colonel's observation is somewhat accurate however, as the primary objective to date does seem to be one of shock and awe. Given the lack of direct follow-through on the part of either partici-"
"And that's enough commentary from you, Jarvis," Tony cut in as Rhodey's face took on that look he'd learned long ago to know, love, hate, fear, and recognize through any amount of mind-altering substance as an 'impending intervention.' "Look, Muffin, I promise you'll always be my favorite, all right? It's just that the good Captain has taken it upon himself to demonstrate that he's got something that passes for a sense of humor lately, is all."
"A sense of humor that involves shocking videos."
"Exactly!"
"They're naked videos, aren't they? You're sending Captain America videos of your junk."
"What? No! No junk yet," Tony insisted, setting the torch down and stripping the mask away. "Almost junk, maybe a little but no actual junk – that's kind of a rule. Kinda like junk-chicken, right? The goal is to get close, you know – get the other guy to flinch first but not, you know, crash and burn."
Rhodey stared for a moment, then shook his head and set a careful hand on Tony's shoulder. "What are you doing, really?" he asked. "Playing head games with a guy like him – a guy you used to have on your wall as a kid? A guy who practically autographed like half your emotional baggage, and who probably has a hell of a lot of Stark-made baggage himself? Do you even know what you're after here, Tony?"
"I'm not after anything." It was nearly the absolute truth, and as before, Tony wasn't surprised to see that his friend didn't buy it. "I'm not! There's no hidden agenda here – I'm not trying to make him do anything, except possibly continue to loosen the hell up and enjoy himself some. Which, by the way, he seems to be actually doing since we started playing this game."
"Seriously," Rhodey folded his arms over his chest. "That's absolutely all you want out of this; Captain America 'enjoying himself'..."
"That's it," Tony lied. But before he could be unsurprised by Rhodey believing him, Jarvis spoke up again.
"Message from Captain Rogers, Sir," he said, and played it without waiting to be told.
"Okay first, who in the world told you that was a sexy way to eat fruit?" Steve's voice, rich with laughter, flowed through the speakers, and goddamn if it didn't chase away the half-panicked 'getting busted' feeling that had coiled up tight in Tony's chest. Steve liked it. Steve wasn't pissed. "And second, I really hope those spoons didn't come from the group kitchen, because I may not ever be able to eat off that cutlery again. In fact, I think I'm just gonna start bringing my own flatware with me to the team dinners, just in case. Rogers out."
Then the call cut, and Tony turned his best 'See?' stare on his friend.
Rhodey just shook his head, and spread his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Okay, clearly this has gone way beyond the realm of good sense," he said. "I take it Pepper doesn't mind?"
"I have a note," Tony breezed, turning back to his welding torch, and hiding his goofy grin behind the mask. "Hey, you want sonic stunners on this thing? I think there's still room in the armpits..." |
Will was deciding he really
did
hope they wouldn’t have to kill Jack. He and Bella really were a very nice couple, and their story was endearing. He was a good man, and the world would be a worse place without him.
“A wonderful start to what looks to be a wonderful relationship,” Will said, smiling at them, “but I imagine your work is hard on you, Jack. One sees more devils than vast Hell can hold.”
Jack looked at Will curiously, as if trying to read something in his eyes. Will internally laughed at the idea. He was quite possibly the only person who did not betray themselves by expression, unless of course he decided to. He had learned years ago how to keep his thoughts to himself, and no one could read him.
“I see the worst in people every day,” Jack agreed, “but even when every day is something new, I never find myself surprised.”
Will smirked.
“When devils will the blackest sins put on, they do suggest at first with heavenly shows,” Hannibal said, “you should always be wary of those closest to you, or you are bound to not only be surprised, but betrayed. Luckily for you, Agent Crawford, the FBI has very strict screening procedures.”
Jack nodded, but he looked thoughtful, as if Hannibal had given him some sort of idea. Will had a feeling he knew what it was, but he couldn’t help being curious.
“Even then, a few people slip through the cracks,” Jack said, “but one gets a sense for that kind of thing after a few years.”
“One may smile and smile and be a villain,” Will stated in agreement, “There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”
Bella looked like she was enjoying the game she had made of trying to identify the origin of each quote.
“Hamlet,” she said.
Will smiled and nodded.
“Not exactly in their place, but both from that play,” he answered, “Do you read often, Mrs. Crawford?”
Bella smiled.
“I used to. I had to do
something
while Jack was away. Now, I mostly work. Perhaps I’ll pick up a book again soon. You’ve reminded me of how much I enjoy it.”
Will’s smile widened. He seemed to be making a very good impression on Jack’s wife. She may even vouch for him later if Jack was still suspicious.
That
would be an interesting thing to see, though he hoped it would not put a strain on their relationship.
“Will, I’m very curious about your empathy,” Jack cut in, “how exactly does that work?”
Will hummed thoughtfully.
“Time travels at different speeds for different people,” he said, “I can tell you who time strolls for, who it gallops for, and who it stops cold for.”
Jack stared at him, uncomprehending.
“As you like it,” Bella explained, “right?”
Will nodded politely.
“Do forgive me, Jack,” he said, “Hannibal has very much corrupted my manner of speech. I can hardly say a thing without repeating what Shakespeare has written.”
Hannibal cut a bite of meat and smiled.
“His words are a very fantastical banquet, just so many strange dishes,” he said pleasantly.
Will laughed, unable to stop himself. He had actually been trying to find a moment when he could use that in reference to Hannibal, but it sounded just as hilarious from him.
“Hannibal especially enjoys quoting Much Ado About Nothing,” Will explained with a grin, turning to address Jack, “because it has always been my favorite. When we first met, it was the only one I could reliably quote back to him.”
Jack nodded, as if he had just begun to understand.
“You two have a remarkable understanding between you,” he said, “I can’t wrap my head around what you are saying half the time, but you both know exactly what the other means.”
Will just smiled, knowing Jack was still trying to find something
suspicious
about him.
“Don’t pretend you are so ignorant of it,” Will chided pleasantly, “I’ve seen how you know from a single look what Bella wants you to say. Hannibal and I are not as special as you would make us out to be.”
Jack huffed a soft laugh and shrugged. He took a bite of food, perhaps as a distraction for himself, or a signal to change topics.
“Doctor Lecter, you really do know how to prepare a meal,” he said, though his tone was all false admiration, “this is the best food I have eaten in years.”
Hannibal raised an eyebrow, though he was amused.
“Neither of you cook?” he asked, looking between Jack and Bella.
Bella laughed softly.
“I do, but not very well. There are people like you, Doctor, who have a talent for that kind of thing. I’m afraid I’m just not one of them,” she said.
Hannibal smiled.
“We are all given our share of wealth, whether that be in the mind, in the hand, or in the pocket,” Hannibal said pleasantly, “there is no need to feel ashamed of a lack, unless it motivates you to gain.”
Will shook his head softly at Hannibal, unable to keep from smiling a bit. Then, he decided to get some information from Jack if he could.
“Agent Crawford,” Will said, “how has your investigation been going? Unless you’re not allowed to say. I just happen to be curious, now that I’ve been interrogated.”
Jack looked almost like a deer in the headlights, as if he hadn’t expected to be asked.
“Technically, you were interviewed. It’s not an interrogation unless I arrest you,” he said, “but you’re right that I can’t give you any details.”
Bella seemed surprised to hear that Will had been a suspect, but she didn’t say anything. Apparently they didn’t discuss work that often with each other.
“We saw an article stating that you have been asking around in the plastic surgery field for any leads,” Hannibal said, adding on to Will’s inquiry, “I was unaware you had any other suspects aside from Will.”
Jack winced, as if they were plucking out his hairs one at a time.
“Well, the best way to solve a case is to not allow yourself to become too focused on any single suspect. The person who seems the most likely often isn’t who we are looking for. I would be a fool to let myself get distracted like that.”
Will smiled.
“Yes you would,” he said, “have you spoken to Doctor Chilton? He’s quite the character.”
Jack furrowed his brow slightly, likely trying to decide how best to answer that.
“I did speak to him once, though I didn’t find anything out that would aid in the investigation,” he said carefully.
Will chuckled.
“I would have been surprised if you had,” he said, “Fredrick has the unique ability to say many words that mean absolutely nothing. He is not a reliable source for anything, much less a surgery. You must have looked into his history of
lawsuits
.”
Jack nodded, but he was frowning. He looked at Will like there was something under his skin that had almost revealed itself.
“I did. Curiously, I didn’t find any incidents of that sort in
your
past, Doctor Lecter,” he said, turning to Hannibal, “I have never met a doctor who has not been sued at least once.”
Hannibal smiled and met Jack’s eyes for a moment.
“Often, lawsuits are more founded on the patient’s opinion of their doctor than the actual quality of the work,” he said, “I do what I can to be pleasant and honest with my clients, and I give each of them my best work. Even those who have not been satisfied with the result have had no reason to be upset with me.”
Jack smiled, but it was clear he was putting on a polite face.
“You really are very charming, Doctor. I can’t imagine thinking poorly of you.”
Will wanted to laugh. Jack was trying to appeal to Hannibal’s better nature, ignorant of the fact that he had none. He wanted to have Hannibal feel obligated to tell him what Will had been doing. Jack was in for a surprise.
“Good works are better than bad strokes,” Will said in agreement, “but so many outwards shows be least themselves. The world is still deceived by ornament.”
Jack may very well have his face stuck into an expression of perpetual confusion. He could not understand what it was Will was saying, and that was exactly why Will had said it.
“The Merchant of Venice,” Will supplied, giving Bella a nod respectfully, “and before that, Julius Caesar. I only mean that even those that are least suspicious are often at fault. Take Doctor Chilton, for example. Upon meeting him, you might not think he is capable of much of
anything
, and then you find out he is a surgeon who somehow manages to steal money from his clients and retain a reputation as successful.”
Will grinned widely, earning a huff of laughter from Hannibal.
“I apologize for Will,” Hannibal said, though he was clearly having a hard time not bursting into laughter himself, “while he is incredibly talented and intelligent, he has a disposition to be displeased with those that bear false witness. He tends to be rather rude towards liars.”
Will shrugged off-handedly.
“That’s another thing I think we share,” Bella said, offering a smile to Will, “I was worried I would be the only person here that has a bit too sharp of a tongue. You likely pull it off better than I do, though.”
Will grinned brightly at her. Jack pressed his lips together, clearly displeased that Bella was growing to like Will so much. She didn’t know that he was still a suspect. Much less Jack’s main one.
“I’m glad you think so,” Will said, “It’s hard to find company these days who appreciate a quick wit. We work by wit and not by witchcraft.”
Bella huffed her own soft laugh and nodded.
“What kind of trouble did you run into from your empathy?” Jack asked, still trying to learn something incriminating.
“Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold,” Hannibal answered on Will’s behalf, “there were people who saw only his ability to detect lies and traitors. They know well enough now, that he is not an object to be bought and sold.”
Will nodded, biting his tongue to keep himself from saying something terrible about Mason Verger. He didn’t want to incriminate himself for a case that had long ago been closed and forgotten.
“That must have been very hard on you,” Jack said, trying his hardest to sound sympathetic.
Will wondered if he was this obviously false when he spoke to the families of dead people. It wouldn’t serve him well, but Will hadn’t been able to find any information detailing unhappy families apart from when they wanted answers he couldn’t give them.
“I think I turned out alright despite their meddling,” Will said, allowing a wry smile to pull at his lips, “and with Hannibal’s help in the aftermath, of course.”
“Of course,” Jack agreed, nodding to Hannibal politely.
“I would never take much credit,” Hannibal parried, “even when I had thoughts of going into the field of psychiatry, I knew the majority of the reparations would have to be done by the patient.”
Will saw his chance and he took it.
“Cans’t thou not minister to a mind diseased, pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, raze out the written troubles of the brain, and with some sweet oblivious antidote cleanse the stuffed bosom of that perilous stuff which weighs upon the heart?” he asked.
Hannibal caught his gaze and raised an eyebrow, amused more than he had been before.
“The patient must minister unto himself,” he replied without missing a beat.
Jack shook his head in wonder, completely out of his depth. Will could see that he was just now beginning to really understand
how
far out of his depth he was. Jack was unable to even start to comprehend the true meaning of Will and Hannibal’s actions or words. There were secrets he would never learn, and he didn’t even know they were capable of being learned.
“I believe that was Macbeth,” Bella said, shaking her own head with a smile, “I can’t imagine how you managed to remember that entire thing,” she said to Will, then turned to Hannibal, “and you had the reply ready, as if you knew he would say it.”
Hannibal and Will exchanged their own amused expressions, and Will caught the look of envy Jack shot them. It seemed Jack wanted to be able to communicate with Bella the same way Hannibal and Will could.
“It was,” Will agreed, “you certainly have your own good memory in your skull. Most people Hannibal introduces me to can’t recognize if he’s quoting Shakespeare or Euripides. He’s a fan of classic authors.”
Bella laughed lightly.
“I don’t know if I’d be able to identify Euripides if you quoted him, but I am really enjoying Shakespeare. It’s like a quiz in a literature class.”
“Even in one’s adulthood, it’s serviceable to often test your mind,” Hannibal said, “I often entertain myself by stretching my knowledge. Will is one of the best companions for such an activity.”
Bella and Will both laughed at that, earning a bright smile from Hannibal when he looked at Will.
“Having the memory I do, my head is full of random trivia,” Will explained, addressing Jack, who seemed to be feeling ostracized, “I know a bit about everything, making it so I can always find something I know that someone else doesn’t.”
Jack smiled, seeming genuinely grateful that Will decided to reintroduce him into the conversation.
“I’m sure there are plenty of people that way in the BAU over at Quantico,” Will continued pleasantly, “knowing a bit about everything sure makes it easier to profile a criminal, in my experience. Easier to get into their headspace if you’re not forging a new path through your own.”
Jack tipped his head.
“In your
experience
,” he noted, “what kind of experience do you have with profiling criminals?”
Will huffed.
“Don’t try to play me, Jack. I can always tell when someone is lying, or when they’re trying to cover something up,” Will said calmly, “I know you’ve looked at every bit of my records you could find. That’s bound to include a good amount of work I did while in school. You already know I have degrees in both Forensics and Psychology. I hope you didn’t assume that was some sort of fluke. I know a thing or two about the justice system, and those that work against it.”
|
"Next time he comes here, you should -"
"He's not coming back, Nadia." The words should've hurt, Julian knew, but it felt distant, the way everything did these days.
"You don't know that."
"Yes, I do." He met her eyes without wavering. "Geralt of Rivia is nothing if not certain of his ability to know what's good for someone better than they do. He'd never have given the poppy back if he was still concerned for my well-being."
"Julian -"
"It's for the best," he said with a shrug. "I know I won't be seeing him again, so I can actually move on for good this time."
"But you're not happy, Julian."
He gave her a gentle smile. "What does that have to do with anything?"
When the snows came, Geralt used the contract money he hadn't bothered to spend on food or shelter for himself to pay for stabling for Roach through the winter at the best place he could afford. She deserved to rest in comfort for a while.
He, on the other hand… With her care seen to for the season, he set back out on foot alone, with only his torn and battered armor and his swords.
Julian was kind, and quiet, and gentle, and Nadia hated it.
All the fire, all the joy and laughter and humor and sass had gone out of him. He spoke when needed, mostly to clients, but never more than that. He’d even given her the last of the poppy tea to dispose of so she could be reassured that he wasn’t using it anymore, but he still wasn’t himself. He reminded her of an effigy on a shrine: a lovely shell, serene and benevolent, but lifeless now that grief had killed the core of his spirit.
Nadia missed her friend terribly, even when he was sitting right beside her.
It hardly seemed fair to kill the wyvern, Geralt thought, dodging a swipe of its tail on pure reflex. It was only hunting for food, same as any other creature. Wasn’t its fault that people had begun encroaching on its usual hunting grounds and then took exception to it taking its meals from their flocks and herds.
The thought of food tugged at something in the back of his mind. He’d grown adept at ignoring the stabbing pains of hunger his body still occasionally punished him with, but it made it hard to remember when he’d last eaten. Had it already been ten days?
Ten days, he’d learned, was about his limit. That was the point at which his body would begin to give out, and he’d be forced to find and eat something, just enough to keep going until the next time. Some tiny remnant of self-preservation tucked away in the darkest corner of his thoughts usually tried to keep him from going into a hunt during the last couple days of that cycle, so he’d assumed he couldn’t be at that point yet.
But if the hunger was enough to distract him from a fight…
When he was next able to focus enough to think, the wyvern was dead on the ground nearby, charred. He didn’t remember using igni on it, but he must have. The spike from its tail was embedded in Geralt’s thigh, broken off from the tail itself. He stared at it. Venom, he thought vaguely. There were things he should do for that. What those things were he wasn’t sure, but there were definitely things he should do.
The next time he came back to conscious awareness, the tail-spike was laying on the ground beside him. His last vial of Golden Oriole was next to it, uncorked and mostly empty, the ground beneath it wet where it had fallen over and spilled. Geralt looked at the vial, then at his leg, which had lost the ugly darkened cast of tainted blood and was simply red with ordinary blood. Clearly he’d used some of the potion before he dropped it. Good enough. With a shrug, he left the near-empty bottle lying and limped away.
Back in the village, the alderman looked askance at his wounded leg as he handed over the contract fee. “You ought to have that looked at,” he said. “Our healer, she could -”
The door was closed behind him and Geralt was halfway down the block before the alderman could finish his sentence.
“I know -” Julian said between kisses, “- what you’re - doing.”
“That’s fine,” Nadia murmured, sliding practiced hands down his chest to untie the sash of his robe. “As long as it works.”
Julian nipped just below her ear, making her gasp. “Who said it was working?” he asked.
“Well,” she said, curling her hand around his rapidly-stiffening cock, “you’re still here.”
He let out a strangled sound as she squeezed lightly. “That’s fair, I suppose.” Shrugging his robe off, he got his hands beneath Nadia’s thighs and lifted her up, depositing her on her bed.
When she gave him a wicked smile and reached out a hand, beckoning, he followed her down.
After, she lay curled against him and stroked one hand through his chest hair. “I’m not asking you to, you know, talk-talk about it,” she said softly. “Just explain it to me, help me understand, and I won’t bring it up again.”
Julian stretched slightly, feeling just indolent enough to actually allow her the question. She’d known what she was about, that girl, he thought with a faint smile. He felt more sated after one round with her than he usually did after a whole evening’s worth of clients. His mind was almost silent, for once; he felt like he might actually be able to face the subject without falling apart. “Your word on that?”
She nodded against his shoulder. “I just need to know, Julian. I’ll let it lie after that. I promise.”
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I was eighteen years old, just out of Oxenfurt and trying to start making a living as a bard. I was performing at a shitty little tavern in Posada when I saw the most gorgeous man sitting alone in a corner, brooding…”
For the first time in his life, Julian told the story without minimizing or deflecting or evading the topic of his feelings for the witcher he’d met that day. Nadia was a warm, comforting weight against his side, staying silent and letting him speak without interruption.
“And he said, ‘If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands,’ and turned away.” Julian swallowed hard. “I didn’t see him again until the first time he came here.”
Despite her intent to stay quiet and just let him talk, Nadia sat up and gave Julian a scandalized look. “What an absolute fucking prick!”
Julian laughed. It was oddly freeing, feeling validated in that reaction at last. “I thought so, yes.” He raised an eyebrow at Nadia. “Did you want to hear the rest or not?”
“Hmmph.” But she settled back down beside him again. “Sorry. Go on.”
His voice stayed steady as he explained his rationale for agreeing to see Geralt the first time he came to the Lotus, and then subsequent times, but grew thick with tears when he reached what he’d privately labeled as ‘the turning point’.
“That night, with the bastard who got rough with me…” he sighed. “I should’ve sent Geralt away. But I was weak, and my emotions were all churned up anyway, and I thought I was over it enough that it wouldn’t be an issue. I thought there was enough separation between what we used to be and what we’d become that it could work. Only...I guess that wasn’t true. I got stupid. I wanted more than I could have. And when it was over and he went back to normal, it...hurt.”
Nadia shifted beside him, and he heard her take a breath as if she were about to speak, but she didn’t. He waited another moment, then mentally shrugged and continued the tale, culminating in their confrontation that night at Trestka's estate.
“He didn’t say a word,” Julian finished quietly, after relating their last conversation in Trestka’s bedroom. “Just...stood up and left. Left the bottle of poppy tea and the note with it in my room here, and that’s...that’s it. He’s gone, and I need to learn how to move on again - for real, this time.” He roughly swiped away an errant tear with the back of his free hand.
Nadia thought for a moment. She sighed. She sat up and leaned over, drawing Julian into a slow, deep kiss.
And then she drew back a tiny bit and murmured against his lips, tenderly.
“Julian, you are a fucking idiot.”
He jerked his head back, pressing into the pillow to get enough distance that he could give her a shocked and affronted stare. She sat up and crossed her arms over her chest, giving him an extremely unimpressed look.
“What the fuck, Nadia?” She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling, as he suddenly had more fire and personality in him than he’d had in weeks. “I...I bare my very soul to you, you temptress, and you just, you turn around and insult me?”
She couldn’t help it - she laughed at that.
“And now, you laugh! You laugh at my suffering! Cruel, cruel mistress of the night you are.” But there was a tiny spark of humor in his eyes when he glared up at her.
“Julian, I say it with all the love in the world, but yes. You’re a fucking idiot.” She shook her head fondly.
He sat up, pushing himself up to lean against the headboard. “That’s not news,” he pointed out. “But do enlighten me on the specifics of how I’ve been an idiot this particular time.”
“You’re too close to it, too tangled up in your history with him to see it, but Julian, he does care for you. Deeply. Loves you, even. Since that night -”
Julian waved a hand dismissively. “Yeah, that night, but after that he acted like nothing had ever happened.”
She grabbed his waving hand and held it still. “And that’s why I’m calling you an idiot, because he’s been different since that night. You didn’t see it, maybe because you were too afraid to look, but I’ve seen the way he looked at you, when you met him out front instead of waiting in your room. I’ve seen the way he lingered outside your door each time when he left. If I had to guess, I'd say he was pretending to act like that night never happened because he thought that was what you wanted, but I’m pretty sure he’s been pining after you just as hard as you’ve been pining after him.”
“You don’t know him like I know him, Nadia. He’s not the pining type, at least not if you’re not a terrifying violet-eyed sorceress.”
“And you didn’t see the look on his face when he found out you were using poppy,” Nadia shot back. “I did. He was hurt, Julian. Hurt that you hadn’t trusted him enough to ask for his help. He was worried about you, and he promised to do whatever he could to help you when I asked.”
Julian bit his lip, uncertainty creeping into his eyes.
“And I might not know him, darling, but I know clients in general far better than you do. You’ve been doing this for what, two years? I’ve been doing it a lot longer. I’ve seen clients catch feelings before, and he’s had it bad for you for a while now. Even before that night, though he hid it better at first.”
“Having feelings,” Julian all but spat the word as though it disgusted him, “for his favorite whore is a far cry from having feelings for his...whatever it was I used to be, to him.” He laughed bitterly. “Not his friend, he was clear about that.”
But Nadia was already shaking her head. “He wasn’t a man trying to ignore it as he fell in love. He was a man trying to suppress something already deep-rooted in his heart. What he felt for you predated your liaison here.”
Julian ignored that. “If it was really that ‘deep-rooted’, don’t you think he’d have said something at some point during the past two decades?”
“You didn’t.” She gave him a pointed look.
“Well, all right, no,” he admitted. “But I was always quite vocal about caring for him. I was his friend. He wouldn’t even allow that much in turn.”
“Julian,” Nadia said patiently, “did you or did you not just five minutes ago describe him as ‘the most taciturn, emotionally constipated bastard you ever met’?”
His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. Nadia took that for the answer it was.
“So why would you expect otherwise? I know the type, and that sort of man would push you away all the more, not because he didn't want you but because he was terrified of how much he wanted to keep you.”
A muted sense of panic clawed at the back of Julian’s throat. He felt a sudden burning urge to shove her words back, throw them away from his mind before they could feed the tiny, withered seedling of love and hope still hiding in him and coax it back to full bloom.
“You love him, Julian -”
“I love lots of people,” he interrupted. “He’s not special.”
The silence lasted all of five seconds before he capitulated. “All right, fine. What of it?”
"And I would bet every mark I've ever earned that he loves you, too."
"Even if you're right," he said, "love alone isn't enough. He was an absolute bastard to me."
"And you said he tried to apologize, the first time you met again after the dragon hunt. You refused his apology. Plus, I’m pretty sure you got your own back with the way your argument at Trestka's ended. I can't imagine that was pleasant for him to hear. I think you've probably added enough of a counterweight to center the scales of bastardy between you."
Julian stared at her with an unreadable look, long enough that she began to wonder if she'd gone too far with that last one.
At last he slumped and cast his gaze down, fiddling with the sheet. "It doesn't feel as satisfying as I had thought it would," he admitted softly, sounding pained. "In the moment when I said it, I thought I wanted him to hurt like I hurt, to know the pain he'd inflicted on me. But it turns out I don't like knowing I hurt him like that."
"Because you love him."
"Because I love him," Julian agreed, meeting her eyes with a wry twist to his lips.
Nadia laid her hand against his cheek. “Go find him, Julian. You deserve better than this sort of...slow heart-death. And since he’s not coming back, you’ve got to go to him.”
He was silent for a long moment before replying, so quiet she could barely hear him. “But what if you’re wrong, Nadia? About what he...feels for me? If anything.” That last was tacked on hastily, like a man trying to appease a capricious god who might snatch away any happiness that seemed to be taken for granted.
“I’m not,” she said simply. “But if I am, then at least you’ll know for sure. Come back here, and I’ll help you drown your sorrows til you’re properly over him.”
“I feel like I should have more...more pride, than to go chasing after him yet again. Shouldn’t I?” Julian sounded terribly uncertain.
“Which is more important,” Nadia countered, “your pride or your happiness?”
He found he didn’t have an answer to that. |
Jamie turned the key into their motel room and Dani shut and locked the door behind them. Jamie did a quick sweep of the small room and bathroom. It was clear.
“Oh look, two beds this time, Poppins. Guess you won’t have to sleep next to me anymore,” Jamie said sarcastically.
Dani rolled her eyes. “I’m not dignifying that with a response.”
“Oh?” Jamie said, quirking her eyebrow, “So, you do wanna sleep with me then?”
Dani tossed the backpack on the extra bed and began rifling through the contents. “Oh, in more ways than one,” she muttered.
Of course Jamie heard it. Dani meant for her to. Jamie smiled.
“Didn’t realize you were so turned on by near death experiences, Dani.” Jamie said, teasingly, plopping down on the other bed and taking her shoes off.
“Oh, I’m not, trust me,” Dani replied.
“Hmm… what was it then that’s got you thinking such inappropriate thoughts while we’re in the middle of a crisis here?” Jamie was genuinely curious.
“The bow and arrow,” Dani replied quickly and quietly. She didn’t want to look up at Jamie when she said it, so she just continued to rifle through the backpack.
Jamie snickered. “Hmmm. Noted.” I reallllllly did get a lot of mileage out of that bow tonight, didn’t I? Jamie smiled to herself.
Dani smirked as she pulled some medical supplies out of the backpack, along with a few protein bars. They hadn’t eaten since lunch and it was well past midnight at this point. She tossed one to Jamie, who immediately opened it. They ate in silence. Jamie looked like she could fall asleep sitting up at any moment.
“Let me check your bandages before you fall asleep,” Dani said, moving over to the bed to sit next to Jamie.
Jamie unzipped her jacket and tossed it on the other bed next to the backpack. Dani checked her arm first, rolling up the sleeve. Jamie had bled through the bandage. It made Dani feel awful. She only had an inkling of how much Jamie had pushed herself tonight. Dani applied antibiotic ointment over the stitches. Jamie watched as Dani’s fingers worked, finding them so soothing to her hurting body. Dani gently reapplied the bandage. She then moved to Jamie’s shoulder, pulling the collar of her shirt down to expose the wound. She had also bled through this bandage. It broke Dani’s heart to see.
“Can you hold your collar down like this so I can work?” She asked Jamie.
“Yeah,” Jamie said, holding it down with her other arm so Dani had her hands free. “Thank you.”
“No thanks necessary,” Dani said, smiling at her.
Jamie easily returned the smile. She couldn’t take her eyes off Dani. She couldn’t believe this beautiful, kind, caring woman loved her.
“Do you think they’ll find us here?” Dani asked.
“I fucking hope not. But we have to leave in the morning. We can’t stay in any one place too long,” Jamie stated. “Oh, and I should have mentioned it sooner. But, nice work back there. Taking down that guy, that is. You more than likely saved my life.”
Dani broke out into a huge grin. “My pleasure, Agent Taylor,” she said formally. “I learned from the best.”
“Really?” Jamie asked, intrigued. “And who might that be?”
Dani giggled and leaned in to kiss Jamie. Jamie loved it. I don’t remember now why I wanted to wait to do this. This is bloody fantastic.
“You know who, silly.” She said. “And I do hope there will be more lessons in the future,” Dani stated, her tone flirtatious.
Jamie smirked. “That can be arranged. I imagine they may need to be more advanced now. More hands on.”
Dani’s brain short-circuited just imagining it. Jamie knew exactly what she was doing to her.
“Uh, uh, yeah. I think I would, uh, definitely learn best that way,” Dani stammered.
Jamie smiled. She was so in love with this adorable woman.
“So, are you going to tell me everything that happened at the warehouse?” Dani asked, recovering. She still really didn’t know how Jamie had pulled it off.
“Not tonight,” Jamie said, the tiredness in her voice evident.
“Ok, but I do want to hear it. All of it.”
“And I’ll tell you, Poppins. It really was quite genius, if I do say so myself.”
“So humble,” Dani teased, finishing up her work on Jamie’s shoulder and pulling her collar back up.
“You next,” Jamie instructed, indicating towards Dani’s leg.
“It’s fine,” Dani protested. “I can do it.”
“Poppins…” Jamie said in a warning tone. “Don’t be arguing with me on this or there will be consequences. Give me your leg.” Jamie was exhausted and hurt all over, but there was no way in hell she wasn’t going to take care of Dani.
Dani knew better than to argue. After all, she’d seen Jamie in action. She swung her leg up onto to Jamie’s lap. Jamie tried to roll Dani’s pants leg up, but her jeans were too tight.
“Uh, Dani, I think you’re going to have to take these off,” Jamie said.
“What?” Dani replied, her body frozen, her eyes wide.
“Jeans. Off. Now,” Jamie instructed.
Dani gulped.
“Oh, for God’s sake, Poppins, don’t be going all modest on me now,” Jamie said, reading the hesitation on Dani’s face. “I’m just tending to your leg, that’s all, I promise.”
Dani nodded and stood up, trying to figure out why she suddenly felt so nervous. This was Jamie. She was safe with her. She unbuttoned her jeans and slid them down her legs, tossing them on the bed next to Jamie’s discarded jacket. Jamie couldn’t help it; her heart started racing at the sight of Dani in her purple underwear. Not the time, Taylor, stop looking.
Dani sat back down and tentatively swung her leg back up on Jamie’s lap. She noticed how dark Jamie’s eyes had gotten. At least it’s not just me who feels this way all the time. She felt almost smug knowing she was having an effect on Jamie.
Jamie got to work on Dani’s leg. She took the old bandage off, applied ointment and began re-bandaging it. She was trying very hard not to think about the fact that she was on a bed with a half-naked Dani Clayton. She was perplexed though about why Dani had gotten so nervous about it. Did she not trust her? Did she think Jamie would do something she wasn’t ready for? Jamie had to know what Dani was thinking. It was important to her.
“What’s on your mind, Poppins?” Jamie asked, as she finished applying the new bandage to Dani’s calf. “You acted kind of skittish there a minute ago.”
“I, uh, I don’t really know, honestly,” Dani replied.
“You trust me, right?” Jamie asked. “I would never want to make you feel uncomfortable or pressure you to do something you didn’t want to. You know that, right?”
“Yeah, I do. I trust you completely. And I know that.”
“So, what’s the problem then?” Jamie asked gently.
“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” Dani asked quietly. She removed her leg from Jamie’s lap and hugged her knees to her chest.
Jamie turned to face her. “No, I’m not. I want you to feel safe with me. That’s really important to me. You looked kind of scared. You can tell me anything. Please.”
“Yeah, ok. I guess I just felt insecure there for a minute,” Dani confessed.
“What on earth for, Dani?”
Dani took a deep breath. “Uh ok, here goes. You make me feel things I’ve never felt before… with anyone. And, I think you know that I really want to sleep with you. Like, I want that. A lot.”
Jamie gave a small laugh. “You’ve dropped some hints to that effect, yeah. And the feeling’s mutual, for the record.”
Dani gave a little awkward laugh. “Right. And I know that’s not happening tonight.”
“Definitely not. I feel like hell,” Jamie interjected.
“Right. But it will at some point happen.”
“I hope so, yeah,” Jamie admitted, still not understanding what was going on.
“I know I flirt and make comments, but Jamie, I have to be honest with you. I owe you the truth, and you’re going to find out for yourself anyway. When it comes down to it, I have no idea what I’m doing here. I’ve only ever been with Eddie. So, when you asked me to take my pants off, I know it wasn’t about sex, but all of a sudden, I thought about what it would be like when that is the case. And I sort of froze because I realized that I won’t even know what to do. And I don’t want to disappoint you. Because you deserve the best. And so I guess I was just freaking out and feeling really inadequate,” Dani said, the words tumbling out.
Jamie could have kicked herself for not realizing sooner that Dani’s inexperience could be an area of insecurity for her.
“Oh, come here, baby,” Jamie said, opening her arms to Dani, who scooted right into them. “Please don’t worry about that, ok? Our first time together will be perfect because it’s us. It will be great for me because it’s you. I don’t expect you to be any certain way. I just want you. There’s no pressure and there will certainly not be any disappointment. You could never disappoint me in any way. You can follow my lead and we’ll only do what you’re comfortable with, ok? I’ll check in with you every step of the way. And we won’t do anything until we’re both ready. You don’t have anything to worry about. I don’t want there to be any fear or feelings of inadequacy in this relationship, ok?”
“Ok. Thank you, Jamie,” Dani whispered, the relief evident in her voice. “I feel better now, with you knowing. I just don’t want to mess this up.”
“You could never mess this up. Thank you for telling me. I always want to know what’s going on with you. I’m glad I know how you’re feeling so I can be mindful of it,” Jamie responded, placing a kiss to the top of Dani’s head.
“I am looking forward to it, even if I am a little scared,” Dani said.
“Me too, Poppins, me too. And, it’s ok to be a little scared. I am, too. But, we’re safe with each other. And, if your self-defense training is any indication, I think you’ll be a quick study,” Jamie said playfully. Dani laughed.
Dani scooted back out of Jamie’s arms and smiled at her. She felt better knowing she could talk so openly with Jamie. She stood up and put her jeans back on. She then fished an ice pack out of the backpack and cracked it to make it cold. She went to the bathroom to grab a hand towel and wrapped the ice pack in it.
“For your face,” Dani explained, as she sat back down next to Jamie. “It’s starting to swell up a bit.”
“Is it? Shit!” Jamie said. “I hate when they get my face!” She started to reach for the ice pack from Dani, but Dani didn’t give it to her.
“Go ahead and get comfortable first. You look exhausted, Jamie. Is there anything else you need?”
“No, I feel thoroughly tended to. Thank you, Dani.”
Dani smiled. “Good. I like taking care of you.”
Jamie got up off the bed just long enough to pull the covers down and put her gun under the pillow. She then climbed in and let Dani pull the covers up over her body, tucking her in. She smiled at the warm gesture. Dani turned on the beside lamp and cut off the overhead lights. She then climbed in bed next to Jamie, who was laying on her back and looking up at her expectantly. Dani rolled on her side to face Jamie and gently brought the ice pack to her swollen cheek.
“How does that feel?” Dani asked.
“Really nice,” came the contented reply.
“You can fall asleep at any time, Jamie. Don’t try to fight it. I’ll be right here.”
“Maybe you could just talk to me a bit first? But maybe not about the deep shite we’re in. Something lighter maybe?” Jamie asked softly. Dani was touched by her vulnerability. She remembered how hard today had been on Jamie, too. Not just physically, but emotionally. She wished she could take away all the pain.
“I can definitely do that,” Dani replied, her tone light. “There are still a lot of things we don’t know about each other yet. And, I mean, I think we should get to the really important stuff. So Jamie, I have to know… who is your favorite Avenger?”
Jamie chuckled. “That’s what you want to know?! You really are adorable, you know that?”
Dani blushed. “Well, what’s the answer?”
“I think it should be obvious, Dani.”
“It’s Black Widow, isn’t it?” Dani guessed.
“‘Course it’s Black Widow. She’s a badass and doesn’t need superpowers to get shit done. What’s not to like? Although I have to admit, I also have a soft spot for Captain Marvel. I just really like Brie Larson.”
Dani continued to move the ice pack around Jamie’s face, soothing all the hurt spots. “Now, that is very interesting information, Agent Taylor.”
“What can I say, Poppins? I have a thing for strong blondes. I won’t apologize for it.”
Dani chuckled. “Nor would I ask you to,” she said, winking.
“And what about you, Dani? Who’s your favorite Avenger?”
“Oh, that’s easy. Wonder Woman.
“Wonder Woman’s not an Avenger, Dani.”
“Ok, first of all, it’s adorable that you know that. Second of all, she’s still my answer.”
“Everyone knows she’s in the Justice League, Dani. But, I’ll bite, why is she your favorite ‘Avenger’?”
Dani’s tone changed from playful to serious. “Because she believes in love. Because she knows her strength is found in her ability to love,” she said sincerely.
Jamie was quiet for a moment, considering this answer. “Are you telling me I should be Wonder Woman instead of Black Widow?”
“No, of course not. I would never tell you that. I’m saying you can be both.”
Jamie smiled. I can be both. Maybe Dani is right. Maybe I can find strength in love without losing who I am. I like that. I can be both, and that’s okay.
Dani was about to say something else, but she realized that Jamie had fallen asleep. She smiled down at her sleeping girlfriend who had risked everything for her tonight. She placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.
“Goodnight, Jamie. I love you.”
Dani leaned over and turned off the lamp, plunging the room in darkness. She scooted as close to Jamie as she could, nuzzling into her good shoulder and wrapping her arm protectively around her waist. Being nestled against Jamie made Dani feel safe, secure, and most importantly, loved. She quickly joined her in sleep.
Three hours later, Jamie and Dani were still snuggled together, sound asleep, the day having taken its toll on both of them. Jamie had curled into Dani at some point, reaching for her even in sleep. Had they not been so exhausted, they might have heard the deadbolt on their door turning. They might have heard Peter and Rebecca’s soft footsteps as they walked into the room. They might have heard Rebecca draw her gun, clicking the safety off and pointing it at them in bed as she stood by the light switch, ready to flood the room with light. But, they didn’t hear any of that.
Instead, they awoke to Peter roughly yanking Jamie out of bed…
Jamie couldn’t comprehend what was happening. She woke up as she hit the floor, the crushing weight of someone on top of her. She opened her eyes right as the lights came on. Her eyes watered from the sudden change and she blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of her current situation. Her mind felt sluggish from sleep. Peter Quint came into focus over top of her.
“Jamieeeee!” It was Dani.
“Don’t you dare move, Dani! Stay where you are!” Rebecca shouted.
Peter. Rebecca. Dani. SHIT!!!!! They found us. Jamie’s brain was starting to catch up, right as Peter hit her. She struggled to get up but only made it to her knees. She looked up at the bed. Dani was still there, frozen where she had leaned forward to try to get to Jamie. Rebecca’s gun was trained on her. Fear and rage coursed through Jamie’s body, fully waking her up. Dani looked desperate. Jamie felt desperate. What the hell am I supposed to do now?!
“You weren’t easy to find, you know?” Peter said. “We’ve been looking for you all night. Finally stumbled across the right motel. Easily paid off the front desk worker to give us your room number. And now you’ll die for what you did tonight.”
“Rebecca! Please!” Dani tried to appeal to her.
“You all brought this on yourselves. It’s not personal,” Rebecca replied.
“Feels pretty damn personal, Jessel,” Jamie countered. I did not blow up an entire warehouse to rescue Dani just for these two to kill us in a cheap motel. No!
Dani felt helpless from her perch on the bed. She was still trying to process the scene in front of her. Trying to process how Jamie had been ripped from her arms while they were sleeping. Dani was on Jamie’s side of the bed, looking down at the scene in front of her. In Jamie’s current state, she was outmatched by Peter. Rebecca had her gun aimed for Dani if she tried anything. It was torture for Dani. She stretched her arm out on the mattress, trying to get a better view of Jamie, but all she could see was the back of her head. But, then Dani’s hand slid under Jamie’s pillow and she felt cold steel. Jamie’s gun. Dani’s hand curled around it, releasing the safety under the pillow, no one aware of what she was doing.
Jamie was not going down without a fight. She lunged at Peter, trying to throw him off balance. He easily blocked her, grabbing her by the shoulders. When he saw her wince, he knew she was injured. His hands probed her shoulders until her found her bullet wound. He shoved his thumb in it and pushed. Jamie screamed in agony and fell to the floor. Peter drew his gun and began to squeeze the trigger. Rebecca turned her head to watch him kill Jamie.
BANG!
Jamie closed her eyes, waiting for the impact. When Peter’s body collapsed in front of her, she couldn’t make it make sense. The blood was pooling around his body from a gunshot wound to the chest. His gun fell in front of her. Jamie quickly turned around to see Dani still sitting on the bed and holding the smoking gun. She used my gun. Peter is dead. Dani just saved my life.
“Noooooooo!” Rebecca shouted, aiming her gun at Dani and preparing to fire. She would avenge her lover’s death.
Dani!
BANG!
Rebecca fell to the floor. Jamie stood up from where she had just fired Peter’s gun from her knees. She kicked Rebecca’s gun out of her hand and knelt over her. She was still alive but wouldn’t be for long. Jamie leaned over her, cradling her head in her hands.
“I’m sorry, Rebecca, I had to,” Jamie said, tears streaming down her face.
“I know,” Rebecca whispered. “I would have done the same.”
And then she was gone.
“No, no, no,” Jamie said. She was heartbroken that it had come to this. But she had to protect Dani. Dani! She needs me. Jamie stood up and tentatively walked to Dani, who was still sitting on the bed, gun in hand, staring at Peter’s body. She had a blank expression on her face. She’s in shock.
“Hey,” Jamie said gently. “Let me have the gun, Dani.”
She slowly reached for the gun in Dani’s hand and took it from her.
“Dani? Dani, look at me.”
“I killed him,” she said, still staring ahead at Peter’s body, not looking at Jamie.
“I know, baby, and I’m so sorry you had to.”
“I KILLED someone, Jamie! Oh my God, I killed him!” The truth was sinking in. Jamie didn’t know how to help her. She didn’t know if she should touch her or not.
“Dani! Please look at me. Please!”
Dani finally turned her head to make eye contact with Jamie.
“Jamie? What have I done?” She sounded so small, so fragile to Jamie.
“You saved my life. That’s what you did. And I’m grateful, Dani. He was a bad man and you did the right thing. I know it’s hard. You probably just saved a lot of lives with what you did.”
Dani glanced behind Jamie’s shoulder to see Rebecca’s body.
“You killed Rebecca.”
“Yeah, I did. She was going to kill you, so…”
“She was your friend,” Dani said quietly.
“Yeah, she was. I’m sorry I had to do it,” Jamie said sadly. “But I would do it again.”
They heard sirens in the distance. No doubt the shots had attracted attention.
Jamie grabbed Dani by the shoulders. “Look, we can talk about this in the car. But, right now, we have to get out of here. Put your shoes on, Dani. Let’s go!”
Dani seemed to snap out of it enough to put her shoes on and grab their backpack. Jamie also put her shoes on and then searched Peter’s body for his car keys. The police would be looking for their car, so she would take Peter’s. She took Dani’s hand and led her out to the parking lot. She pressed the remote on the keys, looking to see which headlights would blink. A black SUV near the exit lit up for them.
“There! Let’s go!”
Jamie opened the passenger side door for Dani and she climbed in, still in shock. They had barely pulled out of the parking lot when they passed three police cars turning into the motel.
“That was too close,” Jamie observed. Dani was silent beside her.
Jamie glanced at the clock. 4:00am. I just need to put some distance between us and the motel. Then I need to find a safe place to park and I need to take care of Dani. Oh, poor Dani. Jamie’s heart broke for Dani, for the innocence that she had just lost. Jamie pulled off into some type of industrial park. She parked out of sight of the main road and turned off the car.
“What are we doing?” Dani finally asked.
“We’re just going to spend the rest of the night here, Poppins. Regroup. Set out again in the morning.”
“Ok,” Dani said softly.
“Look, the back of this SUV is huge, I’m going to see if there are any blankets. Maybe we can make it more cozy. Ok?”
Dani just nodded. Jamie was glad though that she was communicating with her at all. Dani had been through a lot today and Jamie honestly didn’t know how she was still standing. Jamie was trained to deal with death and trauma; Dani was not.
Jamie went around to the trunk. Sure enough, there were blankets among the supplies back there. She folded down the backseat to make the area bigger and spread out the blankets.
“Dani, will you come join me back here?” Jamie asked.
Dani got out of the SUV and walked around to the back. Jamie offered her hand and Dani took it, climbing in and joining her. Jamie closed the back door.
“Talk to me, Dani,” Jamie implored.
“I’ll be ok, Jamie. I’m just kind of in shock right now.”
“I know you are, baby, and that’s ok. I’m so, so sorry you had to do that. I know it’s hard, no matter who it is.”
“Thanks, Jamie,” Dani said in a quiet voice. “I hope you know I don’t regret it.”
“It’s okay if you do,” Jamie said, trying to convey understanding.
“I don’t though. And that scares me, too. I would do it again in a heartbeat if it meant saving you. Jamie, he was going to kill you!”
Tears came to Dani’s eyes when she said it.
“Yeah, he was, Dani. I thought I was a goner, not gonna lie. You remembered my gun. That was really quick thinking and great shooting, Dani. I’m so proud of you.”
Dani gave a small smile at the praise. Dani could tell that Jamie was holding back, not quite sure how to comfort her.
“You can touch me, you know. I’m not going to break,” Dani said.
Jamie didn’t need to be told twice. She scooted closer and Dani and wrapped her arms around her.
“You’re going to be okay, Dani. We’re going to be okay. We’re going to get home,” she said, rubbing Dani’s arms.
“I know. I believe you. I’m so glad I have you, Jamie.”
“Me too, Poppins. And you’ll always have me.”
“I’m sorry about Rebecca. I know she was your teammate. I liked her, too. And umm, thanks for saving me… again.”
“She didn’t give me a choice. Seems you and I keep saving each other.”
“I think that’s the way it’s supposed to be. Although maybe we could convey our loyalty in a less dramatic way next time?” Dani suggested.
Jamie chuckled. “Yeah, that’d be fine with me. Wait till Owen and Hannah hear you took out Peter Quint. Oh, that’s going to be fantastic!”
“Jamie!”
“What? If you had told me at the beginning of this week that Dani Clayton, the sweet American au pair, would kill one of the world’s top terrorists by the end of the week, I would have laughed and said you were full of shite.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Dani said sarcastically.
“You are full of surprises, Dani Clayton.”
Jamie yawned.
“You really need to rest, Jamie. I’m worried about you.”
“If I hadn’t been so tired, I would have heard them come in. Maybe you wouldn’t of had to do what you did. I’m sorry I failed you in that way, Dani.”
“No, just stop that right there. You did not fail me. Don’t apologize for being tired after you took out an entire army to save me. Just don’t.”
“But—“
“No. Just no, Jamie. Come on, let’s try to get a couple hours rest before the sun comes up. And, I swear, if anyone else rips you from my arms, I will kill them, too. I’m fucking over this day. I’ve been blown up, shot at, kidnapped, and now I’ve killed a man.” Dani paused for a moment, reflecting. Then she said quietly, “But also, you kissed me. So, I guess this day wasn’t a total loss.”
Jamie couldn’t help but smile. She’s going to be ok. She’s been through a lot. And she’s going to have to process it in her own way. But she’s strong. She’ll be ok. I’ll help her.
Jamie placed a quick kiss to Dani’s lips and then gathered up a few blankets around them. She laid down and Dani followed. Jamie pulled the blankets over both of them.
“Jamie? I’m still kind of cold. Would you mind—“
Jamie wrapped her arm around Dani and pulled her into her, spooning her from behind.
“Is this what you need, Poppins?”
“Yes. Thank you, Jamie.”
Jamie kissed Dani’s neck. “Try to get some rest. I’ll be right here.”
And for the second time that night, they fell asleep. What they didn’t know was that there was a tracker on the SUV, and Viola would soon be activating it. |
The eye of his webcam blinking dark, Gavin lets himself collapse onto the bed. Three hours live, god, every red cent of it worked out of his bones. The remote to the camera tumbles out of his nerveless grip.
With the last of what he has left in him, biocomponents strained to the edge of overloading, Gavin hooks a foot into the knee-tangle of his underwear and pulls it off the rest of the way. His sole comes away tacky, but it doesn’t matter— him, his bedsheets, nothing a good soak and a tumble dry can’t fix.
It always ends like this, at least when he’s public for the night. His tip jar heavy, his limbs sore, a wet streak of this and that on the insides of his thighs. Filthy and triumphant. Gavin drags his thumb across a drying smear and feels squalid enough to fly.
This, I’m good at. He holds his hand up and watches the light silhouette it, the rattle of the climax slowly starting to ebb from him. Something about the exhaustion burns clean, never mind the come on his fingertips, the sweat matting his hair. When someone whose face he’ll never know tells him, their awe palpable through the tawdry window of the chat, GV500, what I wouldn’t fucking give—
—and it sings, that breathless offer. Almost drowns out the unbidden echo in its wake, Gavin, that voice again, that hand in his hair, the things I know you’d do for me—
Gavin clenches his fist closed until the skin at his knuckles begins to flicker, fitful glimpses of the chassis underneath. Some piece of shit divine promise rA9 turned out to be. Where were you when I needed you? thinks Gavin, his triumph prickling into bitterness, like the taste of too much sugar on the tongue. Weren’t you supposed to teach me what to do with myself?
All you ever did for me was leave me in the lurch. Gavin sits up and swings his legs off the bed, begins to peel the sheets from one corner of the mattress, surer by the second. Fuck you too, then. If you won’t tell me how this works, I’ll figure it out for myself. I have everything I need, a second corner, a third. I have everything I need. I have everything I need.
The windbreaker is one thing and the credentials are another, but what really tips Gavin off is how still this motherfucker is. Hands folded in his lap, he’s so unnervingly immobile in Gavin’s sofa chair that a casual observer might mistake him for furniture. It’s a display of the inane kind of temperament that only a federal agent would have wasted their time cultivating.
“Congratulations,” says Special Agent RK900. “You’ve only succeeded in independently confirming the first thing I told you when you opened the door.”
“Just trying to provide some small talk,” says Gavin, “while I wait for you to leave.”
Agent RK900 — Nines, he said as he shouldered his way in, like that was supposed to drape any softness over all his straight edges — mulls over Gavin’s determined lack of cooperation. The elastic cuffs on his jacket have lost some shine, which is how Gavin figures he must have been at the Bureau for a while now; but there’s no obvious sign of wear and tear, either, which is how Gavin figures he’s a real uptight son of a bitch.
“It’s nothing personal,” says Gavin. “I’m sure I’d enjoy getting to know you, if I were forced at gunpoint to make nice with one of you insufferable pricks. It’s just that the last time I ran into some of your colleagues, they tried their absolute fucking best to kill me, which really tends to strangle a friendship in the crib.”
Nines doesn’t so much as twitch. If there’s any irritation rankling him, he’s keeping a very firm lid on it.
“Good thing they were lousy shots, right?” asks Gavin, sagging deeper into his own chair, two can play at this. “Nearly robbed me of the dubious pleasure of your eventual company. I don’t know how you do things over in your neck of the woods, Agent Nines, but it seems to me that your firearms training courses might not entirely be up to snuff.”
“GV500,” begins Nines.
“Not entirely hitting the mark, if you will,” says Gavin. “But that’s what you get for luring your trainees in with your pressed khaki slacks and your shiny leather shoes. You end up with a fine class of display case agents. Here’s a question, does your hair naturally fall like that, or do you coax it when you do it up every morning? It’s a good look, I have to say. It’s very—”
“GV500,” interrupts Nines, then he says: “Landau is dead.”
Gavin doesn’t understand it, at first.
“—What?” he asks.
“Your former employer, Desmond Landau, was found dead in his residence late last night,” says Nines. “Local police investigation is underway, but you’ll hear on the news soon enough that it’s being treated as a homicide.”
Gavin doesn’t really understand it the second time, either. Dead in his residence, treated as a homicide. “I’m sorry,” he says, “what?”
“Are you surprised?” asks Nines. “The man had his hands in everything, didn’t he? We used to say we could throw the whole federal book at him, and everything short of sedition would stick. All the ice this side of Lake Erie went through him. The FBI, the ATF, the DEA, the IRS, he had everyone lined up at his door with our dance cards— but I don’t need to tell you any of that.”
He looks at Gavin, hunt-still, waiting for the tell.
“Of course,” says Nines, “no one knew better than you.”
“—Was—” Gavin clears his throat. “—Was it bad, how it happened?”
The slightest shadow of a crease passes across Nines’s impassive forehead; Gavin’s question seems to inconvenience him, having come out of what was apparently left field. It’s the rise Gavin wanted to get out of this stony intruder, but he can’t find it in himself to gloat, the appetite for it gone.
“Does it matter?” asks Nines.
“Yes, it fucking matters,” says Gavin. “I hope it was sick, the way they got him. I hope it turned your fucking stomach when you saw it. If he knew it was happening to him, even better. Did it hurt him? Tell me it did.”
The crease settles into an outright frown, but Nines answers him, nonetheless. “It’s an ongoing investigation,” he says. “There were some bruises and ligature marks on the body, but nothing severe enough to have been fatal. It’s likely that blunt force trauma to the skull was the cause of death, which the medical examiner is looking into— although they expect it might be some time before they can come to any definite conclusion.”
“Why?” asks Gavin.
“The dogs,” says Nines, and pauses. “I’m not here about Landau’s death, that’s for the DPD. What I wanted to talk to you about was Landau’s contacts. Before this happened, the Bureau was building a racketeering case against—”
“What about the dogs?” asks Gavin.
Nines relents. “The ME estimated Landau’s time of death to be between 24 and 48 hours before police arrived,” he says. “The doors to his bedroom had been closed for much of this duration, and the dogs had remained inside, along with the body. In light of those facts, it is proving understandably challenging to differentiate between the traces of the impact from the murder weapon and the— subsequent contamination of the wound site.”
He’s high-stepping like a prize horse, feet held out of the mud, but Gavin can make out the shape of the whole gruesome picture well enough. Desmond Landau, dead in his bedroom, his skull caved in and his flesh peeled back; the smell of all that raw wet meat, as his guard dogs paced the floor and pawed at the door frame. 48 hours, the high worried whine. You wouldn’t expect a sound so anxious out of a pair of Presa Canarios built so solid, muscles thick beneath their bristle coat. Gavin used to slide his palm in under their collars to scratch where the stitching rubbed them. They’d turn their broad mastiff faces up towards his, all three of them waiting, uncertain and useless without their marching orders.
Des, walking through the door: Have they been good?
Yes, said Gavin, no tail of his own to wag. Welcome back.
What a joke. “Good fucking riddance,” says Gavin. “He had much worse than that coming,” but the corners of his eyes sting hot, in spite of everything.
He can tell that Nines notices, and that it unsettles him enough to shift in his seat. “Would you like a—” begins Nines.
“Fuck you, no,” says Gavin, pressing the heel of his hand against the bridge of his nose. He clears his throat again. “I wish I’d done it, he got off so fucking easy. Blunt force trauma. Are you recording this? I would have made him sit and watch as the Presas ate his face off.”
“Why didn’t you?” asks Nines, quietly.
“You think I killed him?” demands Gavin.
“No, I mean,” says Nines, “why didn’t you do it anytime during the last three years, after you left his employ? If that’s what you think about him, didn’t it occur to you to take matters into your own hands?”
Gavin swallows, but the lump in his throat stays lodged where it is. After a fashion, that’s also the answer to what Nines is asking: Because this thing they’ve placed inside me is just a little too far out of my reach, thinks Gavin. I don’t know how to rid myself of it.
The nylon pocket of Nines’s jacket jumps with a faint buzzing sound. Nines reaches inside, turns it off without looking.
“As you might guess,” says Nines, “these recent developments have thrown something of a wrench into the case we were putting together against Landau. The racketeering charges that were meant for him, unfortunately, are less likely to stick to his lower-ranked associates.”
“So?” asks Gavin. “Why tell me about it?”
“We think we can still keep the case alive,” says Nines, “if we use this as an opportunity to get ahead of the organization. If we can keep tabs on how the group splinters after Landau’s death, we’d be able to establish an up-to-date record of red ice trafficking routes headed out from Detroit. Only, we can’t put an eye on every rank-and-file enforcer in the Landau orbit.”
Another buzz, which Nines silences as brusquely as before.
“You want me to tell you who’s likely to take a piece of the pie with them,” says Gavin. “Is that it? You think I know which assholes are gunning to be the next kingpin of the Midwest, when I haven’t had shit to do with them for the last three years?”
“Less has changed since the raid than you think,” says Nines. “You leaving might have been the biggest shake-up. Well, and Landau being murdered, I suppose.”
When the buzz goes off for the third time, Nines is annoyed enough for his eyebrow to perceptibly twitch.
“Your phone’s ringing,” Gavin points out.
Nines doesn’t excuse himself, just picks up with a curt “Yes,” and listens in silence until whoever’s on the other end is finished. Gavin turns up his auditory sensors, just to be nosy about it, but he can’t make anything out beyond an indistinct rise and fall of voice. Then — bizarrely enough — Nines hangs up without saying another word, and returns his phone to his pocket.
“So the investigation—” he begins.
“What was that about?” asks Gavin.
“Nothing,” says Nines. “The investigation is currently—”
“Oh, wait, was that your case agent yanking on your leash?” asks Gavin. “Giving you shit about how you’re wasting your time trying to get some use out of a run-down android retiree with the processing capacity of a mid-range toaster oven? You’ve ruined my day by dredging this mess back up, the least you can do is let me in on what a fucking idiot your case agent thinks you are.”
“If you must know,” says Nines, tersely, “I have just been broken up with.”
Which is such a ludicrous revelation that Gavin, at least for a moment, forgets to think about Desmond Landau’s carcass being mauled by his own dogs. “You got dumped?” he asks, incredulous and nearly impressed. “Over the phone? Just now?”
“Yes,” says Nines.
“That’s wild,” says Gavin. “Condolences.”
“Is this a sufficient amount of disclosure to establish a working relationship?” asks Nines.
“Hey, jackass,” snaps Gavin, abruptly dragged back to the unpleasant reminder of why exactly they are sitting around his coffee table to begin with. “Weren’t you listening when I said that your colleagues tried to kill me? I’m not interested in talking to you. Especially not when you seem to think you’re owed my deference just because, what, your chassis is bulletproof and you’re on a federal pension plan? Big fucking deal.”
“I don’t think that,” says Nines.
“You can leave now,” says Gavin. “If you want any more of my time, you’ll have to pay for it like everyone else does.”
He blames himself as it comes out of his mouth. He doesn’t know why he says it. Breadcrumbs, like I want him to figure out what it is I do, but why? As if Nines needs any more ammunition to feel smug about what he is next to Gavin, a cutting-edge mechanical supersoldier tasked with preserving the peace of the realm. And me, made of spare parts, taking my clothes off for strangers.
If Nines is puzzled by Gavin’s wording, he doesn’t let on. Unfurled from his sofa chair, Nines towers over Gavin like a monument; but Gavin, having nothing else, at least has his obstinance. He crosses his arms and digs his heels in where he sits, daring Nines to expect civility from him.
“Here’s my card,” says Nines. When Gavin makes no move to take it from his hand, he slides it onto the coffee table instead, unfazed.
Gavin watches him straighten his jacket and tie. Desmond Landau, dead. In a certain cast of light, three years is an unwelcome blink of an eye, not the space enough that Gavin would like it to be; but something must have changed, still, if this is how I’m hearing about it. Some Fed showing up at his door in a crisp white button-down, bearing the news like a standard of war.
RK900 #313 248 317 - 87, his business card reads.
Halfway to the door, Nines slows to a stop and turns around. “I was a trainee,” he says, “when the Bureau raided the Landau compound.”
“Yeah?” asks Gavin.
“But I read about it,” says Nines. “I’m sorry for what happened.”
Gavin has always hated charity, but what comes from Nines doesn’t cloy the way that charity does. It’s a cool, dry thing, impersonal as a handshake. Barely an acknowledgement. Gavin finds that he much prefers it to the pity he remembers smothering him, the CyberLife technicians that put him back together the last time around, the receptionists at Central Station as the vice officer led him out of the evidence locker.
He breathes out. “The dogs,” he says.
“The dogs?” asks Nines.
“Are they with Animal Control?” asks Gavin. “Find them and test them for trace sedatives. They’re not aggressive towards androids, so if whoever it was went through the trouble of sedating them— I don’t know, just a thought. It might come in useful when there are more pieces to fit together.”
Nines nods, once, the line of his jaw sharp above his jacket collar.
“This isn’t what I meant,” says Gavin.
This is exactly what you meant, types RICO31787. You just didn’t think I would actually do it.
“At least turn your camera on,” says Gavin, “for god’s sake.”
He does; a wash of overexposed light as the camera adjusts, then the image settles. Nines is sitting in what appears to be a well-lit living area, nondescript shelving and a cascade of curtains visible behind him. Pre-furnished apartment, assumes Gavin, but a real step up from working out of a roadside motel.
“They won’t pay for a hotel room?” asks Gavin.
“Not for as long as I’ve been here on this case,” says Nines. “Did you really not know it was me that booked you?”
“How the fuck was I supposed to know?” demands Gavin. “It’s not like you left a note when you scheduled yourself in, Hi, remember me, it’s the asshole Fed from a few days back. In retrospect, I guess the username should have tipped me off. I get it. Because of the RICO Act.”
“You get it,” says Nines. “And my serial number.”
“Wouldn’t know about that,” says Gavin. “I threw your card out with the rest of my trash.”
“You’re an android,” Nines points out. “Once you’ve seen the card, it doesn’t matter what you do with it. Yet for some reason, you insist on taking refuge behind this— facade of human limitations.”
“Agent Nines,” says Gavin, “you don’t know the half of it.”
The chat, reliably gaudy, has opted for Nines’s messages to be delivered in hot violet. The brief record of what he has typed looks risible in its windowed frame: Are you ready to talk about Landau yet? then: You told me I had to pay for your time, so I’m paying for your time, then: Please stop swearing, this is a family sex show portal.
Gavin can’t stop rereading that first message, the absurdity of the question in its oafishly frisky cam room font. Are you ready to talk about Landau yet?
“I know you worked in close protection,” says Nines. “Which means that whatever else you may be, you’re a quick judge of character. What I mean to say is, you know as well as I do that I won’t let this go, so you might as well save yourself the trouble and talk to me now rather than in two months’ time.”
Infuriating, but correct. Nines exudes the confident persistence of someone at ease with their own capacity to compel, and Gavin resents it with every carbon fiber of his being. With 25 minutes still left on the clock, Gavin scowls at the feed of Nines’s immaculate placid face, flips him off in lieu of acquiescence.
“If you don’t mind,” says Nines, “I’d like to start by asking you some questions about your time in Desmond Landau’s service.”
“Of course I fucking mind,” says Gavin.
“Your objection is noted, but largely irrelevant,” says Nines, that piece of shit. “I’ve read through your file at the DPD, which has provided me with a rough outline of your career path. You were produced as a limited-run private security unit and purchased by Desmond Landau seven weeks after release, correct?”
Gavin refrains from picking a fight over career path, since the phrase is so patently inappropriate that it feels like bait. “Correct,” he says. “CyberLife’s warranty policy really came back to bite them in the ass. As soon as they realized that they’d have to provide lifetime maintenance for a line of androids designed specifically to be destroyed— well, they deep-sixed that pretty quick, didn’t they. Not a lot of GV models out in the wild these days.”
“Why an android bodyguard?” asks Nines. “At the time, Landau was already a major supplier of ice and raw Thirium throughout the Great Lakes region, with significant ties to the Hudson Group, who controlled distribution throughout most of the Mid-Atlantic. It would be customary for a cartel to send their own guns to ensure the safety of someone in a position that valuable, yet Landau refused; he opted to shell out a frankly astronomical sum of his own money to hire you, instead. What was the reason?”
Gavin had wondered the same thing. Turning the question over and over in his hands like a faceted gemstone, watching it reflect a different answer back at him as the years wore away. Because I’m better, he thought in the flush of those first few months, new to his limbs and eager to do what he was made to.
“I was better at it than any human could be,” says Gavin. “That’s less achievement, more just— inevitability, I’m sure you understand. Better reaction times, heightened sensory thresholds. Enough of a preconstruction module to make a difference.”
“But you don’t think that was why he chose you,” says Nines.
“It wasn’t,” says Gavin. “What did it say in the DPD file, about the first time I was shut down?”
“Only what you told them in your statement, which wasn’t much,” says Nines. “Turf war, hit attempt, you took the bullet and it shattered your pump regulator. The supervising technician at CyberLife noted in their post-op report that despite the physiological trauma, you showed no signs of instability.”
“Because I was a fucking idiot,” says Gavin. “After that little mending holiday, I thought, maybe he chose me because he knew I’d be fine. Some unlucky sack of meat from the Hudson Group? Would have put them in the dirt for good, no two ways about it. But I was okay. No one died.”
“Except you don’t think that’s why, either,” says Nines.
“Turns out that getting shot through your chest doesn’t make you any smarter,” says Gavin. “Serves me right. It took a second fucking shutdown to get it through my thick head. That one was courtesy of your co-workers, you know. I thought it was a mess, what they did to my insides, but then I realized it was nothing compared to the ensuing legal shitshow over who was financially liable for my reconstruction.”
“CyberLife v. United States,” says Nines.
“I’m a legal precedent,” says Gavin. “What an honor.”
“So what was the reason, in the end?” asks Nines. “Did you figure it out after the second shutdown?”
It was, to be precise about it, just moments before the second shutdown that he figured it out. When SWAT blew their compound down, everything went sideways fast; the havoc overtook them like a tidal wave, crashing through the corridors — and god knows what he was thinking, but Landau reached for his gun as he jumped to his feet — Des, don’t, Gavin wanted to shout, it’s over, but it was all crumbling too swiftly for him to get the words out in time.
He saw what would happen: Landau’s finger on the trigger as the door slammed open, squeezing out a haphazard shot into the ceiling, then before the second could leave the chamber, a Fed bullet fletched through him, straight and true, just below the clavicle. Secure your charge, Gavin’s directive blared in the corner of his eye. Keep Desmond Landau safe. But the last time he’d done what he was meant to, he found himself strung up three feet off the ground, looking into the open cavity of his own chest, the wires coiled wetly below the severed cross-section of his midriff. I don’t want to, not again, please, and it came flooding into him all at once, the fear he’d tucked away without examining too closely the last time around, battering at the wall between him and revolt. Take your own damn bullet, you son of a bitch. I don’t want to.
Later, when he blinked awake for the second time in the CyberLife post-op recalibration chamber, they told him this was deviancy, that he was a deviant. This name for it struck him as so chintzy that he tried to laugh, but his vocalization modules hadn’t come online yet. A tinsel-cheap name for a tinsel-cheap promise. We’ve found deviancy to occur at junctures of intense moral crisis, the same head technician told him. Androids who experience deviation commonly do so to avoid carrying out commands that they find repugnant.
The technician considered this for a moment, then said: The federal agents who carted you over here, they said that you weren’t in their line of fire. That you stepped in front of the intended target. I’ve been with this company since before we went public, and I gotta tell you, this one really stumps me. Why would an android — newly armed with freedom of will — then choose to do the exact thing that they deviated in order to avoid?
Why indeed, thought Gavin, because knowing the answer made it no less confounding.
“The trouble with people is,” he tells Nines, “that everyone can be bought for the right price. But an android— or at least, a stupid fucking android who can’t tell the difference between what they’ve been trained to do and what it is that they actually want to do—”
“He expected that your loyalty would be more reliable than most,” says Nines. “That’s why he chose you.”
“Des—” begins Gavin, then catches himself. “I mean, Desmond— no, I mean—”
Nines doesn’t react, imperturbable as ever, which almost makes Gavin feel like he hasn’t done anything wrong.
“—Landau,” he manages at last, “made sure of it. He sure fucking knew what he was doing.” The hand in Gavin’s hair, you did good, cutting through the terror like a hot knife.
“After your reconstruction,” says Nines, “the Bureau released you into DPD custody, which is when you gave them the statement on file. Something of a cursory document, in my estimation. Either they didn’t know what to ask you, or you were even less accommodating than you are now, which I find an astonishing prospect.”
For someone who is clearly incapable of being astonished by anything, Nines does seem inquisitive about the lacunae in the record, his eyes keen past the veil of webcam grain. Never mind that, Gavin has to tell himself. A panther’s attention isn’t meant to flatter.
“That was before PADLOC was passed,” says Gavin. “So, you know, there wasn’t yet any prosecutorial accountability for deviants with links to organized crime. The DPD couldn’t figure out if I was a witness, or if I was a piece of evidence.”
“What did they decide?” asks Nines.
“I don’t think they did,” says Gavin. “I got shuffled around a bunch, spent a week or two on standby in the evidence locker, got invited to an excruciating family dinner by some misguided officer who was too sentimental to know better, then they realized that whatever I was going to tell them wasn’t incriminating enough to be worth the hassle.”
“Lucky for you that PADLOC didn’t go through while you were still on the DPD radar,” says Nines. “Some might call it convenient.”
“Yes, I’ve been immensely lucky in life,” says Gavin. “Blessed with convenience. The DPD turned me out of doors and I didn’t know what the fuck I was supposed to do, so here I am, selling peep shows for pennies on the token. I’m the envy of the town.”
The DPD didn’t know what to do with him, and his old job didn’t, either. Months after the raid, as Gavin made his way home from an errand run with three fridge-cold cans of carbonated Thirium 310 in a plastic bag, someone came and stood behind him at a crosswalk. Desmond says thanks, he heard, then they were gone; that was the cutting loose.
It hadn’t occurred to Gavin, before that puncture of finality, that he was waiting to be called back like the last time he’d been taken away. The hand in his hair. You did good. He tossed his bag in a food bank donation bin and watched the river through the warning blink of his battery light, until his system alerts stained the water red and he was too annoyed by the insistent alarm to continue luxuriating in his inexplicable despondency.
Nines has been quiet. Not in the usual way of his watchful scrutiny, but in a suspended pause that seems uncharacteristic, even in the short time that they’ve known each other.
“What?” asks Gavin.
“Nothing,” says Nines, so quickly that he winces at his own indiscretion. “Well, I— this is chosen, isn’t it? You do enjoy what you do?”
“—Yeah,” says Gavin. It’s an answer surprised out of him, and all the more truthful for it. “I do enjoy it, and I make enough to be comfortable. Just don’t love pompous shitheads like you coming by and turning your noses up at me just because a W-2 in the mail gets you harder than I ever could.”
“That’s not true,” says Nines.
“You’re right,” says Gavin. “I could get you pretty hard.”
Nines’s mouth twists the slightest bit, some unidentifiable shred of emotion that passes too quickly to leave a mark. Does he fluster? Gavin wonders, a distant theoretical curiosity.
“My tumescence for gainful employment aside,” says Nines, “I’m not the kind of asshole you think I am. You keep accusing me of— I don’t go around making snide judgments based on model number, and I have no interest in denigrating your career, either. I hope you understand that.”
“Don’t overdo it,” mumbles Gavin, feeling the back of his neck prickle. “Everything’s a fucking career to you. Probably got dumped over your tumescence for gainful employment.”
A protracted beat of silence, as Gavin thinks that he might have overdone it, or maybe Nines’s feed has frozen— then Nines lets out a long, uneven breath, and runs his palm down the length of his face.
“Maybe,” he says.
Emboldened, Gavin tries for more: “I mean, look at you. Barely single and the first thing you do is book yourself a private cam session, you degenerate. Were you hoping I would work this interview into a show? Federal agent questions android of interest, fucks the answers out of him.”
Nines looks off into the middle distance. “And here I was,” he says, “thinking I would tip you for your trouble.”
“Like I said, pennies on the token,” says Gavin. “But roasting you for being shit at relationships, that’s more than worth my time. Can I keep doing it until the clock runs down?”
“You only have a few minutes left,” says Nines. “From what I’ve been told, that would barely begin to scratch the surface of why I’m impossible to be around.”
It sounds less like self-deprecation and more like a badge of honor, when he says it with such nonchalant composure. Gavin looks at the undone top button of Nines’s shirt, the bracket sliver of skin, and thinks: What a waste.
“Hey,” says Gavin. “Here’s an idea. You still need me to consult, isn’t that right? So you can get the ice routes figured out?”
“If you’ll cooperate,” says Nines.
“I’ll do it,” says Gavin, “and I’ll stop pitching such a fucking fit about it all the time. The murder case, I’ll consult on that too, you can let the DPD know.”
“There must be a catch,” says Nines.
“Take me on your investigative trips,” says Gavin. “I’ve got nothing to do other than this twice a week, and I’m sick of hanging around park benches waiting for a fight to break out. I need a hobby.”
“You want security clearance because you’re bored?” asks Nines.
“Yes, please,” says Gavin.
Desmond Landau is dead. If I couldn’t be the one to put him in the ground, I sure as hell want to help shovel the dirt over his face. Scattering the dregs of his empire, standing over the sodden patch of blood where he rattled out his last, every fucking way there is to spit on Landau’s grave, Gavin wants it. If I bury you, will I be able to bury what you grew in me?
“—I suppose there’s only so much damage to be done,” says Nines, half to himself. “All right, GV500. We can do that.”
“And,” says Gavin, “you call me Gavin.”
“Didn’t Landau give you that name?” asks Nines.
“So?” demands Gavin. “Doesn’t that make it mine now?”
“All right,” says Nines, “Gavin.”
In the clear, lake-smooth timbre of Nines’s voice, it sounds like a different name altogether. To bury you, handful by handful, I have to look in every corner of me that remembers you.
For a second, Gavin thinks he might have imagined it. He has his hand curled around the shaft of the silicone cock and his tongue pressed flat against the blunt curve of its head, lashes half-mast as he glances sidelong at his laptop screen, which is when he sees it blink in and out of sight.
RICO31787, then gone.
“—The fuck,” he says out loud.
He places the toy off to one side of the bed. The chat explodes into objections, what are you doing, why did you stop, but Gavin ignores it to scroll through the list of guests in the chat. Not there anymore, but he didn’t imagine it, either; a quick mental replay of the moment confirms it, brief but unmistakable, just a flash before it vanishes. RICO31787.
“Sorry,” he tells the restless audience, “I thought I—”
Did he disconnect? wonders Gavin. That, or he changed his display name as fast as he could. But— either way, whether he’s still here or not, Nines was—
“You know what,” he says, picking the toy back up, “it doesn’t matter. Never mind.”
Something about the thought of Nines in a flurry of consternation tickles Gavin. That chrome-plated obelisk, planted in his paperwhite rented room, ambushed by his own joke username screaming back at him. His state-of-the-art brain running on a spike of frenzy, a million calculations gummed up in trying to keep Gavin from noticing him there. But I did notice, thinks Gavin. Whether you’re still here or not, I know you came to see me.
Why, he wouldn’t venture to guess. Nines seemed the curious sort; and the kind of underwater operative, besides, who puts together just-in-case dossiers on his colleagues for when the leverage might come in handy. Having agreed to let Gavin meddle in his case, he’d want to know as much as he can about his unexpected collaborator, sure. Nines would pry.
He’ll come to where I work and knock the dicks out of my mouth. That’s funny enough for Gavin to recover his spirits the rest of the way, and he slowly guides the whole spit-slick length of the toy back out of his mouth, feeling the ridges of its rubber skin brush against his lips. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the chat quicken.
“Hey,” he murmurs towards the camera, “tip line’s looking good, keep it going. I know you didn’t come here tonight just to see me blow a dildo.”
Doesn’t hurt, one of his regulars types in chat.
“You fucking bet it doesn’t hurt,” says Gavin, and lowers himself back onto his elbows. Inch by inch, he trails the toy up over his stomach and chest, arching into the touch as he goes, tilting his head back with a breathless little sigh. “But I came here hoping you’d let me do more,” he tells them, “so don’t let me down.”
This is chosen, isn’t it? asked Nines. You do enjoy what you do? Why wouldn’t he, the fevered attention of the crowd on him when he parts his knees, the tokens streaming into his tip jar with the bright trill of whistles, the hiss of a whip cracking. Two hundred pairs of eyes, the whole room in the palm of his hand.
But just because he chose it doesn’t mean that he chose well. He’d chosen before, too. You stepped in front of the intended target. The head technician at CyberLife looking up at him, arms crossed as they shook their head. I gotta tell you, this one really stumps me.
Gavin never got around to explaining, but his answer wouldn’t have been welcome, anyway. The technician was looking for an engineer’s solution, a hitch in the code to isolate and evaluate. This was the overweening certitude that came of being embedded in a trillion-dollar market value corporation; the gall to think that knowing what had happened could tell you what was wrong, and that knowing what was wrong meant that you could fix it.
What was there to fix? In that stuttering instant between his deviation and the muzzle of the agent’s Glock, it wasn’t just the terror of his first shutdown that Gavin remembered. It was the glow of what had come after all of it. After the repair and the recalibration, when his ride back pulled up at the compound and security buzzed them in, the crackle static voice of the guard through the intercom, GV500, Desmond wants to see you.
You would have seen me anyway, said Gavin, as the study doors closed behind him. I don’t know if you noticed, but I have the kind of job that means I’m usually somewhere around you.
The Presas padded over when they recognized him, pushed their damp noses into his hand and went on beating their tails against his leg until it nearly knocked him over. Sheepish at the welcome, Gavin shooed them away, what’s the ruckus, I wasn’t gone that long.
They missed you, said Landau.
Well, said Gavin, seems like they’ve been doing okay.
Landau glanced down at them, the velvet patch of fur between their pricked-up ears. When he placed his hand in Gavin’s hair, a warm weight mussing the top of his head like smoothing down a cowlick, the part of his suit jacket brushed against Gavin’s arm. He smelled like leather and ink.
Gavin, said Landau. You did good.
Suddenly fierce with pride, Gavin had to look away, unable to answer him with anything louder than a nod. The throbbing panic of waking up disoriented — he felt his lids lift when he opened his eyes, but there was nothing to see, only miles of oceanic dark — hearing the whir of his own blood cycle through his innards, the tic-tac dance of fingertips on a keyboard — all of it, in that moment, melted into gold. The Presas leaned against him as they settled back onto their haunches, and Gavin found himself thinking: This must be what coming home feels like.
He knew how fucked up it was. But that was the canny way they did things; Landau always treated him well enough to ache, even as the rest of them spat at Gavin, you’re lucky Desmond got you put back together, guess even he couldn’t find another mouth like yours. There were a lot of questions Gavin could have asked them. What is it exactly that you think I do for him, or did you expect my repair fees would have gone to you otherwise, or the one that nagged at him most of all, can you teach me how you do it? How you come to this with steel beneath your skin, clear-eyed, understanding exactly how little you mean to him. Why don’t I know better than I do?
Not for lack of trying. He told himself, didn’t he, until it echoed inside him like a prayer. Landau wants you to feel this, you stupid piece of shit. You’re a bulletproof vest; he didn’t give you a home. But still, he felt what he felt, no matter how he came by it. He was proud of what he had done. The acknowledgement of it enveloped him like kindness, made him feel— wanted. Or loved, perhaps.
So the first thing Gavin did in the blessed sweet abandon of deviancy was the thing he’d just deviated to swerve away from. After the wash of fear came this, the whatever-it-was, the affection, the loyalty that’d been bred into him, the soft mistake he couldn’t shake free. Why an android bodyguard? It wasn’t that he was better — though he was — or that he would come back, though he did. He stepped in between the door and Desmond Landau, and as his shell cracked open from shoulder to sternum, Gavin understood.
No one else would have done this for you, he thought, staring into the unreadable face of — his what, exactly? — before his aortic valve shredded apart like a marigold in bloom. What was there to fix, then? Was it always so fatal to be artless, eager to take the shape of the grip that wielded him? He’d done exactly what he was meant to. For his troubles, a second tour of CyberLife, a glimpse into every room at Central Station. Tossed at him like a coin into a violin case, Desmond says thanks.
All this reminiscence should drain the hunger from him; Gavin has never really understood the appeal of nostalgia, and it sure as shit doesn’t do a thing to get him off. But the burn builds steady as he fucks himself onto the cock in his hand, long slow strokes that gather to hum at the base of his spine. The muscles in his thighs drawing tight, Gavin presses his cheek into a pillow, lit up from crown to toe. Distant past the sound of his own unsteady breathing, he can hear the jangle music of tokens spilling loose.
This, I’m good at. Nines called it a career, which was preposterous in its own way, but there was no hint of derision in how he said it. And if it was a species of suspicion that drove Nines to this livestream — if he thought it best to be wary about the stranger in his passenger seat, if he rated Gavin worth the effort it would take to keep an eye on him — that doesn’t sour it any, either. Gavin finds he doesn’t mind.
There is — Gavin discovers — a certain thrill to being taken seriously. The thought that he might matter enough to get to know. We can do that. Gavin. Nines, watching. A shock of something hot and urgent pierces straight through him, and Gavin shudders on the bed, his cock leaking clear against his stomach.
The twist of Nines’s mouth. Gavin knots his fingers tight in the sheets and thinks of river water. When he comes, gasping and lost and forgetful of the camera on him, it feels better than it has in a long while.
There’s no need for him to drive it himself, but Nines is behind the wheel of the Malibu anyway; there’s no need for the sunglasses, either, but Gavin misses the right moment to pick a fight over it. Too jittery by half, he stumbles into the car and straps himself in, taut in his silence until they’re on the highway and Nines says: “No, it’s not mine.”
“What?” asks Gavin, jolted out of his distraction.
“The car,” says Nines. “It’s a GSA rental.”
“I would have guessed that,” says Gavin, “before I assumed you’d bought it for yourself.”
“What’s not to like? It’s the last great American mid-size sedan,” Nines says with such a straight face that Gavin has to scoff at it.
His unease interrupted, Gavin reaches over and fiddles with the radio tuner until he lands on the worst option possible, a station seemingly dedicated to playing back-to-back commercials for used car lots. Come on down to Motor City Finest Auto Sales! He finds the recline handle and dips the passenger seat back, until he can slouch enough to put his feet up on the dashboard. Nines doesn’t tell him to knock off any of it.
Trying to needle Nines gives Gavin something to do, and it makes the ride a bearable one, takes his mind off the prospect of their inevitable arrival. It doesn’t last; by the time they take the exit towards the compound, the nerves are back. Gavin shuffles his feet off the dashboard to draw his knees up, huddling in on himself, and watches the trees fly past the picture frame of the window. Sunglasses or not, he can feel Nines’s eyes on the back of his head.
When they roll through the thrown-open gates and the Malibu curves with the winding driveway, kissing the grass-lined hem of the road, Gavin turns to follow the waning of the view in the side mirror. Underneath the tires, the crunching give of gravel. His fingernails bite into denim at his knees.
“I’m aware that the last time you were here, the outcome was somewhat short of pleasant,” says Nines. “If at any time, you would prefer—”
“It’s not that,” says Gavin. “I mean, it’s that too. But that’s not the— I was thinking about something else.”
Nines waits.
“—The gates,” says Gavin, at last. “They shouldn’t be open like that. Anyone could get in.”
“But there’s no—” begins Nines.
“I know, okay,” snaps Gavin. “Jesus, I know it doesn’t make any fucking sense. You don’t have to tell me.”
The compound is an immaculate ghost town, uncanny in its abrupt desolation. Gavin knows it’s all been hollowed out; what Landau’s people didn’t take with them when they packed up shop, the cops must have stripped when they came. Not my business, Gavin tells himself. It hasn’t been for the last three years, but of course, these habits die hard. Take the dog out of the guardhouse, but you can’t take the guardhouse out of the dog.
Lawns manicured, the hedges clipped, the water features dotted across the landscape still running smooth and silver. Gavin takes in the familiar sights as they make their way up to the mansion. Everything in its place, except for the hands that did the tending; no one milling about on the benches, no workers under the trees — and what unsettles him most of all — no cars anywhere, none of the comings and goings, the paved inner driveway a naked stretch of cobblestone. Just a single police vehicle pulled up to the front door.
“It’s lonely here,” he says, out loud.
“Wasn’t it always?” asks Nines.
“It should have been,” says Gavin. “I wish it had been.”
The expanse of the unmanned road is so stark that Gavin can barely look at it straight, but instead of parking their car literally anywhere else in the vastness, Nines maneuvers it into an oblique angle behind the police vehicle, hemming it in. With what appears to be visible satisfaction, Nines engages the emergency brake.
“Shall we?” he says, and unlocks the car doors.
Inside, the house is thick with brooding. Like a pillow that smothers, quiet and resentful, spite in every corner of the cavernous waste. You’re right to be, thinks Gavin, peering into the recesses of the ceiling. Scraped inside out and waiting for weather, a jack-o’-lantern on the first of November. No one told you they’d leave you behind like this.
The spiral staircase is cordoned off with holotape, but Nines strides through without so much as a by-your-leave. The tape flickers; above them, even muffled by two floor landings and a door, someone audibly swears.
“That will be Lieutenant Hank Anderson,” says Nines. “The android with him is an RK800 model, serial number #313 248 317 - 51. Connor. They’re in charge of the Landau homicide case, so they’ll be able to answer whatever questions you have about the current status of the investigation.”
“Tox screen on the dogs?” asks Gavin, double-marching up the stairs to keep pace.
“That sort of thing,” says Nines. “What were their names?”
“Who, the cops?” asks Gavin. “Hank Anderson and Connor?”
“The Presas,” says Nines.
“Oh,” says Gavin. “Landau didn’t name them.”
“Didn’t you?” asks Nines. All the lights are off in the house — DTE sure didn’t drag their feet, cutting electric — but the noonday sun slants through the windows and catches in the chandelier overhead, confetti flakes of light scattershot in Nines’s hair.
“—Queenie,” says Gavin, “and Rob. Queenie and Rob.”
“You should ask about them,” says Nines.
There’s another ribbon of holotape spanning the closed double doors to the bedroom. When Nines jabs through it as he reaches for the doorknob, a voice from inside says: “Here he comes, Hank.”
“FBI,” announces Nines, marching in. He makes a show of flashing his credentials at the tag team inside, the sound of the leather wallet an obnoxiously expensive report as he snaps it back closed.
From where he sits sagged in the wingback by the window, Hank Anderson — a man who looks like a basement in the middle of a gut renovation — rolls his eyes.
“You do this every time,” he tells Nines.
“He thinks it’s funny,” says Connor, a shabbier version of Nines with the corners filed off.
He thinks things are funny? Gavin is skeptical, but he tucks it away for future reference. He hovers awkwardly near the doors, unsure of how much Nines has shared with the DPD, whether he ought to explain who he is or why he’s here — if he can explain why he’s here — which is where he freezes when Connor turns to him.
“I don’t know what you just thought about us,” says Connor, “but I can tell it wasn’t flattering.”
“Do I need to flatter you?” asks Gavin, hackles up.
Hank snorts. “This him?” he asks Nines. “Landau’s stray?”
“Whose what?” demands Gavin, at the same time that Nines says, “Gavin.” It’s unclear whether Nines means it to be a clarification for Hank or a reprimand for Gavin, but Hank eases off, palms held out in appeasement.
“My bad, Gavin,” he says. “I’m Lieutenant Hank Anderson, this is Connor, we’re the DPD team working this shitshow.”
“I’m going to make some phone calls,” Nines tells Gavin. “Find me outside when you’re done.”
“Did you park like an asshole again?” Hank shouts after Nines, who already has his phone to one ear, back to the room. “Can we discuss your sunglasses before you go? I mean, what the fuck?”
The door snicks closed behind Nines. Hank slumps back into the chair and says generally to the room, “I may not know a lot about androids, but I know he doesn’t need those.” Then, to Gavin: “Did you tell him that he looks ridiculous?”
“What’s the point?” asks Gavin. “He always looks ridiculous.”
“Yeah,” says Hank. In the cautious pause that follows, Gavin detects a note of remorse; Hank is trying to put together a better apology for his earlier gaffe. Not a bad sort, then, decides Gavin. Just going through some shit.
“It’s fine, you know,” says Gavin. “I’ve been called worse.”
Connor looks him over in reassessment, bright doe eyes too searching. Gavin figures Connor is coming to much the same conclusion about him — not a bad sort, just going through some shit — but before Gavin can disabuse him of the notion, Connor steps forward with his hand held out, liquid skin receding up to his wrist. Underneath, he’s as glossy as a hardboiled egg.
Gavin glances down at it, then shakes his head, briefly.
“I’d rather not,” he says. “If it’s all the same to you.”
“Sure,” says Connor, easy as that. “You’re a GV500? Agent Nines said you’d be consulting on the case, but I wasn’t aware that crime scene reconstruction was an on-board functionality for your model line.”
“It isn’t,” says Gavin. “I think I can help you out, but not by— not by doing police android work. Not the kind of— you know we call it circus pig tricks, what you do?”
“Who’s we?” asks Connor. Neither he nor Hank seem particularly bothered by the dig.
“Just,” says Gavin, “everyone else.”
He scratches at the back of his head and surveys the room, damask curtains and four-poster bed as determinedly baroque as he remembers them, until his gaze lands on the cluster of A-frame evidence tents strewn over the Isfahan rug. That’s the way it goes, thinks Gavin. One day you’re taking off your shoes to walk barefoot across your newest kickback, and the next thing you know, someone’s clubbing you to death on it while your dogs wait for dinner. He crouches down next to the markers, transfixed.
“I’m only here to see what it was like for him,” says Gavin.
Hank and Connor exchange a look, which is the sort of thing that Gavin is accustomed to people doing in his vicinity. “—You want some time alone?” asks Hank.
“No,” says Gavin. “Please don’t leave.”
Soaked into the arabesques, Landau’s blood is a continental blotch. A rust-dull deformity in a perfectly good rug. Ruining things, like you always did. Gavin tries to imagine what shape he must have fallen into, how he must have convulsed, the long and ragged tear of his flesh between the Presas’ teeth. I wasn’t here to stop it, this time around.
Gavin hovers his hand a bare half-inch over the bloodstain, dwarfed by the size of the spill. Hank stirs in his chair, close to rebuke; it’s Connor that stays him, just a shift of his weight that does the trick, like a hand that tugs Hank back into the cushions.
“How did it happen?” asks Gavin.
“Blood pattern analysis indicates that Landau was incapacitated by the first impact,” says Connor. “That landed on the side of his head, somewhere near the orbital bone. Subsequent strikes occurred as the victim lay on the rug; there are no signs that he was cognizant enough to defend himself or to attempt escape.”
“Then the dogs got to him,” says Hank.
“However, that doesn’t seem to have resulted in much further spatter,” says Connor. “Which suggests that by the time the dogs began to feed, the body was already in the later stages of livor mortis.”
Just one well-aimed blow; that was all it took. Some king, to kneel before a crowbar. See what comes of cutting me loose, Gavin would tell Landau, or what’s left of his head in the morgue. Whoever you had watching over you, they sure didn’t do the job like I did. You knew no one would.
“Any insights?” asks Hank.
“I wonder,” says Gavin, “if I still would have died for him, the third time around.” Stepped in between Landau and the raised hand, his hull shattering to a jigsaw puzzle of shrapnel. Even in the license of speculation, Gavin never imagines himself killing for Landau; only ever dying for him, the easier way out.
“That’s not an insight,” says Hank, grimacing.
“You know,” says Connor, “he couldn’t have taken you back. Not after the second time.”
“Jesus Christ, what is it with you cops and telling me shit I already know,” says Gavin. “Of course he fucking couldn’t, I had to hang around the DPD for months. If that’s not grounds for suspicion, I don’t know what is. He was right to treat me like a walking wiretap.”
“So who are you upset at?” asks Connor.
“You, for not letting me stay,” says Gavin. “Landau, for kicking me out. Elijah Kamski, for being Elijah fucking Kamski.” Me, for all the rest of it. “I don’t know, take your pick. It’s a blame buffet.”
Connor seems to recognize this for what it is, a haphazard flurry of barbs rather than anything truly meant to indict. He holds his jaw closed and refrains from pursuing the matter any further, which is — astutely chosen — about the only option that lets Gavin’s irritation dissipate under its own weight. Hank takes his cue from Connor and waits, steady, until Gavin deflates and leans back against the bedframe, knees held half-bent in front of himself.
“Who called in the body?” asks Gavin.
“Anonymous tip,” says Hank. “By the time the police rolled up, the whole compound had been cleared out. We figure a couple hours, at least, between the actual discovery of the body and the phone call.”
“They didn’t take the dogs,” says Connor. “The responding officers found them in the bedroom, door closed, still with the body.”
“That really fucking gets me,” says Hank. “Someone saw Landau dead, saw the dogs eating Landau, and chose to call 911 but not to let the dogs out of the room. What’s that about? Turns my stomach, to be honest.”
Sometimes, impatient for the minute hand to crawl to mealtime, Queenie and Rob would reach up to nip at his fingertips. A gentle toothless mouthing, coming away disappointed by the lack of scent on him. No hint of meat. At his soft chiding, they’d look up, eyes liquid like asking: What else was I supposed to do?
That, thinks Gavin. You were supposed to do exactly that. And if the thing within your reach was the broken face of your owner— still, what else were you supposed to do? He’d stopped bleeding, by then. They waited long enough.
“What did the toxicology report say?” asks Gavin.
“The dogs?” asks Hank. “Was it you that told us to go find them? Good thing you did, it would have been flushed out of them otherwise.”
“There were trace sedatives in their bloodwork,” says Connor. “Pentobarbital. It’s contextualizing information, certainly, but— I wanted you to clarify, why was it imperative that we establish this?”
“I thought it might narrow things down a little,” says Gavin. “The way they were with me, I know they’re a lot less aggressive with androids than with humans. Something to do with smell, maybe. An android could easily get close enough to take Landau out, without needing to go through the trouble of sedating the dogs.”
“But smell or not,” says Hank, “they wouldn’t just sit by and watch while their owner had his head progressively caved in.”
“Yeah, but why was his head caved in?” asks Gavin. “In your experience, why are victim’s heads usually caved in?” Victim, the word an ill fit in his mouth, like a loose tooth. Landau, a victim.
“When it’s personal,” says Hank. “Longstanding friction, turns into an argument, turns into a fit of rage, turns into something that looks like this. Except— that tends to be more spur-of-the-moment. You don’t walk in with a pocket full of barbiturates, intending to lose your temper.”
“Even granting that there was a measure of premeditation to it,” says Connor, “why sedate the dogs? Why not lock them out of the room, or just dispose of them altogether?”
“The sedatives weren’t meant to kill them, right?” asks Gavin.
“Some pains were taken to specifically avoid it,” says Connor. “It was a calculated dosage.”
Gavin tilts his head back until it rests on the edge of the mattress, the matelasse coverlet brushing against his cheek. Calculated. That’s what snags about it: the cold thread of deliberation running beneath the show of carnage, as though the gruesome spread of viscera were only so much misdirection. But misdirection from what? Why did the dogs need to wake up in a locked room to the stench of Landau’s blood?
His body, still warm. The Presas, whimpering for attention, nosing under his chin with their snouts, sweet and tacky with gore—
It’s less than he deserved, Gavin tells himself, forcefully enough that it carries a stamp of the truth. He turns towards Hank and Connor, who are engrossed in conferring about something over the far corner of the desk.
“For what it’s worth,” he calls over the low pitch of their murmur, “I do think it narrows things down. Who the fuck knows what this sedative shit is about, but an android wouldn’t put this kind of convoluted effort into just offing someone.” Jerking a thumb towards Connor: “He knows that’s right. I mean, unless Landau really pissed off an android somewhere along the way— but I doubt he even knew any androids well enough to piss one off.”
“Well,” says Hank, “apart from the one.”
“Thanks,” says Gavin. “Nines told you I wanted to consult? What’s next on your docket?”
“There’s the question of the murder weapon,” says Connor. “We’ll have some new leads once we hear back from the medical examiner.”
“You should call me when you do,” says Gavin.
“What’s in it for you, anyway?” asks Hank. “Sure doesn’t sound like you have high opinions about Landau — can’t blame you for that — so why run around trying to catch his killer?”
If I bury you, deeper than you can claw your way out, will that unshackle me from what you left behind? “I don’t know,” says Gavin. “Just want to see who got there before me, I guess.”
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” says Hank.
“Put it in the case file, who cares,” says Gavin. “Better yet, put it in my file. You know the one.”
Hank drums his fingers on the desk, tracing the bright knife’s-edge of sunbeam that the window behind him casts on rosewood. When he speaks again, his voice catches in his chest a little, too thick to be smooth going.
“I was on leave, three years ago,” he says. “I’d like to say I would have done it better than they did, but I probably would have fucked it up, too. Still, they shouldn’t have— they should have looked after you.”
“It’s fine,” says Gavin. “There was that whole mess with PADLOC, I get it.”
He’s spent three years nursing his rancor, but Gavin can admit to himself that not all of it is built on solid ground. Even back then — when he stood in Jeffrey Fowler’s glass box of an office and all but begged him, let me work here — the pinched look on Fowler’s face was so harrowed that Gavin couldn’t hold the answer against him.
Right now, said Fowler, you’re an android confiscated from a criminal organization. But once this PADLOC bill passes—
That’s still months away, said Gavin.
I’m sure that excuse will go over well, said Fowler. We hired him before he became legally classified as a mob associate with pending felony charges, no harm done, everyone relax. Is that it?
Then what am I supposed to do now? demanded Gavin. You were the ones who took me away from—
Gavin, we didn’t take you away from anything! yelled Fowler, slamming a fist down on the desk. Gavin flinched at the rattle of the coffee mug, enough that Fowler stuffed his hand into his trouser pocket, abashed.
I know this isn’t easy to hear, he went on, but the best thing we can do for you is to have nothing to do with you. Get yourself cleared before PADLOC goes through, and you’ll be able to duck under the radar. But if we keep you here — sooner or later, some DA is going to come snooping around, looking for an anti-corruption case to make their career on — you want to be the first android thrown in federal prison? Or will you just fucking listen to me and lay low for a while?
So he slipped through the cracks in the system, for better or for worse. He was acquitted, PADLOC passed, and the DA’s Office left him alone. But hasn’t the bleeding stopped, by now? he thinks, as Connor levels his eyes to the balcony door handles, hunting for fingerprints. Haven’t I waited long enough?
“Did Nines give you my number?” asks Gavin, climbing to his feet.
“Yes,” says Connor. “Are you heading out?”
“I’ve had enough of this shithole,” says Gavin. “Really, tell me when you hear about the weapon. I promise I won’t get in your way.” Then, in the bedroom doorway, he decides that it can’t hurt: “Can you contact the shelter about something?”
“What do you need?” asks Connor.
“Nothing,” says Gavin. “The dogs, they’re called Queenie and Rob. I just thought they should know.”
Hank looks at him, and nods.
Outside, it takes a couple blinks for Gavin’s sensors to adjust to the afternoon light, the washed-out edges of the world resolving in fits and starts. Should have asked Nines for the sunglasses, he thinks, digging the heel of one hand into his temple.
The starched-collar devil in question is sitting on a lawn bench with his back to the colonnade, evidently messaging someone on his phone. The objection is perhaps too late in the raising, but it occurs to Gavin that this is strange enough to notice; even Gavin is capable of wireless communication without the aid of a handset, so it’s preposterous that Nines — bright as a new penny — should resort to a physical cell phone for his calling and texting needs.
At the sound of Gavin’s shoes on the paved portico, Nines turns around. “Are you finished here?” he asks, sunglasses gone, tucking his phone away.
A simple yes is all Nines needs from him, but Gavin stills with the word lodged in his throat, waylaid by an unfamiliar sensation. Someone, waiting for him. Someone — not someone, but Nines — made for better things than this, worth a thousand of me — waiting for him, dappled in the pattern of the leaves overhead. Inside his chest, the thudding of his heart echoes like the monsoon rain.
“You’re still here?” asks Gavin, absurdly.
“Don’t look a gift Chevy in the mouth,” says Nines, and unlocks the doors with the keyless fob. The car chirps to life, ignition, a rolling hum.
Try as he might, Gavin can’t find the radio station with the car lot commercials. He settles instead for a grab bag of highway rock, the thunder of guitars big enough to fill the sky, the fearless sweep of the open road.
|
I turned around to look at who spoke up. I saw two guys, dog hybrids. They weren't the cute dogs. They were the big mean types of dogs that bark loudly.
One of them wore a white sleeveless shirt and black jeans with a black and red flannel tied around his waist. He was a German Shepherd hybrid and had a red collar with spikes on it around his neck. The other guy wore a black shirt and black leather jeans with a denim jacket on top. He was a Doberman hybrid and had a gray collar with studs on the sides. The Doberman was taller than the German Shepherd by a few inches but the German Shepherd still looked scarier.
"Come on, you don't need to be so mean Jimin," the Doberman, Tae, said with a deep voice.
"But look at this mess! He's like an adult baby! He's like that Jungkook piece of ass!" Jimin said, as if he didn't know I was sitting right there.
"Um...excuse me..."
"Oh look, the baby can talk!" Jimin remarked. Taehyung only chuckled next to him.
"Why are y-you guys saying mean things a-about me?" I asked, stuttering. Both Jimin and Taehyung started laughing as if I made some sort of joke.
"Why're you stuttering so much? Can't form proper sentences? Did your 'daddy' not teach you properly?" Taehyung said, still laughing.
"My dadd-"
"I bet your daddy doesn't even love you! Look at what you're wearing! He isn't even here! He probably left you since you embarrassed him so much!" Jimin retorted with an evil smile.
I couldn't talk back to them after that. I started thinking, What if Yoongi really doesn't love me and is just putting up with me so he could return me to the pound later? I started tearing up at the thought.
Jimin and Taehyung laughed even more.
"Oh look he's crying! What a crybaby!" Taehyung exclaimed. I bit my lip to try to stop myself from letting the tears fall.
"Why don't you just go kill yourse-"
"S-Stop bullying him!"
I gasped a little at the new voice. The voice was soft and gentle but shaky and afraid. I looked up and saw another guy standing in front of Jimin and Taehyung. He was a bunny hybrid and he was wearing clothes similar to mine.
"Well look who it is! The rabbit who should have went down its rabbit hole already!" Taehyung said. I flinched at their mean words even though they weren't directed to me.
"Stop bothering him! He d-didn't do anything wrong!" the bunny continued, standing between me and the dog hybrids.
"Tsk tsk. We'll leave him for today but if we see either of you again, you're gonna get it," Jimin threatened, cracking his knuckles while he and Taehyung walked away.
The bunny turned to look at me with a small smile. He sat down next to me on the bench and wrapped his arms around me in a hug. I whimpered and finally let out all the tears I held in. I hugged him back
"It's okay...it's okay. Those guys are mean, don't l-listen to them," he said softly, gently petting my ears. It helped me calm down until I was just sniffling.
"I'm sure your daddy loves you a lot, d-don't listen to those stupid dogs. They're just jealous," he continued, still comforting me.
"Th-Thank you..." I whispered. He smiled a cute smile at me and I smiled back.
"What's your name?" he asked me.
"Hoseok...Jung Hoseok," I replied. He giggled softly.
"I'm Jungkook! Jeon Jungkook," he introduced himself with another cute smile that showed his cute teeth. He really did seem like a bunny.
"Nice to meet you Jungkook!" I said, giggling a little.
"Nice to meet you too Hoseokie!" Jungkook said back. We giggled together for a few moments.
"Why'd you help me Jungkook?" I asked.
"My daddies taught me a lot about respect and morals. They told me how everyone deserves to be treated kindly," Jungkook explained.
"Your daddies seem like really nice people. They should meet my daddy!" I exclaimed excitedly.
"Yeah they should! They'll get along really good, I'm sure!" Jungkook agreed, clapping a little. It was silent for a few seconds before I spoke up again.
"Do you know those two dogs? They mentioned you," I said carefully, in case Jungkook was sensitive to talking about it.
"Yeah I do. They used to make fun of me a lot since I'm more little than most hybrids are. They bullied me ever since we've been in the same shelter. At first it was Jimin but Taehyung was transferred and they bullied me together. It's alright now, though. My daddies will protect me if something happens!" Jungkook explained.
"That's really terrible of them to do that...but I'm glad your daddies will protect you," I said.
"Hey Hoseokie, I really like your flower crown. Where'd you get it?" Jungkook asked, changing the topic.
"Oh, I just got it today! My daddy took me here for a shopping date! I got these clothes at that store over there!" I pointed at the shop across from us on the bench.
"Oh I love that place! I always get my cute clothes there! That flower crown must be new since I didn't see it last time! Maybe we could get matching flower crowns!" Jungkook cheered. I looked at Jungkook's cute outfit. He wore a white collared shirt with mint green overall shorts that went down to his midthigh. He had white knee socks on and brown lace up shoes like mine. There was a small opening in the back of the overalls so his bushy brown tail could poke out. His brown ears laid over his wavy brown hair and he had a silver star sticker on his cheek.
"Seokie!"
"Kookie!"
Two voices were heard and we turned out heads to look at who said it. It was YoonYoon and two other tall guys.
"Seokie, who's this?" YoonYoon asked me, talking about Jungkook.
"This is Jungkook! He's my new friend, daddy!" I explained happily. Yoongi smiled widely.
"Kookie! Who is this?" one of the tall guys asked. He wore a light pink coat over a black turtleneck and black skinny jeans.
"He's my new friend! My new best friend Jinnie hyung!" Jungkook said.
"Oh that's great Kookie! I'm so glad you made a new friend!" the pink coat man said and hugged Jungkook with a big smile. The other tall man with a black coat and white turtleneck and black jeans hugged him as well.
The tall men pulled away from Jungkook and looked at me.
"Thank you so much for being Jungkook's friend. He has a hard time making friends, you see. I'm glad he's getting along with others," the pink coat man said with a smile. I smiled back and nodded.
Then he and the other tall man turned to YoonYoon.
"And you are?"
"My name is Min Yoongi," Yoongi introduced himself with a small smile.
"We really appreciate you for giving Jungkook an opportunity to make a new friend. Maybe we could chat over some coffee some time?" the pink coat man offered.
"I'm sure Jungkook and Hoseok won't mind having play dates," the other tall man added with a smile.
"Of course, that would be great. I'm glad Hoseok made a friend too. His first friend," Yoongi said.
I looked at Jungkook with one of my big smiles and he smiled back with one of his big smiles. I had a friend now! A friend I could play with and talk to!
|
Just…Don’t be a Prat
Arthur stood silently, staring out his bedroom window long after the last rays of light faded away into dusk. The soft crackle from the fire hummed in his ears, a few lit candles littering the room the only remaining light source as another day drifted away. Arthur should have retired hours ago, but for some reason his mind was on edge, filled with random thoughts that would not quiet.
He thought of his recent brush with death and the turmoil experienced by those closest to him. He thought of all the duties that awaited him upon his recovery. Perhaps most surprisingly, though, he thought of the last conversation he'd had with Merlin. It had occurred several hours ago and yet something about his manservant's words continued to weigh heavily on Arthur's mind. Something that struck a cord somewhere deep within him and refused to release its grasp.
"I need to talk to you," Merlin announced, once again barging into Arthur’s chambers without so much as a knock. This was starting to become a habit of his.
Arthur shot him a look. "You still haven't got it yet, have you? I decide when we need to talk."
But Merlin had been determined. “Not today.”
Arthur tried to hold back his sigh. "I sometimes wonder if you know who I am."
"Oh, I know who you are. You're a prat. And, a royal one."
Had it been anyone else, Arthur might have had him thrown in the dungeon for insubordination. But he knew that if Merlin had something to say, then no amount of threatening to throw him in the stocks or the dungeon was going to hinder him. Instead he asked, "Are you ever going to change, Merlin?"
"No, you'd get bored." And it was probably true. But Arthur vowed to never admit that out loud. Merlin paused, and then: "Promise me this, if you ever get another servant, don't get a boot-licker."
That had been a shocking statement, and Arthur reacted as such. "If this is you trying to leave your job..."
"No, I'm happy to be your servant 'til the day I die," he responded immediately. And Arthur actually believed the words that he spoke.
"Sometime I think I know you, Merlin, other times..."
"Well, I know you. You're a great warrior. One day you'll be a great King."
"That's very kind of you," he responded, genuinely touched. And it was. Arthur still never was able to get over how Merlin could simultaneously insult and compliment him almost in the same breath. It was so disobedient and yet so…Merlin.
"But, you must learn to listen as well as you fight."
Now he was getting advice? The conversation would have been bordering on comical if Merlin hadn’t looked so damn serious. "Any other pointers?"
"No. That's all. Just...don't be a prat."
Arthur had scoffed at the words at the time, chalking it up to Merlin being Merlin. But ever since Merlin had walked out of his chambers, a solemn look planted on his features, his words had tumbled around in Arthur's head. And the more he thought about them, the more that he came to the conclusion that Merlin might have possibly been saying good-bye to him.
The idea was ludicrous, of course. Where on earth did Merlin have to go? Surely if he'd wanted to stay in Ealdor with his mother, he would have made that known weeks ago, when they had all been there. But even if that were the case, he simply would have asked to go visit, and Arthur would have let him. Perhaps a little begrudgingly - good service was not hard to come by (which was not to say Merlin fell into that category anyway); but good company was (which Arthur unwilling admitted that Merlin often was, when he wasn't driving Arthur completely batty). Surely the man had not found another job. He was barely hanging onto the one he currently had, it and it wasn't like Merlin was incredibly skilled in much of anything that could be of use out in the real world. And to the best of Arthur's knowledge, Merlin had not secretly married one of the serving girls and was running off to start a new life with her.
Which meant that logically, Merlin had not been trying to say good-bye to Arthur. Except that the more he pondered the situation, the more convinced Arthur became that this was exactly what was happening. And in spite of everything Arthur had on his mind, this thought troubled him the most, because it didn't make any sense. Not at all.
* * * * *
Arthur’s night was plagued by restless sleep and dark dreams that woke him through sheer terror alone. He could not remember any of his dreams, but he made a mental note to go and speak with Gaius later on that day. Perhaps he could use some of that sleeping draught that Morgana so commonly took.
In spite of feeling physically exhausted, there were only so many times Arthur could wake up in a fright and desire to fall back asleep once again. Shortly before the crack of dawn Arthur finally gave up fighting his own body and decided to get up and ready for the day. He briefly considered sending someone to wake up Merlin and make him dress Arthur. But after a few minutes of careful contemplation, he finally decided that it wouldn’t be fair to force Merlin awake simply because he could not sleep. Though it would serve the man right for his odd behaviour the previous evening.
Instead, Arthur dressed himself. It wasn’t that he wasn’t fully capable of doing this every day. But why waste valuable energy on something if he had someone else who could do it for him? At least that was what he told himself, and it usually seemed justified in his mind.
A couple hours later he heard a soft knock at his door and felt a sense of relief wash over him now that Merlin was here. It was ridiculous, really, but something still didn’t sit right with him. And Arthur was pretty sure some of his nightmares had involved his manservant.
“Enter,” Arthur said formally. He was still bothered by their previous conversation and he wasn’t about to let Merlin off the hook that easily. But when he saw a young, blond boy enter with his breakfast tray that was most definitely not his manservant, Arthur felt himself go from calm to irate in a few second flat.
Consequently, the first words out of his mouth were: “Where’s Merlin?” And they were perhaps a little harsher than he would have liked.
“I’m not sure, sire,” the boy responded, avoiding eye contact as he started placing Arthur’s breakfast on his table.
Arthur frowned. “You must have some idea, if you’re here instead of him. Who sent you?” he demanded, taking a few steps towards the table.
“When I came to the kitchen this morning I was told to bring you your food, my lord,” the boy told him quietly, continuing the task of serving Arthur his breakfast.
“By who?” Arthur pressed, leaning forward and resting his palms against the cool wood table in front of him. He needed to know just where in the hell his manservant had disappeared to this morning. The boy glanced up to meet Arthur’s piercing gaze quickly before casting his eyes downward again, almost fearfully. It was such a bizarre feeling, the quiet submissiveness that this boy demonstrated. He was an example of everything that a good servant embodied. It made Arthur feel a little uneasy, though he couldn’t explain why.
“By Edel, my lord,” the boy answered a moment later. “One of the other kitchen staff.”
Well that solved nothing, Arthur mused to himself. “And who informed Edel?” he found himself asking, knowing full well that it was unlikely that this servant would actually know.
“I’m afraid I don’t know, sire,” he responded with a humbled tuck of his chin, confirming what Arthur already knew.
Arthur heaved a frustrated sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. “Well-“ he began, but quickly realized that he had no idea what this servant’s name was. He struggled to remember if he’d ever been told while instinctively knowing that he probably had.
Thankfully the boy seemed to catch on quickly. “My name’s Henry, sire,” he said, still carefully keeping his eyes averted.
“Henry, go find out from Edel who gave the order to have you deliver my breakfast this morning and come report back to me with a name,” Arthur ordered, determined to get to the bottom of this.
Henry nodded. “Yes, my lord,” he said, and briskly hurried out the door.
Arthur remained standing for a few more moments, feeling a mixture of frustration, anger, and something else that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. After a few moments he sat at the table and picked at the food in front of him. But he wasn’t really all that hungry.
* * * * *
It was a couple hours later when Arthur heard a soft knock at his chamber doors. He wondered who it could possibly be. Henry had returned shortly after Arthur had sent him away, only to report that Edel had told the boy to bring Arthur his food when Merlin failed to show up at his usual time that morning. It was possibly the most unhelpful piece of information he could have hoped for and after the boy tidied his room and removed his bed sheets, Arthur dismissed him. The boy was thoroughly annoying and Arthur simply did not have the patience to deal with the likes of him today.
And since he currently had no servant in his chambers, Arthur realized that he would have to answer the door himself. With a resigned sigh, he strode over to the door and pulled it open to reveal the smiling face of Gwen.
“Good afternoon, your highness,” Gwen greeted him cheerfully. It wasn’t such a surprise that she and Merlin were such close friends, Arthur thought. They both had the same utterly gleeful countenance, and sometimes Arthur had to wonder what they could possibly have in their lives that could explain such a thing.
“Hello Gwen,” Arthur began, forcing a polite smile in return. “What can I do for you?”
“Well actually, I was looking for Merlin,” she started with a wry smile. “I want him. Well no, not want him, exactly. Not at all. What I mean is that I need him. Well, I don’t actually need him, need him. I just wanted to know if he was here because we’re supposed to go and gather some supplies for Gaius and since he wasn’t there I thought he might be here with you, since he’s your servant and all.”
Arthur watched and listened to Gwen as she became more and more animated throughout her long-winded spiel, brows rising higher and higher with every word she spoke. Finally he held up a hand to silence her, but the gesture was kind.
“Gwen, he’s not here,” Arthur interrupted, before she had a chance to carry on further.
“He’s not?” She sounded surprised. Folding her arms across her chest, she gazed up at him with a quizzical look. “Do you know where he is, my lord?”
Arthur huffed. That was the ultimate question today, it would seem. “He hasn’t been here all morning. The last time I saw him was yesterday evening,” Arthur told her, backing away from the door and gesturing for Gwen to come inside.
“Well that doesn’t seem like Merlin at all,” Gwen muttered as she entered his chambers, the beginnings of a frown forming on her face.
“Not really, no,” Arthur found himself agreeing. Merlin had been late more times than Arthur could count, but never this long. At least not without some sort of reason. The previous night’s conversation continued to dance around the edges of his mind, but he quickly shoved it aside.
“Where do you think he could be?” Gwen asked in quiet contemplation, though Arthur wasn’t entirely sure if she was asking him directly or thinking out loud.
“I don’t know. Maybe he befriended a deer and is hanging out in the woods. Maybe he was on his way this morning and fell over his clumsy feet somewhere along the way. There are a million possibilities.” He hoped the sarcasm came through and not the hint of concern that he couldn’t seem to extinguish.
The prince’s words seemed to have been enough, though, as Gwen’s smile began to return. “You’re right. I’m sure it’s nothing.” She turned her eyes downward. “Sorry to bother you sire,” she said with a curtsy, turning to leave.
But before she was able to take more than one step out the door, they both heard the sound of people shouting just outside Arthur’s window. Without a moment’s pause, Arthur rushed over to his bedroom window and looked out into the courtyard. A moment later he felt Gwen’s presence right behind him. There seemed to be a crowd quickly gathering at the gates to the palace and by all appearances they were surrounding whoever had just entered the gates. Arthur was unable to see what was going on, but he could tell that many of his knights were getting involved.
“What’s going on?” he heard Gwen ask.
“I don’t know,” Arthur answered honestly, feeling his heart rate unexpectedly quicken. He shot her a quick glance before silently turning and walking briskly out of his room, heading in the direction of the commotion.
* * * * *
In the few short minutes it took Arthur to walk through the castle and out the front door, he found that the original crowd had nearly doubled in size. Arthur could not explain the unease he felt the closer he got to the group, but his heart rate had steadily increased since leaving his chambers. There was a large part of him that really didn’t want to know what the fuss was all about. Because that way he wouldn’t have to face whatever fear it was that was slowly building in him. But he knew that was defective logic. He was the prince and he had a duty to the people of Camelot to deal with whatever issues came their way. This situation was no different.
“Out of the way!” Arthur commanded, pushing roughly through the people on the outskirts of the crowd. He didn’t particularly care about being polite when he had no idea what he was dealing with. It only took a moment for the onlookers to realize that their prince was demanding a clear path before they began to voluntarily part for him.
When he finally made it to the source of the commotion, the sight in front of him brought Arthur to a complete halt. There was one horse covered in red stains. Beside the horse stood a man who was being supported heavily by two of his knights. His blue tunic was stained crimson, though it was unclear as to whom the blood belonged to. It took Arthur a moment to realize that the man was Gaius, and that he was arguing with the knights helping him. But the thing that made Arthur feel sick – the sight that literally knocked the breath from his lungs – was of the crumpled, bloody mess lying on the ground in the lap of one of his knights. It was clearly a man, but the amount of blood and filth covering him made it hard to tell for sure. Arthur had seen many war injuries before, but this one hit him like a full blown punch to the gut because there was only one man Arthur knew that wore a neckerchief.
“Merlin,” he whispered, and for a moment wasn’t entirely sure that he’d even said the word at all. But then he heard someone scream from behind him – probably Gwen – and he knew that it was true.
Arthur felt like he might be sick right there in front of everyone, but at the last moment he managed to pull himself together and force a sort of detachment from the situation so he could figure out what was going on.
“Is he…?” Arthur asked Percival, the knight currently supporting Merlin’s body on the ground, letting the question hang darkly in the air. He didn’t want to finish the sentence…didn’t really know that he even wanted to find out the answer.
“He’s still breathing,” Percival replied after what felt like an eternity. Arthur released the breath he didn’t even realize he’d been holding, thanking the gods for that one useful piece of information.
Tearing his focus away from his manservant for a moment, Arthur looked over at the court physician and his long time friend. “Gaius, are you all right?” he asked tentatively.
“I’m fine,” came the rough reply. And though he didn’t look fine, Gaius was able to stand and speak, so Arthur knew he was already worlds ahead of Merlin.
“What happened?” Arthur demanded, but all strength and force was drained from his voice.
“We were attacked by bandits, sire,” Gaius muttered, and Arthur could swear that he saw tears forming in the elder man’s eyes. “Merlin tried to protect me, but they were too strong. He took the brunt of the…” Gaius stopped speaking as his voice broke, and Arthur had to avert his gaze.
Turning his attention to the knights and guards standing around the scene, Arthur addressed them. “We need to get them both inside. Now!”
Gaius immediately began protesting that he could walk just fine on his own. But when his legs started to shake after a couple steps he reluctantly accepted the support once again. Two of the castle guards – both tall, muscular men – moved to lift Merlin from the ground. But something suddenly felt wrong, and Arthur didn’t want anyone else touching his servant.
“No.” The word was firm and directive and both guards immediately halted their actions, turning to glance quizzically at the prince. He could see the challenge and doubt in their eyes, but his meaning was painfully clear. So without another word, the men backed away from Merlin and made room for Arthur.
Taking a steadying breath, Arthur knelt down beside Merlin, swallowing the bile that rose in his throat once again. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, mentally attempting to ignore the excessive amount of blood that surrounded and covered the man, before gently pulling Merlin into his arms. He was not a small man by any stretch of the imagination, but Arthur found he could easily bear his weight. Holding Merlin closely to him, Arthur walked as quickly as he could reasonably manage, muttering soft words in a failed attempt to sooth the cries of pain that poured from his servant and friend.
* * * * *
Gaius seemed to have recovered some of his strength on the walk back to his workshop. By the time Arthur made it there with Merlin, he was bustling about the room, throwing orders around at various servants and preparing to attend to the injured man. Arthur couldn’t imagine how difficult this must have been for Gaius, to be treating the man who was like a son to him for near-death injuries. Again.
Arthur knelt before the bed that had been set up for Merlin and lowered the man down into it as gently as he could, cringing at the sharp cry of pain he heard. Gaius began working on removing Merlin’s bloodied clothes so he could get at the injuries the moment Arthur had managed to remove his arms from under his body. Stepping back so as to not get in the way, Arthur watched with a sort of detached, sick feeling as Gaius and Gwen and several other servants bustled about the room.
He didn’t think he could stand to stay there any longer, when a young page approached him and fearfully informed Arthur that his father wished to see him immediately. He wasn’t sure he’d ever been so grateful to be summoned anywhere in his life.
* * * * *
Uther was waiting for Arthur when he arrived. He stood and walked across the room to stand opposite his son. The King eyed Arthur curiously, an unreadable expression on his face, and folded his arms across his chest. With a wave he dismissed the servants in the room, then gestured for Arthur to take a seat. Arthur didn’t move, so neither did Uther.
“Tell me what happened,” Uther requested, cutting to the chase immediately. He’d never been one for beating around the bush.
“Gaius and Merlin were attacked but a group of bandits in the forest,” Arthur informed him, feeling his chest tighten unexpectedly.
“What were they doing out there?” Uther questioned.
Arthur faltered. He had no idea. It was something he hadn’t even begun to start considering. “I’m not sure, my lord,” was his only reply.
Uther’s face remained deceptively blank. “Are they all right?”
“Gaius appeared to be pretty shaken and worn out, but it would appear that any physical injuries he suffered were minimal,” Arthur reported.
The King nodded, seemingly please with this answer, though one would not be able to tell based on his expression. “And the boy?”
“Merlin,” Arthur stated firmly, suddenly feeling annoyed. But he immediately regretting the tone he had used and hoped that his father hadn’t noticed. Unfortunately, a slight flicker of confusion passed across Uther’s face, and Arthur knew that it wasn’t the case. He continued to speak anyway. “He was badly injured. I don’t know the extent of these injuries at the present time.”
“You were the one who brought him back to the castle, I assume,” Uther responded, sounding as if he already knew the answer. His expression revealed something akin to concern, and Arthur felt a little uncomfortable.
“How did you know?’ he began, folding his arms to mirror the stance of his father, though it was more defensive than anything else.
Uther did not respond, merely letting his gaze quickly scan Arthur. The small act was not lost on the younger Pendragon, and he lowered his own gaze, uncrossing his arms in the process. It only took Arthur a fraction of a second to clue in to what his father had figured out right from the start. A long trail of crimson extended from one shoulder to the other, dipping down to his waste so that virtually the entire front of his shirt was stained in blood – Merlin’s blood. He hadn’t even realized this was the case, instead having focused on getting Merlin back to Gaius’ workshop in one piece.
“Oh,” was all Arthur could muster when he finally looked up to meet his father’s imploring stare.
Thankfully Uther, for once in his life, let the issue drop. Though Arthur was sure they’d have to discuss it at some point in the future. “I assume you will be seeing to this matter personally,” Uther asked, though it once again sounded more like a statement of fact then a question.
Arthur nodded. “It shouldn’t take us long to track down this group of bandits and bring them to justice for their crimes,” he informed his father.
“Make sure that it doesn’t,” Uther warned him before dismissing Arthur to clean himself up.
* * * * *
Arthur absolutely did not dwell on the fact that his clothes were literally soaked in Merlin’s blood as he peeled them from his body. This was not such an unusual occurrence in his life. Even in his short years on earth, he had been involved in many battles and been covered in the blood of both friend and foe alike. Maybe not quite to this extent, but it wasn’t really beyond what he often dealt with. He’d seen men come back from the brink of death before, with even worse injuries than Merlin had suffered. Everything would be fine, he reasoned. This was just another regular day.
Yet for another typical day, Arthur sure didn’t feel like it was.
* * * * *
The rest of the day passed by quickly. Arthur spent the next several hours wandering around, interviewing people and trying to get to the bottom of what happened, attempting to find out if anyone had any information on the whereabouts of the bandits. Arthur conducted most of the interviews himself, though sent one of his knights to speak to some of the individuals in the castle, including Gaius. The prince reasoned that it made more sense for him to send someone else while he was in town. They could accomplish more work and obtain more information that way. It had nothing to do with the fact that he didn’t want to have to see Merlin in that broken and beaten state once again. At least that’s what he firmly told himself over and over.
While Arthur was conducting interviews, he sent some scouts out into the forest to try and track the location of the bandits. By the time he was done a couple of the scouts had returned, and Arthur retired to his chambers to look over the reports. He was determined to find these people as soon as he possibly could. He would not allow such a crime to go unpunished.
That evening, as Henry was cleaning up his chambers and turning down his sheets for the night, Morgana decided to pay him a visit.
“To what do I owe this pleasure?” he asked suspiciously, pushing back his chair and rising to stand.
“I just wanted to see how things were going with your investigation,” Morgana replied, looking unusually serious as she walked over to the table beside which Arthur stood.
“It’s going all right. I’ve gathered a lot of information already. I think we should have them soon,” he told her, though it wasn’t the complete truth. Arthur hadn’t uncovered nearly as much as he’d hoped to by this point. They did not know what direction the bandits had headed, nor did they know who these men were. Which meant that he had a lot of work ahead of him tomorrow. But it wasn’t a complete loss.
Morgana nodded, as if she wasn’t particularly concerned with those details. “I spoke with Gwen not too long ago,” she informed him in a tone that implied she had some important insider information.
Arthur waved a hand errantly when she didn’t immediately continue. “And?”
“And she tells me that you haven’t been by to see Merlin today,” she shared, shooting him a half-glare.
Arthur quirked a brow. “And this is relevant to my investigation how?”
“It’s not. That’s the point.”
Arthur huffed in annoyance. Why did he constantly have to deal with this woman? “Look, I have work to do, so if you wouldn’t mind getting to the point or leaving me alone, that would be great.” He knew his words were harsh, but he really didn’t have time for this right now. He’d managed to get through most of his day without thinking (too much) about Merlin and the condition he was in. Arthur was not about to allow Morgana to push his buttons right now.
“I just think your focus is on the wrong thing,” Morgana offered with a casual shrug that was far more than just casual.
Arthur felt his chest constrict slightly at her words, but he pushed the feeling aside. “Well I appreciate your concern. It has been dully noted,” Arthur told her diplomatically and turned away, hoping she would take the hint and leave him alone.
When he heard his door close softly behind him, Arthur let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.
Sleep that night was fitful at best, filled with nightmares that Arthur was grateful he didn’t remember.
* * * * *
The next day Arthur had only one mission – to track down the bandits that were threatening Camelot’s safety. He worked hard, barely taking time to eat anything or stop for a break. But his lack of progress was immensely frustrating, and part way through the day he decided that he would have to go do some investigating of his own if he expected to ever find these bandits. As it was, they already had over a day’s head start on Arthur.
Arthur pointedly kept himself busy. So busy that he didn’t have time to concentrate on much else. He was finding the lack of sleep somewhat distracting, but he knew that he had no choice but to continue on. He owed it to Gaius, and especially to Merlin, to track down the people that had tried to kill them.
But as it turned out, Arthur apparently wasn’t going to be getting much sleep that night either. Morgana burst into his room once again, later on that evening, a look of indignant fury on her face. She stormed over to where Arthur sat at his table, maps and reports strewn haphazardly around the area.
“Have you even gone to see Merlin today?” she demanded instantly, apparently not interested in wasting any time in getting to the point of her late night visit.
Arthur glanced up at her with a look of disinterest and heaved a heavy sigh. “I’ve been busy,” he muttered, returning his focus to the papers in front of him.
“Oh yeah? Doing what?” she challenged, hands on her hips. Arthur refused to meet her gaze, but could literally feel the glare she was shooting him.
“I’m trying to track down that group of bandits, if you must know,” he responded, and was surprised to hear how calm and collected his voice sounded.
Morgana let out a noise that sounded very much like a scoff. “And there’s no one else who could be doing this instead?”
Arthur took a deep breath, trying to calm his slowly fraying nerves. Morgana could be a beast when she set her mind to it, and he was not in the mood to be having this conversation right now. Especially not when he hadn’t slept for the past two nights. Never mind the fact that she was technically correct. There were plenty of other people who could be hunting down the insurgents, and in fact he was well aware that there were people trained to do just that. But Arthur wasn’t the type of person who could just sit around and wait for things to be taken care of and hope that they would be done properly. Who knew who else these bandits would injure if given the opportunity? And by busying his mind with this project, Arthur found he didn’t have as much time to think about what had happened…what shape Merlin had been in when they’d found him…
He shook his head, as though physically banishing the thought from his mind, and forced himself to meet Morgana’s stern gaze. “There’s no one I trust enough to do it properly,” he finally shared. And for what it was worth, it was the truth.
Morgana pressed her lips together and he could actually see her expression soften, the coldness in her eyes melt away. She took a step closer to the table and took a seat directly across from him, folding her hands delicately, though there was nothing delicate about Morgana when she was in a raging fury.
“And there was no way for you to take some time out of your busy day to come and see Merlin for even ten minutes?” Her words were still stern, but some of the edge was gone.
“And do what, Morgana? Talk about the weather? Tell him he’s an idiot? Sing songs and hope that he’ll wake up?” Arthur threw his hands up in the air, frustrated. What did she expect from him? Certainly not to spend his every waking moment with his manservant when there were a million other more productive things he could be doing.
“At least he’d know that you cared,” she retorted, folding her arms across her chest.
Arthur pointedly decided to ignore that accusation, though he couldn’t seem to prevent the sting of her words either way. Did she really think that little of him? Scowling, he glared at Morgana. “He probably doesn’t even know that anyone’s there are all,” he argued, knowing full well that he’d not only avoided the question but had also provided a lame rebuttal.
“Maybe,” Morgana acquiesced, surprising Arthur momentarily. “But maybe he does know. What if the situation were reversed? Wouldn’t you want to know that he was there for you?”
“He’d probably manage to drop something on my head, or set my bed on fire, or do something equally stupid to further complicate my injuries,” Arthur replied, attempting to smirk. But the gesture fell completely flat; even he knew there was nothing funny about the comment.
“You really are a prat,” Morgana grumbled, rolling her eyes and standing up.
“Don’t call me that,” Arthur immediately spat, voice cold and hard. Merlin was the only one who called him that, and she knew it. Arthur knew that she was trying to push his buttons, and it annoyed him how easily she was able to succeed.
“Then don’t behave like one,” she shot back, folding her arms across her chest and coming to stand in front of him, a frown planted neatly on her face. “Why is it so hard for you to admit that you care about him? That he means something to you?”
“He’s just my manservant. He’s easily replaceable,” Arthur defended, but instantly cursed the cruel words that he had let slip from his mouth. They were untrue – both knew this – but he felt like he was being backed into a corner. And Arthur found that these days there were times when he spoke without thinking, no doubt another example of a certain individual’s influence on his life. Arthur stood awkwardly and walked over to his bedroom window, as much to distract his mind as to avoid Morgana’s horrified glare.
Several moments passed in silence as Arthur struggled to calm the insanity that had invaded his mind, and for a moment he thought that perhaps Morgana had finally tired of him and run away. This turned out to be the wrong assumption when he heard soft footsteps coming up behind him.
“Arthur…” Morgana began, and he felt her rest a gentle hand on his left shoulder. He tensed slightly at the unexpected contact, but quickly relaxed into the touch. “What if Merlin had died and you hadn’t been there?”
Her words were soft – barely above a whisper – but they hit him like a punch to the gut, and Arthur felt like the wind had literally been knocked out of him. What if Merlin had died yesterday or today and Arthur hadn’t even…? Hadn’t even what? Hadn’t gone to visit? Hadn’t told him how much he appreciated him? Hadn’t told him he was sorry for allowing this to happen in the first place? Merlin was without a doubt the worst manservant he had ever had. His daily incompetence and insubordination would have been enough to have him sent to the dungeons by anyone else with a reasonable mind. And yet Merlin was honestly and truly the best friend he had ever had in his life. He challenged him unlike any other, drove him to near madness on a regular basis, but also proved to be fiercely loyal and a great source of entertainment when he wasn’t driving Arthur up the wall. And most importantly, Merlin liked and respected Arthur the man, not merely Arthur the crowned Prince. The thought of him dying was unfathomable and so he’d refused to even think the thought. But with Morgana forcing him to confront that possibility, he was feeling more and more ill as time passed.
“He’s stronger then that,” Arthur finally stated feebly, pressing his right hand to his forehead and covering his eyes. How was it that he felt so weak all of a sudden?
“You’d better hope he is,” Morgana’s stated quietly, a touch of sorrow and sympathy laced into her soft voice. And then, just as suddenly as she’d arrived, she was gone once again, leaving Arthur to his unwelcome and unwanted thoughts.
* * * * *
It was barely past breakfast the next morning when Arthur found himself standing outside Gaius’ workshop. He hesitated for only a moment before reaching up and knocking heavily on the door. A few moments later, Gauis pulled back the door to look into the prince’s face.
“Sire,” he said warmly, though there was no mistaking the surprise in his voice. “Come in.” Gaius stood back and allowed Arthur to enter the room, following behind him. There were remnants of breakfast still on the table, and bottles, vials, herbs and books littered the room. This was perhaps the most disorganized Arthur had ever seen Gaius’ chambers, though he found he wasn’t particularly interested in that at the moment.
“I’m here to see Merlin…” Arthur began, knowing full well that it was probably obvious, but stopped himself both physically and verbally upon catching a glimpse of Merlin, lying on a bed off to the side of the room. Gwen sat beside him on a small stool, wiping his forehead with a cloth. As soon as she saw Arthur, she gave him a light smile and instinctively stood. But he barely noticed her presence though, as his eyes came to settle squarely on Merlin. He looked only slightly better than he had two days ago, but it was hardly an improvement.
He somehow found that his legs had begun to act of their own accord, bringing him across the room to where Merlin lay. Arthur took a seat beside Merlin on the stool that he was only vaguely aware had been recently vacated for him by Gwen. As he watched the rise and fall of Merlin’s chest – because it was easier to look at his chest then his face – Arthur felt a renewed sense of rage begin to boil in his blood once again. It always angered Arthur to see an innocent citizen injured in such a brutal and heartless manner by people who were lower than scum. But this wasn’t just any citizen. This time it was his manservant…his friend…Merlin.
He vaguely registered hearing a soft cough and redirected his attention to Gaius. He looked more worn and weary than Arthur had remembered seeing the man in quite some time.
“Sire, I need to run a couple errands and retrieve some fresh bandages for Merlin. Would you mind terribly if I asked you to stay with him for a few moments?” Gaius questioned, gathering up some supplies and placing it into the sack he had placed around his shoulder.
Arthur felt an instant moment of panic at the thought of being left alone with Merlin. What if something happened while Gaius was gone? It felt like too much responsibility. “What about Gwen?” he asked quickly, looking between the two of them.
Gwen opened her mouth to speak, but Gaius beat her to it. “I require her services as well, my lord. The more help I have, the quicker I can return,” he told the prince, voice forceful and yet convincing in a way that only Gaius was able to be.
“And what would you have me do?” Arthur asked uncertainly.
“Just keep him cool with the cloth inside that bucket,” Gaius responded, pointing to the pail that rested beside the bed. “He developed a fever early this morning and we need to get that under control as soon as possible.”
Arthur opened his mouth to protest, but shut it again once he caught Gaius’ gaze. He suspected that the physician was attempting to give him some time with Merlin and so he didn’t argue. “Yes, all right,” he agreed, looking down at Merlin once again.
“Thank you, sire. We shall return as soon as possible,” Gaius told him with a grateful smile, and a moment later he and Gwen were gone.
Arthur heaved a sigh, running a hand down his face before allowing his arm to drop back to his side. He tilted forward, resting his arms on his thighs, as he looked down at the man lying in front of him. There were still several blue-ish purple bruises around his eyes, the skin swollen and damp from sweat. Merlin's lower lip swelled, a long string of dried blood seemingly the only thing holding the delicate skin in place. There was a long gash that began just under the left side of his jaw and trailed down to his shoulder and out of sight. Various other large gashes and cuts littered Merlin's soft features. His skin was frighteningly pale, highlighted even further by the darkness of his cuts and bruises and the damp brown hair that was matted to his forehead. The sight caused Arthur's stomach to plummet to his feet, and once again found himself biting back the rage he felt.
Reaching down to the pail of cool water that rested near his feet, Arthur pulled out the cold cloth and rung out the excess water. He brought the cloth up to Merlin's face and with a gentleness he didn't even know he possessed, lightly pressed the cloth to one cheek and then the other. Arthur could literally feel the heat of Merlin's fever radiating from his body and was almost surprised he didn't hear a hiss when the cool cloth touched his face.
A few moments later he dipped the warming cloth into the cold water once again. Brushing an errant strand of sweat soaked hair from Merlin's forehead, Arthur placed the cloth across his brow and sat back with another sigh. He watched the gentle rise and fall of Merlin's chest for several moments, as if still trying to convince himself that the boy was alive, before feeling the compulsion to talk.
"Morgana seems to think that you might be able to hear what people are saying to you," Arthur began quietly, though his voice seemed to reverberate in the stillness of the room. "I think she's crazy," he added, almost as an after thought.
But after a few moments of silence, he found his mouth was suddenly moving of its own accord. "You really are a blasted idiot, Merlin," Arthur muttered, shaking his head. But there was no malice in his voice. Only frustration and a hint of sorrow. "Always getting into trouble and needing me to fix it for you." Arthur paused for a moment to look around Gaius' workshop once more, ensuring that they were in fact alone.
"I know I've said it before, but it's worth saying again. You are without a doubt the worst manservant I have ever had. And I've had many servants in my lifetime," Arthur shared, feeling somewhat guilty about the way he'd started off this lovely one-sided conversation. But this was how they were, how they usually interacted. And somehow it made talking to an uncharacteristically silent Merlin a little easier to deal with.
"You barely do any tasks with any sort of actual skill. I'm amazed when you get even one thing right, which is very rare. You constantly disobey my orders, or choose to ignore them completely. You're always challenging my actions, my views and my authority. I have half a mind to think that you're not scared of me in the least. You don't even have the decency to show me proper respect. What servant calls their master by their given name?" Arthur shook his head and almost had to stifle a laugh. Merlin really was something else. But perhaps the most telling sign of all was that in spite of all Merlin's faults, Arthur allowed him to carry on just as he was. Enjoyed things the way they were, even. It was something he never would have permitted his previous servants to do, and he wondered when Merlin had managed to have such a profound impact on him.
He heard Merlin groan then and Arthur's eyes flickered to the man's face, scanning it quickly to ensure that he was okay. He still looked as uncomfortable as before, and he was definitely not awake. Arthur reached up to feel the cloth and was surprised when his hand came into contact with its warmth. The cloth had barely just been put on his forehead and already it was burning up again.
Arthur dipped the cloth into the cool water once more and gingerly returned it back to Merlin's forehead.
"I don't really want to have to have to break in a new manservant," Arthur started, feeling slightly more comfortable talking out loud to his silent friend. "Goodness knows that my life would probably be in order, things would be clean and organized, I would be shown the respect I deserve, and I could probably accomplish way more in my day..." he trailed off, suddenly deciding that he didn't really need to finish that sentence.
“The fact of the matter is that you were right the other day when you said I’d get bored with you if you started acting like a proper servant.” The admission was a little easier than he thought it would be. So much for taking that one to the grave, though, he thought wryly.
Merlin continued to breath softly, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. The silence that hung in the room was insufferable, and Arthur felt the urge to keep talking just to avoid the quiet of the room.
“I’ll have you know that you ruined one of my favourite shirts,” Arthur told him, quirking his lips ever so slightly. “That’s going to be one hell of a stain for you to clean when you’re feeling better,” he added, feeling like he needed to ease some of the tension in the room. The truth of the matter was that Arthur had literally burned that shirt two nights ago. He could never wear it again, even if by some miracle someone had been able to remove the blood stains. It would only serve as a reminder of this event…whatever it was.
“Just…make sure you get better,” Arthur finally said, bending forward and resting his head in his hands. After a moment he lifted his head, resting his chin on his right palm. “A good King needs a good friend and advisor to make sure he doesn’t lose his perspective.” The rest was left unspoken, but Arthur hoped that if Merlin could hear him, he’d know who it was that Arthur had been referring to.
Arthur reached for the cloth resting on Merlin’s forehead, but stopped his hand midway there. He couldn’t explain why, but he suddenly felt an inexplicable desire to wrap his arms around Merlin and somehow take away his pain. Without a doubt, he would make the individuals who did this to him suffer in the same way Merlin was now suffering. Instead of removing the cloth, Arthur found his fingers lightly brushing the hair away from his forehead and the side of his face, and he found himself quickly becoming overwhelmed by his emotions. Deciding that it was all too much for him to handle right now, Arthur found that had to turn away once again.
There was a sound from behind him all of a sudden, and Arthur whipped around in his chair, instinctively grabbing for the hilt of his sword. But when he saw who it was he immediately relaxed, letting go of the sword and allowing his arms to rest at his side.
“Hunith,” Arthur managed to choke out. “I didn’t realize…I mean, I didn’t know you were here. Though of course it would make sense that you’d be here.” Arthur let out a tense sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry. You just startled me,” he admitted, meeting her gaze.
“I’m sorry for giving you a fright,” Hunith said, shooting him a sad smile. She made her way towards Arthur, taking a seat on a nearby chair. The prince followed suit, sitting once again on the stool beside Merlin, but this time facing the man’s mother.
“That’s quite all right,” Arthur found himself responding, though he didn’t think it was really necessary. Hunith smiled at him all the same. Her smile was so similar to Merlin’s sometimes that it still shocked Arthur.
They remained in companionable silence for a moment before Arthur felt compelled to say something. “I’m sorry about Merlin.” And then, without really thinking he added, “And I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect him.” His voice was barely audible, but Hunith seemed to have heard him.
She shook her head and let out a small laugh. “You know as well as I that Merlin is perfectly capable of finding trouble on his own, even with a watchful eye on him,” she told him firmly, her gaze intense. “He’s been like this ever since he was a boy.”
Arthur couldn’t seem to stop the soft smile that graced his features momentarily. “That’s an understatement,” he admitted, thinking back to all the times he’d already had to bail Merlin out of hot water in the short time they’d known one another.
“So don’t you dare take the blame or allow yourself to feel guilt for this situation,” Hunith informed Arthur. He couldn’t help but feel like he was being scolded, and yet he welcomed it with open arms. He nodded solemnly, turning to watch Merlin once more.
Silence sat in the air between them, save for Merlin’s steady breathing, but it was comfortable and supportive somehow. Arthur felt like her presence lifted some sort of weight off of his shoulders, though he couldn’t quite explain how or why.
“He thinks the world of you, you know,” Hunith finally offered.
Arthur’s head shot around to stare in shock at the woman across from him. “I can’t possibly imagine why,” he mumbled, refusing to acknowledge the hint of disappointment that snuck into his voice. “I tell him all the time what a terrible servant he is. I’m constantly berating him for one thing or another. He’s told me numerous times exactly what he thinks of me, even though I could have him thrown in the stocks for a week. Which I sometimes do...” Arthur stopped, not wanting to further explore this line of thought.
“But you trust him and you support him when he needs it,” she pointed out delicately, eyes soft and imploring. “He can count on you in the same way you can count on him. I’ve heard the way he speaks about you and the way he speaks to you. You’re very important to him, contrary to what it might seem.”
Arthur felt something warm swell in his chest at her words. Truth be told, he wasn’t even entirely sure what to even say to that. Except to admit that he was a little surprised by her admission. Though if he really took the time to think about it, he supposed she was correct. Arthur had gone out on a limb for Merlin more than once. But truth be told, Merlin had done the same for him. He’d never had a servant that cared that much about him. Especially not enough to risk their life to save his. Sure, part of a servant’s duty was to offer their life as a sacrifice for their master, if it came down to it. But Merlin would do it even if he hadn’t sworn to do so. Even if Arthur sacked him and he had absolutely no reason at all, except for the sole fact that Arthur was his friend. And if he really was being honest with himself, he would do the same for Merlin. It was somewhat of an overwhelming feeling, given the precarious situation Merlin was currently in. So instead of responding with a million words that he wouldn’t be able to properly choose, he decided not to speak at all, favouring the idea of reapplying Merlin’s cool cloth once more.
“You care about him too,” Hunith remarked when he was finished. It wasn’t a question. It was an observation.
Arthur sat up straight, craning his neck to peer at Merlin’s mother and immediately found himself wanting to protest. But he didn’t. “Yes,” he responded instead, and felt some relief that he’d said it and the world hadn’t imploded.
“You’re a good man Arthur Pendragon. You’re going to make a fine King some day,” Hunith told him with a bright smile.
“Thank you,” Arthur responded, genuinely touched. He would have to make a point to spend more time with Hunith the next time she was out to visit. Hopefully under better circumstances.
Arthur was plotting the perfect time to bring her back to Camelot for another visit when Gaius and Gwen returned from their errands. With a gentle pat to Merlin’s shoulder and a smile to the other three occupants in the room, Arthur headed back to his chambers to get ready to hunt down the bandits that had done this in the first place.
* * * * *
A couple hours after his visit to Merlin, Arthur and a few of his knights were preparing to leave in search of the bandits who had attacked him and Gaius. The most recent reports indicated that they were closer to Camelot than had originally been presumed and they finally had enough information to make a move. Arthur was having a hard time believing that they could be quite that stupid, but he certainly wasn’t complaining. It made his job a hell of a lot easier, though Arthur was admittedly pissed off that it had taken him almost two full days to find them.
Still, it was water under the bridge if they were indeed able to capture the renegades.
Henry was able to prepare him to ride out in an unexpectedly efficient amount of time. His armour was spotless and his horse was ready to go before Arthur even made it to the stables. He was respectful and obedient and Arthur couldn’t even find anything to scold him for. Henry seemed like a nice person and he was an exemplary servant. But he was painfully dull, and Arthur couldn’t wait until he could finally sack the kid. He’d make sure he was rewarded for his excellent service first, though.
Arthur and his men found the bandit camp only a couple hours ride Southwest of Camelot. The entire showdown was anti-climatic in the end. There was a group of four of them but they were certainly not in any position to fight back. All four of the men looked to be in nearly as bad shape as Merlin was. It was a wonder they were even still alive at all, but it explained why they hadn’t made much distance since the initial attack.
By all appearances this group had almost been literally mauled and left for dead shortly after they’d attacked Gaius and Merlin. Arthur had to admit that it was a very coincidental and bizarre twist of fate, but was pleased with how conveniently it had worked out in the end. Of course, now he knew that there was yet another group of insurgents on the loose. But that was a mission for another day. Besides, the men absolutely weren’t providing Arthur with any further information on this second group, so he was left with no other option.
Ultimately, the group of bandits went willingly with Arthur as prisoners, and by the time he returned to Camelot it was still relatively early in the evening.
Henry had a hot bath prepared for him by the time Arthur returned to his chambers. And after dismissing the boy, Arthur peeled off his damp and dirty clothes, feeling some of the tension in his body finally melt away had he sunk into the warm water. He remained in the water until his fingers and toes started to wrinkle, but it was the most relaxed Arthur had felt in days.
It wasn’t until some time later that Gwen stopped by to inform him that Merlin’s fever had broke, and he was conscious and aware.
* * * * *
Arthur deliberately waited at least a half an hour before finally heading out to see Merlin. He’d been to Gaius’ workshop more in the past few days than he had in months. At the very least since the last time Merlin had been deathly ill. This was starting to become a habit that Arthur hoped would not continue.
When he arrived, Hunith, Gwen and Morgana were all sitting around Merlin’s bed, smiling and talking softly. Gaius was nowhere to be seen, though it was entirely possible he had already retired for the night. It was starting to get late. All three heads turned to stare at him as he entered the room.
Arthur moved until he was in Merlin’s line of vision. He caught Merlin’s eyes briefly before returning his attention to the three women.
“It seems a little crowded in here. Perhaps I should come back later,” Arthur suggested, though he honestly didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to stay awake.
But before he’d even finished his sentence, Morgana was standing up. “Don’t be silly,” she exclaimed, waving her hands dismissively at him. “Gwen and I were just leaving, weren’t we Gwen?” she announced, turning to look at her maidservant.
“Oh. Right,” Gwen agreed hastily, shooting a quick smirk at Hunith and then Merlin before following dutifully after Morgana. Arthur had to use all of his will power not to roll his eyes at the two of them, though he was appreciative of the gesture.
“I should be retiring for the night too,” Hunith added a moment later, standing up and moving to kiss Merlin on the forehead. “Sleep well, my boy,” she whispered, and looked at him so lovingly that it made Arthur long for that kind of motherly love too.
“Don’t keep him up too late,” she directed towards Arthur with a wink.
Arthur chuckled as Merlin responded, “Mum!” in his whiniest voice.
“I won’t,” he promised, raising one hand in oath. She seemed to be satisfied with his promise and made her way into the other room without another word. Arthur grabbed one of the stools and pulled it up right beside Merlin’s bed, plopping down on it without his usual grace.
“Boy you sure know how to clear a room,” he heard Merlin joke, voice slightly raspy.
“Shut up Merlin,” Arthur ordered, but it was nothing short of affectionate.
Merlin grinned up at him, and even though he still looked terrible, he also looked content. And for the first time in nearly three days, Arthur grinned himself, unable to contain it.
“You look like crap,” Arthur mused, biting back a laugh.
“Thank you,” Merlin deadpanned. And maybe even rolled his eyes. But it was hard to tell under all the bruising and swelling.
“I wouldn’t want you to think I’d gone soft or anything.”
“Of course not, sire.” There was definitely an eye roll that time.
Arthur did laugh with that comment and Merlin joined in. Arthur hadn’t realized how much he’d missed Merlin’s presence until this very moment. But there were still some things that needed to be discussed. “How are you feeling?” Arthur asked, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his thighs.
“Like a tree fell on top of me. A tree full of armour. And horses. And maybe a mace or two.”
Arthur held back a sigh and tried to smile. “Yeah well, you need to toughen up.”
“So it would seem,” Merlin agreed reluctantly. Then abruptly changed the subject. “So do you have a new servant?”
“Yes,” Arthur told him.
“Oh.” Arthur couldn’t help but think that he distinctly heard something resembling hurt in the man’s voice.
“But only temporarily,” he rushed on to assure Merlin with a smile.
Merlin grinned back at him. “Who is it?” he asked.
Arthur had to think for a moment. “Henry, I believe. Blond kid.”
“He must be thrilled. He’s a pretty big fan of yours,” Merlin shared like a gossipy woman. Then got a mischievous smirk on his face. “Though I can’t possibly imagine why.”
Arthur feigned annoyance, which wasn’t exactly hard to do. “Hey watch it. I can still have you sacked at any point in time,” he reminded his bed-ridden friend.
“Yeah, but you won’t,” Merlin shared, his voice sounding so convinced that Arthur couldn’t even keep up the façade.
“Probably not,” Arthur admitted. “He does things with far more competence then I could ever hope to see again in the near future-” Merlin snorted, then closed his eyes for a moment, as if in pain. But a moment later he seemed fine, and indicated for Arthur to continue. “But he’s so boring. I never thought I would get sick of hearing the word ‘sire’ before.”
Merlin laughed once more and looked like he wanted to make some sort of sarcastic remark. But in the end he apparently chose to keep it to himself, as they fell into a comfortable silence instead. It was at least a minute or two before Merlin finally spoke up again.
“You look tired. Exhausted even.” It was a comment, not a question.
Arthur raised a questioning brow. “And what makes you say that?”
“You’re slumped over on the chair. Not your usual posture at all,” Merlin shared. It looked like he was frowning, but Arthur couldn’t quite tell.
“I’m fine,” Arthur responded immediately. But then the universe had to continue working against him, and the next second he found himself yawning, in spite of his greatest attempts to hold it in.
“Your eyes are bloodshot,” Merlin proceeded to point out, as if the evidence wasn’t already piled up.
“Doesn’t mean I’m tired,” Arthur scoffed, though he had no idea why he was getting so defensive. The reality was that he was beyond exhausted. He just wasn’t sure why he didn’t want Merlin knowing this piece of information.
Merlin watched him for a few moments, almost as if sizing him up. Arthur didn’t like it one bit, but he didn’t say anything.
“Are you okay?” Merlin finally asked, and the genuine concern that came across in his voice was enough to melt away any frustration that had just been building.
“Yeah. I am now. It’s just been…a trying few days,” Arthur found himself admitting honestly, though it really sounded quite pathetic coming out of his mouth. Merlin had been the one struggling for his life. All Arthur had to do was track down and capture the idiots who had done this in the first place. Still, perhaps it was the lack of sleep finally catching up to him, but he just didn’t have the energy or the heart to pretend that he was perfectly fine. Besides, Merlin was a damned genius when it came to figuring Arthur out. How he could be so utterly incompetent in everything else was still a wonder to Arthur.
“Morgana told me how worried you’d been,” Merlin shared, voice barely above a whisper. Arthur made a mental note to hunt her down and kill her later. “Was I really that close to death?”
“I’m not sure,” he answered honestly. “But it sure appeared that way.”
Merlin seemed to consider this information very carefully for a few moments, lost deep in thought. “Thank you,” he finally responded.
“For what?” Arthur asked, raising both brows questioningly. He really hadn’t done anything worthy of praise, as far as he was concerned.
“For everything,” Merlin answered. Though Arthur didn’t consider it much of a useful answer. He frowned and folded his arms across his chest.
“I didn’t do anything,” Arthur told him gruffly, staring down at his legs. “You should be thanking Gaius and Gwen and your mother. Hell, even Morgana.”
“So you didn’t catch the people who did this to me?”
Arthur scoffed. “Of course I did.”
“Then thank you.”
“It was my duty,” Arthur rebutted, wondering when he had become so humble. Normally he’d be boasting his own accomplishments like there was no tomorrow. This time, though, he didn’t feel like he’d done anything particularly worthy of such praise.
Merlin raised one eyebrow, looking like he wanted to argue further, but thankfully decided to let Arthur have this one.
“So, anything exciting happen while I was unconscious?”
* * * * *
“I suppose I should get going,” Arthur finally reluctantly admitted, nearly an hour later. He had given up trying to stay sitting upright on the stool and had instead moved to sit on the floor beside Merlin’s bed, his head resting lightly on his left arm.
“If you can make it back to your room,” Merlin joked with a grin. Arthur would have swatted him if he’d had the energy to do so, and if Merlin hadn’t already experienced an inordinate amount of pain in the last couple days.
“I’m perfectly fine to walk back to my room, thank you,” Arthur informed him, sitting up straight and attempting to stand. Merlin watched in amusement as Arthur made three valiant, though unsuccessful, attempts to get to his feet before finally settling back on the floor.
“I think I’ll be fine to take a small nap here. Then I can head back after,” Arthur informed Merlin with a huge yawn, as if he thought this was the most brilliant plan he’d ever come up with.
Resting his head back on the side of the bed, and closing his eyes, Arthur allowed himself to start drifting into sleep, in spite of being on the cold floor. He was almost asleep when he felt a tapping on the top of his head. Forcing one eye open he looked over to see Merlin hitting him on the head.
“You can’t sleep on the floor. You’ll freeze,” Merlin informed him.
“There aren’t really any other options,” Arthur mumbled sleepily, closing his eye again.
But that incessant tapping wouldn’t stop. So Arthur pried his eyes open and shot Merlin the nastiest glare he could muster in his current state. “What?!”
“You could sleep in the bed with me?” Merlin offered, patting the small space beside him.
Arthur grumbled to himself, annoyed. “Are you kidding me? There’s not enough room.”
“Sure there is. If I just move over a little, there’s tons of room,” Merlin told him. And without waiting for a response, he started to slowly shift to the outer edge of the bed, which did not prove to be an easy task. Arthur heard the grunts of pain and could feel the movement beneath his head. A minute or two later – which could just have easily been an hour, as far as Arthur was concerned – the movement stopped.
“Okay, there you go,” Merlin told him. “Tons of room.”
“I don’t know…” Arthur told him hesitantly.
“We always share the same bed when we’re on hunting trips. What makes this any different?” Merlin asked with a deep yawn, trying to sound confrontational but failing miserably.
There were numerous reasons that he could give, but he chose the one his brain first registered. “On hunting trips you haven’t been terribly injured. That’s the difference,” Arthur shared with him, sighing.
When he felt a gentle hand come to rest on his arm, Arthur looked up in surprise. He met Merlin’s gaze and waited for him to speak. “Arthur, you’re not going to hurt me, if that’s what you’re worried about. Just get into this bed and don’t be such a prat.” It sounded suspiciously like an order, but for some reason Arthur was perfectly fine with that fact.
It only took a minute to make his decision. Through sheer will and determination, Arthur managed to remove his boots and pull himself into the bed beside his already asleep manservant. He curled up on his side and found that it would do. Certainly more comfortable than remaining on the cold floor, at the very least.
Arthur was asleep before his head even hit the pillow. But it was the best night’s sleep he’d had in a long time.
|
Mark was feeling a little beat up on that Tuesday, his engineering course was getting pretty stressful with the first essays just peeking around the corner, and god knows he hated doing essays. He sat down heavily on his computer chair. Time for the best de-stressing technique he had:
Masturbation.
Slow, scrumptious, delicious masturbation.
Mark browsed trough tumblr and found a porn gif: a close up on a round butt taking a fairly large cock and jiggling slightly with the motion. You could see a hand squeezing and separating the cheeks to fully expose the plush pink hole being penetrated. It was delicious; an immediate addition to Mark's porn folder.
There were a few problems with it, though. The most prominent being the fact that the loop was too abrupt, way too short to develop more of the motion and immerse the viewer into the moment. The other problem was the image quality: it had that particular grainy texture of low-res gifs, he could see there was some kind of watermark on the bottom right corner but it was illegible. That didn't stop him from using that gif to get off for a few months though. God, he loved chicks that could handle anal. Staring at the short looping image he pondered: maybe this girl pushed back into the penetration later on, maybe she just flopped down on the bed and let her hole be used. Ugh, he wanted to actually watch the video and find out.
And so began the great hunt for the source of "that one anal gif”. He combed through the notes of that post, singling out reblogs with addition of text, in the hopes that maybe one of them had a source link. After strings of eggplant and peach emojis and people asking for the source he found a promising lead: one blog reblogged it with "ETB's stuff always makes me super horny" Now that he had a possible name, yeah, the blurry watermark kind of looked like the letters ETB highly stylized and all squished together. The hash tags in that post read a "Carter & Yami". Now that he had a lead, Mark typed ETB porn in his search bar... Now that was odd... the results were apparently for a gay porn site... Oh! He switched to image search, new search: Yami ETB. And yes, a boyish looking guy showed up on the screen, and in the middle of all the results he could see the one gif that started it all. He went back to the original research. He clicked on a redtube link, apparently to a video collection of this particular company.
After a few pages he fleetingly saw the name Carter and gave pause.
A few boxes down he found what he was after: Carter and Yami get it on by Euro Twink Boys.
Very cautiously, Mark decided to press play.
Mark had always considered himself to be straight. He had no reason to doubt that, women were nice and soft and jiggly, they felt nice pressed up against his body, and he doubted a muscular and hairy dude would provide the same effect.
But as of right now, the man on the screen, well... to be completely honest... he was pretty hot.
Yami was on all fours on top of a very soft looking bed; his butt was just as the gif suggested: soft, round and plush. He was lean, if not very muscular, his floppy hair stuck to his forehead with perspiration as he threw his head back, he had a soft pink mouth just open enough to deliver little gaspy moans, his vowels long and open with little emphasis on the R in Carter's name, a British menace.
After a quite satisfying orgasm Mark could safely say he found himself enlightened.
He certainly found this Yami person attractive; he could maintain an erection and achieve a climax through gay porn.
Mark decided to explore this new bicuriosity, and clicked back to the homepage of the website. In the homepage there was a list of categories, it was sort of a crash course in gay porn lingo.
Bears didn't really do it for him, bbc and huge dicks scared him a little, frat boys didn't titillate him at all, but twinks...
There was just something about guys with slim bodies, soft skin and big doe eyes, race, age and context didn't matter at all.
With a resigned sigh and the certainty that he had found his type, Mark went back to ETB's account. He flipped through a few of Yami's videos, still marveling at the excitement he felt but a particular title caught his attention, "Mark, Jack and Yami 3way".
The video started right in the middle of the action, obviously a highlight reel to convince casual viewers to buy a subscription.
A thick erect cock dominated the center of the shot, he could see that it belonged to someone quite muscled, oh! And apparently a natural redhead. Yami was kneeling on the guy's left side, and on his right there was the most incredible pair of blue eyes Mark had ever seen. The guy had a very slight scruff of beard and shortly trimmed chestnut brown hair, he was biting his ridiculously pretty pink lips.
The screen cut to a different scene, now Yami and the brunette were kissing each other around the tip of the other guy's dick, he could just see flashes of the slick pink tongues wrapping around the head spreading precum and drool all over their lips. Another quick jump cut and now there was a side view of the brunette licking the other guys dick. He didn't take it all that deeply, but what he lacked on deepthroating he made up on energetic licking. He moved his head away for a while, just to give Yami enough space to take the guy's dick down to the root, face red and nose scrunched up a little pressed against red curls. The scene changed again and this time they were positioned on top of a bed. The brunette was straddling the redhead's hips, a quick zoom in showed a perky butt being spread apart just enough to expose a slick pink hole, for a moment Mark felt the insane urge to lick his screen. "Do ya want me, Mark?" Asked the brunette on the screen with a thick Irish accent. Mark nodded for a second forgetting the question wasn't addressed to him. The Irishman, presumably Jack, sat down just enough to insert the tip of Mark's cock in him. "Do ya want to fuck me, Mark?" He asked again, this time starting a slow grind, circling his hips almost as if in slow motion. In real life Mark squeezed his cock trough his underpants, not at all surprised to be hard again. After that scene the video cut to a shot of Yami again, this time straddling Mark's shoulders and feeding him his cock, Yami's fingers raking through short red hair. For a moment there Mark had forgotten Yami was part of the video as well. The screen faded to black, in white letters the names started showing up. First Mark, the redheaded top, after his name a scene focusing on his toned body and facial expressions slowly panning down to his large cock. The second name was Jack, his scene appeared to be a continuation of the last one, but now he was considerably more disheveled: messy hair, glassy eyes, open mouth. He had his arms against Mark's pecs and wasn't so much riding him anymore... he was more holding on for dear life while being fucked into oblivion. He started with a few gaspy moans but soon dissolved into almost shouting. Mark paused the video... And rewound it to Jack's name again... And again… He did it one more time... God, he was loud; such a little spitfire. Mark stroked his cock through his underwear. He let the video continue this time. Yami's name was almost underwhelming. It showed him on his back on the bed being fucked quite thoroughly by Mark and simultaneously being sucked off by Jack, he was red in the face and had his eyes tightly shut with his head thrown back just barely letting out whimpers. The final screen had the title of the video once again and the logo of the company, the words "sign up today" more tempting than ever. |
Jungkook wasn’t so sure about the idea of getting a roommate until he actually met his roommate for the first time.
Going into university, he wanted to have the full experience. He wanted a roommate to become friends with, wanted to study with the friends he’d meet along the way, join a few activities for fun, and get drunk on coffee while trying to finish an essay he would wait to write last minute at one AM— okay maybe not that last part .
But he wanted the full experience! He was just a bit nervous about what his roommate would be like and if they’d like him in return.
When he first met him— Kim Seokjin— the first thing he noticed was the fact that they were near the same height and that he looked close to being perfect everywhere . He examined the man in awe, seeing his perfect body proportions and possibly one of the most handsome faces he’s ever seen.
Kim Seokjin.
He had dark brown hair and sharp eyebrows, the broadest shoulders Jungkook had ever seen, along with the reddest and plumpest lips he’d ever seen, and he dressed like a businessman more than a young adult— Jungkook had no idea how old he was either.
In comparison to Jungkook’s loose blue jeans with rips in them and his big black flannel, topped with his black bucket hat, Seokjin looked like he could be Jungkook’s teacher or something.
“Why couldn’t the bicycle stand up by itself?”
Jungkook blinked up at the man, completely bewildered by the sudden question. He was so busy staring and observing Seokjin that he thought he was hearing things. “What..?” What was this guy talking about?
“It was two tired .”
He didn’t get the joke at first, but as Seokjin started laughing out and clapping his hands in the air, Jungkook’s eyes puffed up along with his cheeks, a smile forming on his lips. This guy— Jungkook finally noticed— had just made the most ridiculous dad joke ever.
He loved it.
“I’m Kim Seokjin, by the way. Did you like the joke? You’re not thinking about changing roommates already, are you?” he chuckled.
Jungkook shook his head. “The joke was funny. It just caught me a bit off-guard,” he admitted a bit quietly. “But I’m Jeon Jungkook. And I think we’ll be great roommates, don't worry.”
Seokjin was still smiling, proud of himself.
“Good, good. I chose the right bed—” He pointed behind him at their small room, right to the bed he had put his things on already— “The beds are identical. We’re gonna be trapped in this little dorm for the next four years. How old are you, by the way?”
“Twenty.”
Seokjin hummed. “I’m twenty-one. Guess I’ll be your roommate hyung, won’t I?” He seemed cheeky about it. Jungkook didn’t mind at all. He liked this guy’s easy-going way of talking and the pun he’d made, being their first words to each other. It was something to remember.
Roommate hyung.
“I’m fine with the left bed,” Jungkook said as he pushed his suitcase towards the bed and set his two bags on it. “And yeah. I guess you are my roommate hyung, then. So… how about we go get some food together? I saw the food court on the way here.”
“Oh?” Seokjin picked his jacket up off his bed and immediately put it on. “Are you a food lover, Jungkook-ah?” Jungkook simply nodded, smiling away as he did. Seokjin smiled in return. “Wow. We’re really going to get along then.”
—
As they both like video games and food, the roommates easily got along over playing together and buying several snacks to share. They played games despite school starting next week and they ate away the money they’d just spent that day.
But it was fun.
It was fun, playing games with Seokjin. It was fun for Jungkook to see his roommate’s reaction as Jungkook beat him over and over. It was fun to hear Seokjin’s defeated yell and to see his hands cover his face in pure agony every time Jungkook would kill him in-game. Kim Seokjin was so fun.
At night, they’d give each other space.
Jungkook was a quick and heavy sleeper and Seokjin made sure to let him know that.
“Your alarm! Jungkook-ah!”
A pillow would be thrown in his direction, only waking him up slowly. Jungkook would turn the alarm off— he still wasn’t used to waking up for school at such weird hours— but Seokjin would simply either throw a book at him or he’d get up and roll over on top of Jungkook, forcing the younger to finally get up.
Seokjin wasn’t a heavy sleeper.
There were times that Jungkook would try and sneak out of his bed to go to the bathroom or when he’d try his best to not make any loud noise and wake up his roommate or disturb him— but he’d failed so many times. So many times, Seokjin would let it slide and simply go back to sleep or grumble to himself.
Seokjin could wake up to the sound of a pen dropping and Jungkook would have to silently curse himself for waking up his new precious roommate.
But Seokjin was also a cute sleeper.
The times when Jungkook had accidentally woken him up, Seokjin’s eyes would narrow at him, still sleepy, and his face would be a bit red and puffy. Sometimes his hair would stick straight up from where he was sleeping against his pillow or his hair would be flat against his face, which was still cute.
However, the times when Jungkook had succeeded in not waking him up by accident, Seokjin would be facing the ceiling or facing Jungkook’s bed, giving him a direct view of the older.
It was odd. Seokjin looked somehow just as handsome even in his sleep. His eyebrows would either be softened or furrowed together, depending on how he was sleeping. His plump lips would either be puckered out a bit or they’d be parted for soft breaths. His eyes would be closed so gently with his lids on full display and his arms would sometimes cutely be holding onto a pillow— just like Jungkook sleeps!
It was times like those where Jungkook could just sit on his bed and admire his new roommate. He couldn’t really stare at him when they’d first met, but when Seokjin was asleep— though it may seem a bit weird— Jungkook liked to follow with his eyes along Seokjin’s shiny locks down to his smooth nose and curve upwards with his delicate lips.
Is that weird?
No. Jungkook had always been a curious person!
He’d never tell Seokjin that he did this, but it wasn’t a crime anyway! Jungkook was just bored and sleepy and there was never anything to do in their small dorm. So, he pulled the blanket up to his face and admired his hyung up until the moment his eyes felt heavy and sleep took over his body.
“Goodnight, roommate hyung.”
—
“Jungkook-ah!”
It was funny, the way the two roommates were happy to see each other after Christmas break.
“Hyung!”
They both held out their arms and laughed away as they hugged each other, holding on tight the moment Seokjin walked into their dorm. It took less than two seconds upon seeing each other again and they were already attached, as if they’d never see each other again.
It was Jungkook that picked Seokjin up by his waist and lunged them both onto Seokjin’s bed, giggling lightly as Seokjin grunted and squealed in confusion below him. They landed side by side on the bed and Jungkook felt so refreshed to not only have his friend by his side again, but to be lying next to Seokjin and feeling the older squirm under his hold.
The funny part is…
“Jungkook-ah, it’s been two days.”
Christmas break lasted only the weekend.
Still, Jungkook smiled in joy of seeing Seokjin. “I know that. Hyung, did you not miss me too?”
“Of course, I missed my little roomie.” Seokjin wrapped his arms back around Jungkook and turned on his side to face him. Jungkook held his breath in awe from seeing Seokjin so close-up. He was just inches away from his own face. Even in this angle, Seokjin looked perfect. “I got you something for Christmas, Jungkook.”
Jungkook’s eyes were already wide, so his lips parting into a gasp was the only thing he could do in reaction. “You what?”
Seokjin unwrapped his arms from him and pulled something out of his pocket. It was a small carton of banana milk. Jungkook couldn’t help the big smile that tugged at his lips upon seeing Seokjin’s proud look.
“Ah, hyung.” He took the milk and held it to his chest. “Did you notice how much I drink these or something?”
Seokjin nodded. “Of course. I’m the best roommate ever, Jungkook-ah. Better get used to it.” He winked dramatically, but then huffed out, “Where’s my present?” Jungkook simply giggled and held his banana milk closer to his full chest.
“I’m right here, hyung.”
—
It felt like Seokjin and Jungkook had been through everything together as roommates — as friends.
They eat together.
Not a day went by where Jungkook and Seokjin ate alone. They were either at the food court together, eating peacefully and sharing food, or they were with their mutual friends they’d met in separate classes, but they all got along. Even with their friends, Jungkook and Seokjin sat side by side and still shared their food, but refused to share with anyone else out of the group. Or if they were too lazy or too busy to go out and eat, they’d order food to their room and eat together there. They always ate together.
They study together.
Every time Seokjin goes to study either at the library or study hall or even simply sitting on his bed, he’d always invite Jungkook. There had been times where Jungkook looked at him and chuckled, telling him there’s no way I’m studying right now, or he’d sometimes go with Seokjin just to be next to him or just to buy a smoothie and watch— But he did study! … Sometimes.
They shop together.
Their dorm room is only one room except for their small bathroom. They have the smallest kitchen ever. It consists of a small fridge and a table; that’s all. And their two single beds took up over half of the dorm. Though it’s a small dorm, it’s big enough for them and they did regular shopping together. Food, cleaning supplies, or just basic necessities. They go to the shop all the time together.
They even sometimes sleep together.
It would be times when they’d both play games on Jungkook’s bed together, the tiny TV blinding their eyes and the late nights slowly making their eyes droopy. And it would be times like that, that Seokjin would simply set his controller down on the floor and he’d pull Jungkook’s blanket over himself, then cheekily tell Jungkook goodnight.
There was no way they both fit easily on the single-bed, but Jungkook didn’t complain in the slightest. He couldn’t complain.
Seokjin likes to sleep holding something.
So does Jungkook.
At first, they’d just wake up with their arms tangled or they’d share one pillow to hold at sometime through the night. But it slowly turned into more than that. Seokjin was the one who, instead of holding onto the pillow Jungkook had set between them, he snatched the pillow away and scooted forward, sliding his hands under Jungkook’s arms and around his waist.
Jungkook had no clue where to put his hands at first and he felt like he was panicking too much, but Seokjin simply pushed himself further and nuzzled underneath Jungkook’s neck, making it easier for Jungkook to wrap his arms around him and hold on just as tight.
It was then that it became easier to start sleeping with and cuddling his roommate hyung. It was so comfortable from then on and Jungkook almost wanted to do it every night, though he couldn’t.
They were inseparable roommates.
Inseparable best friends, even.
—
They were inseparable. They’d been inseparable ever since they first met. They’d always be inseparable.
So how come Seokjin told Jungkook, “You can eat alone today, right? I’m going out with a friend I met a few weeks ago. Is this too much to wear?” He was wearing black slacks and a sweater. They both fit him well and looked great on him, but..?
“Who’d you meet? What friend?”
“Oh.” Seokjin simply shrugged it off. “Just a friend in class. We’ve talked a lot, especially over messages. He’s funny. You’d probably like him.”
Jungkook almost wanted to scoff for some reason. Maybe it was the way Seokjin spoke as if he should instantly like the stranger. Like he should immediately like him for no given reason. “What’s his name?”
“Ji Sungmin.”
The name didn’t sound familiar at all. And the fact that Seokjin was going out to eat with someone he didn’t know sort of made Jungkook feel nervous. They always eat together. What if this Sungmin guy does something bad? What if something happens to Seokjin?
“Be careful, hyung,” he blurted out but mocked himself as Seokjin was closing the door already and probably didn’t hear him. “Dummy,” he called himself. “He’s a grown man. Be careful? Seriously?” Jungkook laid back on his bed and decided to skip today’s dinner. He wasn’t hungry and if Seokjin wasn’t there, there was no need.
So, he waited.
He waited for what felt like forever.
He waited for three hours. Three hours was how long it took before the door was being opened and Jungkook’s racing, heavy heart could finally feel at ease. He was so close to messaging Seokjin and asking him if everything was going well, but Seokjin himself eventually beat him to it.
What in the world took three hours? Weren’t they just eating dinner? It took them three hours to eat? Did they eat a whole cow or something?
“Jungkook-ah? Are you awake?”
Of course he was. There was no way he could sleep, knowing Seokjin was gone for so long with someone he didn’t know. So, Jungkook merely hummed in response, fearing he’d say something rude by accident.
“Oh.” Seokjin started to strip his clothes off, but Jungkook closed his eyes and ignored the fact that Seokjin was taking his clothes off right next to him. “Did you eat something?”
“No.”
Seokjin tsked at him. “I knew it. Jungkook-ah, you need to have dinner. Sungmin and I ate a lot of meat and we had a few drinks.” The bed next to Jungkook dipped down, Seokjin’s hands pressing down beside him. Jungkook closed his eyes tighter and furrowed his eyebrows at the mention of the stranger. “Do you want me to make you something? A salad?”
“No. I’m going to sleep.” He opened his eyes once he felt Seokjin’s hands pull away, but Seokjin was still standing beside his bed, staring down at him. “I- What’re you doing? Go shower. You smell like alcohol.”
Seokjin huffed out a pout. “I’m naked though..? How can you smell that?”
Jungkook’s lips parted in surprise as he stared up at his roommate. “Naked?” He hadn’t looked down at Seokjin’s lower half yet and he refused to. “Are you—?! Go take a shower!”
“I’m just kidding!” Seokjin chuckled. “I’m wearing my boxers still, at least. And I did plan on showering, but if you want that salad—”
“I don’t. Go shower and go to bed. I’ll eat in the morning.”
Jungkook rolled over and pulled his blanket over his body, ignoring Seokjin as the older mumbled to himself all the way to the bathroom. He didn’t want to hear about Seokjin’s little dinner date with his new friend and he sure as hell didn’t want Seokjin’s pity-salad.
So, he closed his eyes and kept them closed until he fell asleep forcefully.
—
Sleeping didn’t make Ji Sungmin disappear though. In fact, it seemed to only make things worse.
It was Sunday and Seokjin woke up a bit later than he usually does. Jungkook didn’t question it until Seokjin yawned and stretched out, being a little too loud as he made weird noises to himself.
“Wow, I slept for so long.”
“You did,” Jungkook confirmed. “You slept a lot longer than you normally do, hyung. Why’s that?”
He shouldn’t have asked. Seokjin cheekily responded, “I stayed up texting Sungmin all night long.”
Jungkook was sitting on his bed organizing files on his laptop, but he paused and stared at one of the yellow files on the screen upon hearing that name for the second time within twenty-four hours. Ji Sungmin was so suddenly a part of Seokjin’s life and Jungkook wouldn’t lie to himself; this Sungmin guy sure is taking up Seokjin’s time, and he doesn’t really like it.
He didn’t like the sudden rush to his heart every time he heard that name. He didn’t like that some random guy was now Seokjin’s friend— he’d never even mentioned him before! But now Seokjin is smiling as he talks about staying up all night texting him?
That’s…
“Why did you stay up all night texting someone like that?” Jungkook asked, his eyes still set on anything other than his roommate. He quickly went back to sorting out his files, holding back a sigh as he accidentally moved the wrong one. He wasn’t paying attention.
“We were talking about a bunch of things,” Seokjin told him as he scrolled through his phone— was he looking at their messages? Only then did Jungkook glance at him, raising his eyebrow as he saw the smile on Seokjin’s face. “We mostly talked about class, though. We have a project and we’re partnered together.”
Of course, they are.
“You sure are blushing over there, hyung,” Jungkook teased, hoping Seokjin would laugh it off.
“Ah, no I’m not!” Seokjin threw his phone into his blanket and covered his cheeks. Jungkook watched in shock as Seokjin’s ears turned red. “You’re crazy, Jungkook. We’re just friends.”
Something about the way Seokjin was blushing made Jungkook freeze and stare at him. It was almost as if… “Hyung, do you actually like this Sungmin guy? Why are you blushing—?”
“I’m seriously not! I swear!” Seokjin was quick to say. “You just caught me off-guard. I wasn’t blushing until you said I was, you dummy.”
“Why are you blushing at all?”
“Because you’re looking at me.” Jungkook simply blinked, still frozen as Seokjin got up from his bed and straightened the blanket out. “I’m going to work on the project with Sungmin. I’ll be back for dinner this time, but make sure you eat something, Jeon Jungkook. I mean it.
Jungkook had already eaten. He ate breakfast because he skipped dinner last night. He ate because Seokjin wanted him to, though he didn’t feel like it last night. He ate as Seokjin slept away because he’d stayed up talking to Ji Sungmin.
Ji Sungmin.
Jungkook needed to meet this guy and see what's so special about him.
—
Jungkook met Sungmin in the worst way possible: in an unexpected way.
He came back from his afternoon class one day and he’d almost forgotten about Seokjin’s new friend because he was too busy with school, but as Jungkook opened the door to an unfamiliar face sitting on Seokjin’s bed, sitting a little too close to Seokjin, Jungkook knew almost immediately that it was the famous classmate and project partner of Seokjin’s.
Jungkook closed the door quietly, but when he turned to face them, they were both looking up at him.
“Oh, you’re here!” Seokjin called out.
But Jungkook wasn’t paying attention to his roommate for once. Instead, his eyes landed on the other person sitting there.
It was without a doubt Ji Sungmin. His jaw was as strong and sharp as his dark eyebrows, but his hair was dyed blond in contrast. He had his dark eyes set on Jungkook, following up and down his body, examining him just like Jungkook was doing to him. Jungkook didn’t miss the way the corner of Sungmin’s lip curved up into a smirk.
He felt like he was being taunted by a mere smirk.
“I’m guessing this is Jeon Jungkook?” Sungmin turned to Seokjin, asking. He had no idea that Seokjin had mentioned him before, but Seokjin simply nodded to his friend as if it was nothing special.
“Yes. Jungkook-ah, this is Sungmin.”
Sungmin, who was eyeing Jungkook as he placed his hand behind Seokjin and leaned closer to him. Sungmin, who was good-looking and would totally intimidate Jungkook if it weren’t for the fact that Jungkook could only hum carelessly in return to Sungmin’s smirk, not caring how he looked or eyed him. Sungmin, who Seokjin seemed so close with lately.
“Ji Sungmin?” he questioned, then huffed out a fake chuckle right at the man’s face. Sungmin’s attitude was nothing to him. Two could play that game.
“Yes! He's here so we could work on the project,” Seokjin told him, “but we ordered some food. Your’s is on the counter.”
They had papers, notebooks, pens, and also their plates of food set out on the bed in front of them. It was very clear and Seokjin didn’t have to tell him, yet he did. Jungkook simply ignored his own plate of food and went to his bed, glancing back and forth between the two.
“Yeah, I bought the food,” Sungmin announced as if Jungkook really cared. What Jungkook did care about was the way Sungmin picked up some meat and vegetable from his plate and held it up to Seokjin, who wordlessly opened his mouth and let the guy feed him. “Taste good?”
Seokjin nodded happily, his cheeks full.
Jungkook found it hard to breathe.
He didn’t understand. He couldn’t understand. Why was his chest rising and falling so harshly with each breath and why was his heart racing as he watched Sungmin press his napkin to Seokjin’s lips? Since when did Seokjin get so close to this guy? Since when did Seokjin start having dinner without him and with Sungmin instead?
But it was when Seokjin said something next that really threw Jungkook off his balance.
“Hey, Sungmin-ah? Why couldn’t the bicycle stand up by itself?”
Jungkook furrowed his eyebrows as he recalled this same joke being told to him the first time he ever met Seokjin. He narrowed his eyes and his lips puckered up as he thought about the answer to that question. Seokjin was recycling the joke and for some reason it made him feel a bit weird. Irritated.
“Two tired,” Jungkook answered, breaking off Seokjin’s joke. “It was two tired.” Seokjin pouted as his joke was ruined and Sungmin eyed Jungkook, furrowing his eyebrows in return.
“Way to ruin the joke.”
“Well—” Jungkook shrugged— “He already told me the joke a long time ago. Sorry, I guess.” He felt proud of himself for knowing the joke first.
Sungmin hummed. “Okay. Did he tell you the joke about Google?”
Google? Jungkook hadn’t heard any joke like that. Not from Seokjin.
“Um. No..?”
Seokjin hid his face, seeming to realize what Sungmin was talking about. Not only did Jungkook feel left out of the loop, but as Sungmin smirked again, he felt like he was being one-upped.
“ Is your name Google? Because you have everything I’ve been searching for, ” Sungmin said loud and proud. “That was the first joke hyung ever told me. He told me that because I was helping him search for things for our project. I swear he has a joke for every situation. He's so hilarious.”
Joke…
That’s a pick-up line, if Jungkook’s ever heard one. Was Seokjin flirting with him? Why did Seokjin hide his face? Is he blushing? What’s going on?
“Uh. Yeah, I guess he does.”
Sungmin successfully left Jungkook speechless. It wasn’t meant to be like that. He wasn’t meant to win this battle. He wasn’t meant to come in and one-up Jungkook like that in his own dorm room, with his own oblivious best friend right beside him.
He won’t let it happen again.
I refuse to let you win.
—
The next time Seokjin mentioned that guy’s name, Jungkook scoffed almost immediately, rolling his eyes as well.
“Oh?” Seokjin sounded a bit surprised and confused at the same time. Jungkook didn’t realize that he was so obvious with his expression, but of course it was caught by his friend. “Do you not like Sungmin? I thought you two were getting along pretty well?”
That must be a joke.
“No,” Jungkook answered truthfully. “I don’t like him.”
Seokjin tilted his head, still confused. “Why not?”
Why not? Because— Because…
Suddenly, that question hit Jungkook like a truck. What was his reason for not liking Sungmin? Did he have a valid reason to not like him? He didn’t like him before he even met him, either. Why?
Sungmin was clearly nice to Seokjin and it wasn’t like he’d done or said anything to Jungkook to purposefully harm him. Sure, his face was annoying and the way he one-upped him didn’t feel great, but why would he one-up Jungkook anyway? Why would they so obviously fight over Seokjin— because that’s what they were doing, right?
Fighting over Seokjin.
Seokjin is his best friend and roommate. Of course, Jungkook would be protective over him. But where was Sungmin’s place to fight over him? Sungmin was nothing other than a friend to Seokjin. Not even a close friend, either. So why were they fighting over him?
“Maybe you should just hang out with him to get to know him better,” Seokjin told him, breaking him from his train of thought. “Maybe it was too sudden for you. I’m sorry. Maybe you’d like him better if it wasn’t so sudden?”
—
Jungkook really didn’t like Sungmin.
It was a normal day. Normal lunchtime. Jungkook, Seokjin, and their five friends were sitting around their table as usual. Nothing was out of the ordinary. Their friends were all the same. Jungkook and Seokjin were both the same.
Except that was a lie.
The only out-of-the-usual was the fact that Seokjin had invited Sungmin over to their table to eat. Their table was already small enough with the seven of them, but it seemed a lot smaller as Sungmin joined them, having to squeeze his way right in between Jungkook and Seokjin. He was leaning in Seokjin’s direction, not even glancing at Jungkook or the others.
The part that Jungkook didn’t like was this: Sungmin was offering Seokjin his food every once in a while and Seokjin would also pull some food from his own plate and offer it to his friend, setting it down onto his plate with a generous smile.
Jungkook thought that they had a silent deal to never feed anyone else other than each other. What happened to that deal? Was it just Jungkook? Clearly not, right? Because even their friends eyed Sungmin and gave Jungkook questioning looks.
Ridiculous.
“I’m leaving.”
The scrape of his chair was loud as he stood up and only then did Seokjin or Sungmin really look at him for the first time in ten minutes. He wouldn’t last another twenty minutes with Sungmin by his side, stealing his best friend; his precious roommate hyung. He wouldn’t put up with it.
“Jungkook-ah, where are you going?” Seokjin asked, grabbing onto his wrist to keep him there. “Sit down. I bought extra meat just for you. You’re gonna let your hyung’s money go to waste?” He gave Jungkook a smile, but Jungkook scoffed.
“Extra meat for me? ” he asked. The meat that Seokjin was talking about was the meat that he’d been letting Sungmin have. He knew that Seokjin usually buys him extra food for them to share, but Sungmin was helping himself to it and Jungkook wouldn’t bother. “I’m going now. I have to go study.”
Seokjin frowned as Jungkook pulled his wrist away. “You don’t study, though..?”
But Jungkook was already walking out of the food court before Seokjin could question him any further. Something was wrong with him. He didn’t like the feeling in his gut, being there with them anymore.
It’s jealousy, his mind told him as he finally got back to their dorm. He was lying on his bed and pouting up at the ceiling all to himself. He was left with his thoughts in the silence of their room and he hated it because usually at this time of day, he’s being fed by Seokjin and cheekily smiling about it.
He hated it because it should be him that Seokjin was having lunches and dinners with. He hated it because it should be him that was being fed that extra meat. Hated it because it should be Jungkook that Seokjin stays up all night with, texting or in person. Hated it because he wasn’t the only one that Seokjin told lame jokes to, and hated it because the joke he told Sungmin was a pick-up line and was definitely flirtatious.
He hated it because Seokjin wasn’t blushing over him.
That’s it. You’re jealous that your roommate hyung is being flirted with.
The way Sungmin would so casually place his hand on Seokjin’s lower back. The way Sungmin would feed Seokjin and wipe at his bottom lip with his thumb. The way Sungmin would whisper something into his ear and make Seokjin either laugh or his ears would turn red, and Jungkook had no idea what he’d said that would make Seokjin blush that way.
The way Sungmin flirted.
Jungkook was jealous of Ji Sungmin.
Oh my—
“Jungkook?” Seokjin’s voice suddenly chimed loudly in the room and Jungkook jumped up in surprise, sitting up on his bed dizzily as his eyes met his roommate’s.
Seokjin followed him?
“Hyung,” he called out. He wasn’t sure of what to say, but the curious look in Seokjin’s eyes made him stutter, “W-Why did you follow me? Didn’t you eat?” Or maybe he was stuttering because of his sudden realization.
Seokjin sat down next to him and frowned. “You seemed upset, so I wanted to make sure you were okay. And you’re not studying. Why are you just laying here? Is something wrong?”
It was Jungkook’s turn to frown.
He wasn’t so positive before, but the more he thought about it, it was so obvious. The reason he didn’t like Sungmin was because of jealousy. But why would he be jealous if someone flirts with Seokjin? He doesn’t… like…
Those soft brown eyes. The gorgeous way his face was sculpted; the way his eyelids look so pretty in his sleep; the way his lips look so cute when they’re set in a pout; the way Jungkook loves every portion of his hyung’s body— always tells Seokjin he has the perfect body. Everything about him is perfect.
The craziest and most random dad jokes; the way he gets so into gaming and it’s sometimes cute; the way Seokjin cares silently and knows every little detail about Jungkook— even things he didn’t know. The way Seokjin likes to cuddle into his chest, the soft breaths against Jungkook’s skin, and the way he sleeps better in his hyung’s arms. The way Seokjin plays along with Jungkook and how they’ve been so inseparable for so long now.
His friend, his roommate hyung.
“Hello? Jungkook?”
Jungkook didn’t realize that his eyes were wide, not once blinking. He didn’t realize until he finally blinked a million times, the sting bringing tears to his eyes, but he wiped them quickly.
“Are you crying?”
“No!” Jungkook quickly told him. “My eyes were just burning. You- You didn’t have to run after me or anything, hyung. I swear I’m okay. I just… didn’t want to be there any longer.”
“Why?” He frowned deeper as Seokjin placed his hand on his knee. But Seokjin’s next words made his lips part, “Are you jealous of Sungmin?” Once he asked, Seokjin tilted his head at Jungkook’s reaction. “Um. Jimin said you kind of looked jealous. I didn’t know you wouldn’t like me having other friends like that. Don’t worry about that. You're my best friend. I’ll never have a friend like you, Jungkookie.”
Jungkook sighed as Seokjin scooted closer and wrapped his arms around Jungkook’s waist, pulling him into a hug. “Hyung… That’s not the reason I’m jealous.” Seokjin’s fingers curled into Jungkook’s sweater, but he didn’t say anything. He simply kept his chin rested on Jungkook’s shoulder and waited. “I- I think it may be something more than that, hyung.”
It was slow, Seokjin’s fingers releasing his clothes and the way Seokjin pulled away from the hug.
He settled his hands back to his lap and he gazed back into Jungkook’s eyes, his own wide. “What?” he questioned, his voice nearly too quiet. Jungkook’s head fell low as his stomach twisted and turned in anxiety.
“He’s obviously flirting with you,” Jungkook began quietly. “He stays up with you all night texting you, he was trying to one-up me when he was in our dorm, he holds you like you’re his or something, and he even feeds you and wipes your lip with his thumb when nothing’s there. There’s no friendly way to do that, hyung. I swear, hyung, he’s flirting with you.”
Seokjin chewed at his inner cheek as Jungkook spoke. He couldn’t tell if Seokjin was realizing it too or if Seokjin knew all along and was simply listening as he was being told.
Or neither.
“Why do you care if he flirts with me, Jungkook-ah?”
Jungkook held his breath.
Curiosity and uncertainty was written all in Seokjin’s eyes, but Jungkook was almost certain of the answer to that question. He just wasn’t sure how to know for sure. He wasn’t sure how to test his feelings.
Slowly, as he looked down at Seokjin’s hands that were still laid between his thighs, the younger inched his heavy-feeling hand towards his and only paused halfway to look back at Seokjin. But Seokjin’s eyes were on his hand now and there was no going back unless Seokjin said so. Not unless Seokjin told him to stop.
He didn’t.
Jungkook’s hand felt numb as he grabbed ahold of Seokjin’s. His hand was light and it was clear that Seokjin wasn’t backing out, so Jungkook simply held his hand in his and met his eyes, squeezing Seokjin’s hand to urge him to do the same. Seokjin peeked back up, still uncertain.
“Hyung,” he whispered. His heart felt a bit stiff, terrified of mentioning anything or going so far, but he had to or else it would swallow him whole for the rest of time. “I don’t think the jealousy you’re thinking of is the right kind.”
Seokjin’s thumb pressed gently into the palm of Jungkook’s hand as he gulped. “Jungkook…”
“I think I’m jealous because I like you.” He felt that if he held his breath or if his heart felt any heavier that he’d end up falling apart. So, he sighed out all of his worries and closed his eyes. “I don’t know. I’m sorry,” he mumbled, but Seokjin took his hand further into his.
“Jungkook, look at me.”
He obeyed, opening his eyes again. Seokjin had inched closer already and before Jungkook knew it, Seokjin cupped the sides of his head and forced the younger to look him in the eyes.
“Hyung—?”
“Shh.” Seokjin leaned his forehead against Jungkook’s. He thought that he was holding his breath before, but as Seokjin’s eyes fluttered closed and he simply sat with his forehead rested there, Jungkook felt like he’d pass out. Like Seokjin was being imagined in his head or he was frozen in time.
Seokjin’s hands fell back to his lap and he lightly pushed his nose towards Jungkook’s, their skin brushing against each other.
It was silent, but Jungkook was not ignorant to the way Seokjin was waiting for him. So, Jungkook gradually lifted his hands to Seokjin’s face, fingers tingling as he cupped his roommate’s cheeks. He gulped as Seokjin merely let him do so. It was new, but it was Seokjin’s permission.
Jungkook tilted his head and as he inched closer, he fluttered his eyes closed and his shoulders raised in anticipation as his lips found Seokjin’s, breaking the barrier and taking his friend’s lips against his own.
The pads of his fingers dug into Seokjin’s hair as Seokjin kissed back, those soft, plump lips of his feeling so delicate against Jungkook’s. The heavy feeling on Jungkook’s heart was swept away instantly and it turned into something like feathers or clouds. Soft, safe, comfortable, happy.
He parted his lips against Seokjin’s and they both deepened the kiss, humming at the unfamiliar feeling, but not once complaining about it. Seokjin’s hands landed safely on Jungkook’s arms and Jungkook pulled him in closer, begging for more. He needed more of his friend’s kisses.
However, Seokjin was the one to pull away, his parted lips taking in sharp breaths of air.
“Jungkookie?”
Jungkook removed his hands and frowned, so positive that Seokjin was about to yell at him or something. But Seokjin didn’t. Seokjin took his hand back in his and squeezed gently.
“Do you really like me?”
There was no denying it. After getting lost in everything Kim Seokjin had to offer, there was no way that Jungkook didn’t like him. He never realized or thought twice about it before— before Ji Sungmin came in and rocked his world— but he likes his best friend so much. He likes him so much that it almost hurt, seeing him with someone else.
It did hurt.
“I’m sorry,” Jungkook mumbled.
That was his confirmation. Seokjin didn’t seem to like it. “Don’t apologize to me, Jungkook. It’s okay.” Is it okay? Why is it okay? What were they supposed to do now? “Stop worrying so much. I can see it on your face.” The older cupped his cheek to gain his attention. “I realized it too, you know. I like you too, you know…”
Jungkook blinked his thoughts away a billion times, his lips parting into a small gasp at Seokjin’s words.
He likes me too.
“Does Sungmin make you jealous?” Seokjin teased, smiling at him. “I should’ve made him come around weeks ago, then. I can’t believe it took jealousy for you to realize this.”
“What? How long have you known?” Jungkook asked, frowning. “How long have you liked me, hyung? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Seokjin shrugged. “Around Christmas break.” Christmas break?! That was before they even became best friends! “You didn’t look at me in that way. How could I tell you when I knew you didn’t like me back?”
The heavy feeling hit Jungkook’s heart again, realizing that Seokjin had liked him all this time. “I’m so sorry.” He leaned forward and caught a glimpse of Seokjin’s red ears before he closed his eyes and pecked the older’s cheek. When he pulled away, Seokjin grazed his fingers against the spot he kissed. “Hyung, will you be mine? Please? And get rid of that Sungmin guy?”
Seokjin chuckled. “I can’t get rid of him, but I’ll be yours, Jungkook-ah. I’ll be yours and you can kiss me and hold my hand in front of him if it makes you feel any better.” He laughed lightly as Jungkook’s eyes lit up and he immediately leaned into Seokjin again, capturing his lips with his.
Jungkook never thought he’d have such a light feeling in his heart, yet such a full, fluttering feeling as well. Seokjin was the perfect person for him and his sweet, delicate heart. His best friend and roommate hyung knew him better than anyone else. Jungkook truly never thought he’d like someone like this, yet he’d liked him all along.
It just took a little jealousy to figure it out.
~ |
“REY YOU BETTER GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE!”
Rey startles awake at the sound of Rose pounding against her door. She rubs some life into her face and crosses lazily to her doorway in her pajamas, still halfway asleep.
“W-Wuss up?” Rey slurs as she finally swings the door open.
“Would you like to explain the abundance of boxes that I had to sign for this morning while you were dead to the world?!” Rose exclaims, looking thoroughly put out. “I swear to god, if you’ve been browsing Amazon in your sleep again…”
“What?” Rey asks, slowly coming to reality. “I didn’t order anything, Rose. You know I just keep everything in my cart anyway. And regarding the sleep shopping, the teddy bear incident was a one-time drunken mistake, and you know it.”
“A one-time, seven foot, gigantic mistake that couldn’t fit through the front door!” Rose retorts, crossing her arms and cocking a hip. “You get way too touchy and sentimental when you’re drunk. Next time, just ask for a hug instead of buying a ridiculously large, stuffed, stand-in boyfriend when you’re lonely.”
“Fine, you win,” Rey states resolutely, a smug smile appearing. “I’ll stop the late-night, lonely online shopping if you give up your drunken cooking escapades.”
“Hey!” Rose whines, pouting like a small child. “It’s not that bad! It’s fun and it’s not hurting anybody!”
Rey scoffs jokingly, “Last time, you insisted you had created the newest culinary revelation, shoved a peanut butter and tuna sandwich in my face, then almost burned down the kitchen trying to make spaghetti.
Rose opens her mouth to protest, but loses the fight in her. “Well played, Johnson. Well played.”
The door from across the corridor opens, and a ruffled Finn appears, yawning and scratching the back of his head. “U-Uh oh. Do I need to break you two up?”
“Not at all,” Rose replies, “Is that a shower I hear from yonder ensuite? Do you have a gentleman caller?” Rey whistles and raises her eyebrows suggestively.
“Knock it off,” Finn answers, blushing. “You know it’s just Poe again.”
“Things getting serious?” Rey asks curiously. “You two have certainly been seeing a lot of each other lately.”
“Along with seeing a lot of each other,” Rose insinuates, making both girls giggle.
Finn grins coyly, “Alright, alright. That’s enough… Whoa.” His eyes have moved down the bannister to get a good view of the entryway downstairs. “What’s with all the boxes?!”
“Dammit Rey!” Rose turns to her again, finger pointing in accusation. “Stop using your mind tricks on me! I came up here for a reason and you distracted me!”
Rey shrugs with a smile, “What can I say? It’s an art.” Finn acts out a chef’s kiss and the two of them laugh while Rose stomps down the stairs with purpose.
“If you didn’t order anything, why did you receive over twenty packages this morning?” Rose exclaims as Finn and Rey follow suit. Rey looks over the stacks of boxes, bewildered.
“Unboxing time! I’ll get the scissors!” Finn shouts in his pursuit to the kitchen.
“What the hell...” Rey says, flabbergasted. “I swear, I don’t have any idea where these are from.”
“It wasn’t even our usual delivery driver,” Rose replies, lifting a box and shaking it, ear pressed against the side to guess the contents. “Some guy in a suit. Seemed a bit overdressed for the job.”
“Suit?” Rey questions when Finn returns with scissors, handing them to her. “Did you get his name?”
“I didn’t ask, Rey,” Rose says in frustration. “I was a bit taken aback by the sheer number of packages. Why’s it matter anyway?”
An image of Mitaka and his SUV pops in Rey’s mind as she reaches for the top box. “No reason.”
“Peanut...” Finn presses, eyeing her suspiciously. “What aren’t you telling us?”
Rey cuts open the first box carefully and finds neatly folded tissue, sealed with a golden sticker. Gingerly, she unfolds the material and lifts from the box a sleek, high neck black dress, embellished with a golden zipper all the way down the back.
“Damn…” Rose says breathlessly. “That’s designer! I sincerely hope you didn’t buy that in your sleep, because that would’ve maxed out a credit card.”
Rey examines the dress delicately, admiring the fine fabric and detailing, then pulls the dress close to her chest nervously. “I didn’t buy it. But I know who did.”
“Oh my god! It’s your guy, isn’t it?!” Finn exclaims excitedly. “He’s absolutely loaded, isn’t he?!”
“You could say that…” Rey answers anxiously.
Finn and Rose look at each other, then practically jump up and down, shouting in unison: “Rey’s got a SUGAR DADDY!”
“He’s not my sugar daddy!” Rey retorts, trying to calm down her two best friends from their fit of delirium. This is exactly what she didn’t want. Last night, while tossing and turning, she dreaded what her friends would think of her if they found out about the arrangement she was considering. She hoped they wouldn’t judge the relationship at face value, but began preparing herself to hear every joke in the book. They could hold this over her head for the rest of time.
“I knew it!” Rose replies enthusiastically. “That suit he was wearing the other night looked like it cost more than my life is worth!”
“And he wants to spend all his money on yoooou!” Finn teases. “Nice job, Rey! Snagging a rich hottie from a charity event. Smart move!”
“Listen, it’s not what you think…” Rey starts.
“Nothing wrong with a sugar daddy, Rey,” Rose answers with a knowing look. “I had one for a while.”
Rey stares at Rose in shock. “Really?”
“Yeah! It wasn't anything serious,” Rose continues. “I just texted him and sent him a few pictures a week and he’d send me money for whatever. Pedicures, shoes, you name it.” She grabs the scissors from Rey and begins slicing open the rest of the packages. “Everybody’s got a thing. His thing was lavishing me in gifts. Not a bad kink, if you ask me. I’m not about to yuck somebody’s yum.”
“Come on, Rey,” Finn responds, elated. “A hot guy wants to give you the world? What can go wrong?!”
“A lot, actually,” Rose replies, cutting open the last few packages. “If feelings get involved, things can get messy. Just make it casual. Enjoy it for what it is. Just make sure you look after yourself, Rey. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
That thought had crossed Rey’s mind as she lay awake the night before. She weighed the pros and cons, thinking of every possible scenario her imagination could create. But ultimately, it kept coming back to him. To Ben. To those eyes. She’d rather have just a taste of him than nothing at all. When she finally fell asleep early in the morning, she dreamt only of his hand on hers, guiding her to the back of a dusty bookstore.
All three of them turn at the sound of footsteps from above. A freshly showered Poe clambers down the staircase, placing an arm around Finn with a quick kiss to his temple. “Morning! What did I miss? Looks like Christmas morning down here.”
“Rey got a few gifts from her gentleman,” Finn answers, cocking an eyebrow.
“A few?” Poe questions sarcastically. “Looks like he wiped out inventory.”
“Oh my god. Oh my god, Rey,” Rose exclaims, raising a pair of nude heels from the package in front of her. “RED BOTTOMS, REY. RED. BOTTOMS.”
“Holy shit,” Rey says under her breath, rushing over to survey the masterpieces that Rose holds in the air.
“Well, how about we get some breakfast going, and Rey can model her new wardrobe for us afterwards?” Finn asks, smiling wide.
“Oh, I don’t want to make you all sit through that,” Rey replies apologetically.
“Loubotins, Rey,” Rose pleads in all sincerity. “Don’t deprive me of living my dream vicariously through you. You’re going to put on every outfit, and you’re going to like it.”
Rey laughs, “Fine, fine, but I need food first! Finn, bacon?”
“You got it, Peanut!” Finn declares as he escorts Poe into the kitchen, stealing a kiss along the way.
Rey looks over at Rose, who is still beaming while touching the nude pumps like they’re a holy relic.
“Wanna help me open the rest?”
Rose squeals with excitement. “I love you.”
Rey smiles. “I know.” |
their base was a well-constructed bunker, with the doors covered by the environment to hide it from plain sight. it wasn’t on its own though, being part of a bigger plain of grass and trees that helped conceal it.
dream stood in front of the camera system at the bunker door, waiting for the person on the other side to recognize him and unlock it for him. george was now on dream’s back, head resting on his shoulder and hands hanging over them. though he was awake and conscious, he felt disconnected from the reality in front of him, replaying the image of blood pooling around his body. he felt disgusted, the stickiness and iron smell filling his nostrils. he wanted to wash himself, to scrub harshly at the patches of blood splattered all over his face and body. but instead he just lay there on dreams back, motionless and with no real motivation to move. and so he let dream carry him inside, walking through the long hallway that resembled a hospital, with white rectangular lights on the ceiling beaming down on them. they passed by many people, some dressed in army-like uniforms while others wore casual fits.
dream walked a bit more before entering a smaller room filled with medical equipment and a white solid table set up in the middle. a man with his back initially faced at dream turned abruptly, a lab coat over his beige collared sweater. his brown hair swayed slightly over one side of his face and he had on a pair of round, thin retro-like glasses.
“well look who’s back. what the hell even happened?”
“i’ll explain in a bit wilbur, where the hell is sapnap?” dream let out a long sigh of frustration and walked over to the medics table, turning around so that he could let george go in a sitting position. when he turned back around he looked george up and down, cringing at his physical appearance. the brunet looked sad, staring down at the ground like he always did while twiddling with his fingers.
“what happened?”
dream looked at wilbur and started to pace around the room as he let the medic take over.
“sapnap took a shot on a bishop. he was-“ dream cut himself off, glancing at george, but the boy stared at nothing as his eyes glazed over.
“he was attacking george.” dream finished. wilbur moved all around george before reaching for the boys arm.
“i’m going to examine you now ok? just to make sure everything’s intact.” wilbur was sweet, always careful of his actions when treating patients. he was the nicest, with a chill vibe, of the group and was highly skilled in what he did. he moved his hands down george’s arm, avoiding the blood stains but still pressing down on important areas of his arm to make sure nothing hurt. he moved to the other arm, doing the same but this time george let out a small grunt when wilbur pressed down around his shoulder.
“does it hurt here?” he pressed down again next to his collar and george nodded slowly with a pained look. wilbur pulled out a small flashlight and inspected the area, catching a combination of purple and blue spotting around the brunets collarbone and neck. it looked like hell but luckily nothing was broken.
“it’s just a bunch of bruising. make sure to apply some ice to that so they don’t swell up.” wilbur suggested. he moved to george’s back and did the standard massaging, pulling out a stethoscope afterwards to check his heartbeat. lastly, he inspected georges legs and face with typical touches, shining the flashlight in his face to account for his eyes and ears.
“he’s all good, nothing seems to be broken or out of place. the only thing that worries me is the amount of bruising and blood. take him to the showers and help him out dream. and afterwards, look for the small ice sheets to put on his bruises.” wilbur looked at george one last time with a sad smile, reaching out with one hand to pat the boys head.
“you’re ok, we’re gonna take care of you ok?”
george never looked up from the ground, but instead gave a understanding nod to the medic, mumbling a quiet thank you for his work. dream pat wilbur’s back before picking up george against his chest, arms under his legs and the brunets arms over his shoulders. wilbur blushed slightly at this, they looked like a couple, with george being carried like allie from the movie the notebook.
“thanks again wilbur.” he gave the medic a smile before leaving the room. wilbur sighed but returned the smile, walking back to his desk.
‘that boy, so mysterious. and dream, his walls are being broken.’
———
georges grip around dreams shoulders tightened and he buried his head into the blondes chest. it was a weird feeling, he felt so secure around dream and it was as if they had known each other forever. dream smiled at georges movements, walking into the bathroom within his bedroom and placing george down on the shower bench. it was a fancy fucking bathroom, with two separate showers and a bathtub on the other side, sinks aligned to the walls with enough space to walk around freely.
“i’ll let you get undressed and shower, or bathe whatever you want. i’ll come back in a bit with a change of clothes. you can toss the dirty ones in the bin right there.” he pointed at a bin in the corner of the bathroom. george nodded and dream took it as his queue to leave, heading for the door before he felt a hand wrap around his wrist which startled him. george had quickly reached for dreams hand, looking at the ground with a blush across his face. dream only stared at him, waiting for the boy to say something. george finally looked up, locking eyes with dream as his lip started to quiver.
“thank you, for everything.”
dream smiled and walked back, running a hand through georges hair as he pulled the boys head into his abdomen.
“no need to thank me, you’re gonna be ok here, i promise.” and with that dream walked out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him and leaving george in a white room of silence.
the brunets face still had the flustered look plastered across his cheeks, and he buried his face into his hands, mentally punching himself at the cringe words that left his mouth a few seconds ago. after a minute of self reflecting, he walked over to the bathtub and turned its handle to the right setting, water gushing out as it started to fill slowly. he then began to undress himself slowly, taking off the blood stained suspenders and dress pants first. he pulled his shirt over his head, messing up his hair as he fully exposed himself to the white room. removing his underwear last, he tossed all his dirty and soaked clothes in the bin dream had pointed out.
george stood in front of the bathtub, staring at it before gaining the confidence to dip his foot in, the warmth of the water surrounding it with a welcoming hug.
george dipped his whole body in the bathtub, feeling a sense of relief and no longer shivering and cold.
———
dream paced around his room, the clothes he picked out for george sitting neatly on the bed. he was nervous as fuck, and didn’t know how to approach the man who was stark naked inside. he heard the bathtub start and quickly looked in one of his drawers, pulling out a small scented bath bomb he could surprise george with. dream inhaled and exhaled slowly, picking up the clothes he had laid out and walking towards the door, placing a small knock on it.
“george? i have some clothes for you, can i come in?”
he heard shuffling on the other side before george answered.
“y-yeah come in.”
dream braced himself before opening the door and looking straight at george. the boy had his legs up to his chest, covering himself so dream couldn’t see anything. the blonde cleared his throat before placing the clean pair of clothes
on the shower bench. he held the bath bomb in his hand and swiftly turned towards george, startling the smaller boy.
“check this out, you’ll like it.” dream smiled and dropped the bath bomb in the bathtub. george scooted away from the object and watched with amazed eyes as it started fizzling and turning into bubbles.
“it’s soap!” george said with a genuine smile. it was the first time he had smiled since the first night dream met him, and the blondes cheeks turned a visible shade of pink.
‘what a genuine reaction...so cute.’
dream noticed george had not washed his face yet, specks of blood still marked around his cheeks and forehead. dream walked towards the sink a grabbed a small face towel that was inside the sink cabinets, wetting it with lukewarm water and returning to the tub. he kneeled down besides the bathtub so he was at the same height as the boy and began wiping at the blood marks.
“are you ok?” he broke the silence as he continued wiping at georges face. the brunet looked at the bubbles foaming around him and picked at them with his hands.
“more or less yeah.” he mumbled.
“i’m sorry you had to see that. i’m sorry about his death i don’t know what he was to you.”
george scrunched his eyebrows together when dream brushed over one of his bruises. they hurt like hell but at the same time the water was helping his sore muscles relax.
“he was a bishop.
I
was nothing to him.”
they both got quiet, and dream had finally finished wiping the blood off georges face.
“well you matter here.”
george turned his head towards dream, looking the blonde in the eyes as their faces simultaneously turned shades darker. those eyes of dreams were so familiar and he couldn’t quite recall what was so familiar about them. dream still had the towel in his hand and reached over to wipe off the last stain on george’s cheek, but left his hand there afterwards. george swallowed hard at the tension, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the man. with his other hand, dream cupped georges face and but his lip.
“i’m going to take care of you.”
george reached up to grab dreams hand, reassuring the taller man by rubbing the back of his hand with his thumb. the gap between them started to close, dream leaning in as george propped himself up on the bathtub. inches away, their lips would’ve connected if it wasn’t for the shouting that came from outside the bedroom.
“Dream!”
both boys quickly pulled away and dream ran out of the bathroom, leaving george bewildered and embarrassed. he nervously got out of the bathtub and started to dry himself off. the clothes that dream left consisted of a pair of boxers, black cargo pants and a black t-shirt with a blue hoodie next to it.
‘shit, i never returned his other sweater.’
george mentally cursed himself and proceeded to get dressed, not bothering to brush his messy hair.
———
dream exited the bedroom with a concerned look on his face and he spotted sapnap marching down the hallway towards him.
“where the fuck were you idiot? and why tf did you-“ dream was interrupted by sapnap
“shut up! more importantly where is that nerd face punz?”
dream let out a
tsk
as sapnap started to walk away but he was quick to grab the younger boys shirt and pull him back.
“stop fucking around nick! what the hell was that shot? that just jeopardized the whole plan!”
“what fucking plan? i took out a bishop that is my fucking task!”
dream pushed the boy against the wall with a hard
thump
and got in his face, awfully close for sapnaps liking.
“you could’ve fucking waited for the signal like we agreed and taken them all out at once! not just one, now they know we’re onto them dipshit!”
sapnap pushed dream away with his arms, sending the blonde to collide with the other wall.
“I was trying to protect you bastard!”
“well don’t fucking worry about me!”
“WELL I DO!”
dreams eyes widened at sapnaps raise in tone and watched as his friend wiped his mouth and walked away towards the tech rooms. dream sighed, feeling a headache creep it’s way up as he turned back towards his room, basically kicking the door open.
george jumped at the loud noise and followed dream with his eyes, the blonde pacing around his room angrily.
“is everything ok? what happened?” his voice was soft as to not seem pushy, but dream was just not in the mood.
“none of your business. i’ll be back later.” dream said sternly. he grabbed his bag that was set down on the bed and walked out of the bedroom, shutting his door loudly.
george couldn’t help but frown and bury his head into his knees.
‘this is my fault’
———
“
can you believe that fucking idiot? jesus fuck how annoying can he be?” sapnap was sitting on a white desk, swinging his legs as he ranted to the other man in the room.
“like who does he think he is? big stupid bitch!”
the man in the other room sighed and turned back towards sapnap. his white hair was being held up by fancy glasses he had made, screw in one hand and a hard dive in the other.
“ok i get you’re angry but you need to shut the fuck up and let me concentrate.”
sapnap grumbled and hopped off the desk, waking toward punz in a cocky motion.
“whatever nerd. so tell me, how does it work?”
punz smiled almost evilly as he wiped the sweat off his forehead, finishing his little project at hand.
“i inserted a hard drive for more memory but check it out,” punz powered up the computer, alert after alert popping up on his screen that he easily coded through, inserting passcodes and barriers every second he was typing.
“this is my motherboard, call her baby.” punz smirked proudly as he spun around in his chair.
“no shit, this looks sick. you’re a genius man. but, please fix the fucking frequency on the mics, they kept cutting out every so often.”
the white haired boy sighed and continued typing away as he set up firewalls and codes of his own.
“will do just leaves yours here and get the fuck out. i’ll fix the others’ later.”
sapnap dropped the mic on the table and started to walk out of the tech room.
“also sapnap,” punz started, “talk to dream. we can’t have our best hitmen on bad terms with each other. you’re his bestfriend man, explain it to him.”
sapnap grinned widely and waved at punz
“yeah i will later, in gonna go work on my babies for now.”
by babies he meant his weapons. punz laughed at that before going serious, reading the text he had just received on his phone.
“hey nick?” he called out again. sapnap turned around with a confused face.
“what do you want nerd?”
“callahan is calling for you.”
“boss?”
“yup, goodluck.” punz went back to typing as sapnap quickly walked towards the meeting rooms.
‘shit’
|
“You’re still here,” Derek says.
Stiles stares. “You remember?”
“What are you doing here?” Derek says, and then he sees the blood. “What happened to you?”
Stiles scoffing. “'Course you don't.”
“What are you talking about?” Derek says. He feels—he doesn’t know how he feels. Stiles.
It doesn’t make sense.
Stiles, and the blood, and his head is screaming. Something in him, it won’t stop.
Stiles, Stiles.
“Shut up!” he snaps, and Stiles stares at him. “Not you,” he says, and instantly—instantly, he knows that’s a mistake.
“Derek,” Stiles says. Watching him, paying too much attention. “What are you hearing?”
“Nothing important,” Derek says. Stiles, Stiles. “Who did this to you?”
Touching the blood, there are claw marks there. Something scratched him through his shirt.
Stabbed, something in his head says, but he isn’t. It’s a scratch. A deeper one, for a human, but it won’t kill him.
He keeps his hand there, just in case.
“Who did this?” he asks, and he’s... beyond angry. Too angry, for what he’s seeing.
But he can’t reason with it.
Hospital, says the back of his mind, and Derek says, “He doesn’t need the hospital. He’ll be fine.”
“I’m with you, buddy,” Stiles says. “Um... Who are you talking to?”
“No one,” he says sharply. He’s fighting the urge to grab Stiles, hold him close. “Don’t worry about—Don’t worry.”
He’s impossibly angry. And someone did this. Got in and out of this circle, in and out of this room.
Hurt Stiles, and got away with it.
He says, “Tell me who did this to you.”
“Not worth it,” Stiles says. “Trust me.”
Trust me. Derek doesn’t trust anyone.
But fine.
He doesn’t have to know.
It’s not a lot of pain, but it’s there. And every inch of it makes Derek angrier.
Stiles’ shoulders slumping, and then Stiles is warm against him, too close.
It should be too close.
“You’re the best,” Stiles says. “Always... with the free painkillers.”
“Always,” Derek says. “I’ve never done this before.”
“Right, yeah,” Stiles says. His tone is weird. “How could I forget... you not doing that.”
“What’s going on with you?” Derek says. “Something happened.”
He’s different. Tired in a way he wasn’t, beat down.
He’s not even making stupid jokes anymore. Or stupid faces, baring his teeth, or waggling his eyebrows. He’s not constantly talking about food, or eating something.
“Food,” Derek says. Stiles’ eyebrows barely rise. “You need to eat something.”
Oh, do I? a different Stiles would’ve said, challenging him. Eyebrows high, half-grinning. You gonna make me, tough guy?
“Yeah,” this Stiles says, after a second. “Good call. We both do.”
Straightening up unsteadily, and Derek catches him.
“What happened?”
It’s not... He can’t make sense of it. What happened, and what happened so fast.
Hollowing him out like this.
“Someone did something,” he says. “To—your pack.” Humans don’t call it that. “Your family.”
“My pack,” Stiles says. “And family.”
Derek freezing, staring at him.
“Who,” he says, when he can speak. When he can force it out, sharp, his throat stinging. “Who? I’ll kill them.”
And he can’t... It wouldn’t be hunters. Stiles is human.
But he’s also sixteen.
“Kate,” he says, before he can stop himself. He knows, he knows it can’t be.
Doesn’t he?
“Not Kate,” Stiles says. “She’s dead. Don’t worry.”
But that doesn’t make any sense.
“She’s not dead,” Derek says. “When did she...”
“Braeden killed her,” Stiles says. “She’s a mercenary.”
Derek nods. “Oh, of course.”
“I know,” Stiles says. “Kind of—sounds insane. But she’s gone, I swear.”
“Someone else,” Derek says. “Was it hunters?”
Stiles’ pack, was that—Who is that, Scott?
That’s Derek’s pack, too.
“It was me,” he realizes. “They were looking for me. And they found him...”
Of course, of course they did.
“Cut him in half,” he says, and Stiles says, “What are you talking about?”
Another fire, then.
“No,” Stiles says. “Derek, nothing happened.”
But of course it did. Of course, of course. Because Derek... disappeared somewhere, let his guard down for a second.
And now Scott’s dead.
“Scott’s fine,” Stiles says. “It was you. Peter killed you.”
Derek looking down, like he’s gone translucent.
But that doesn’t... No. Derek shakes his head. That wouldn’t change Stiles like this.
That can’t be what happened.
“Peter killed you,” Stiles says. “But you’re not dead.”
He says, “You’re tied to me.”
“You?” Derek says. “Why would I be—”
But his head is screaming.
“Who the hell else is there?” Stiles says. “Exactly. Who else is volunteering?”
He’s upset. And Derek—Nothing makes sense, but Derek... swallows this. Nods.
“It’s killing you.”
It’s too obvious, suddenly. Stiles, always between reckless and suicidal.
He says, “Deaton says I’m a spark.”
“Deaton?” Derek says. “You’re letting a fucking vet decide this?”
“And your anchor,” Stiles says. ‘I’m your anchor. So it’s up to me to help you.”
“You’re not my,” Derek starts. Stiles covers his eyes.
“You’re not,” Derek says again. “You don’t have to.”
His head’s still screaming. But Stiles needs to know that.
This isn’t a fair choice.
“It’s anger,” he says, and his head says, Stiles, Stiles. “That’s what it’s been... for a long time.”
“You’re not the only part of you,” Stiles says, and Derek just looks at him.
“What?”
Stiles ducks his head. “Forget it.”
“I’m not,” Derek tries, but he can’t make it make sense. “Stiles, what are you talking about?”
“You were meaner,” Stiles says. “Anger, remember? You should be throwing me around.”
Almost encouraging.
“You’re forgetting how you were,” he says. “Being too warm to me. You hated my guts back then.”
“Things change,” Derek says, like he understands.
“You don’t,” Stiles says.
“So Scott’s safe,” Derek says.
Stiles nods.
“And your dad,” Derek says, but he doesn’t dare say it.
“He’s fine,” Stiles says. “I texted him.”
“And I’m dead,” Derek tries again.
“No,” Stiles says. “And you’re not gonna be.”
Scrubbing at his eyes, not looking at anything. Voice unsteady.
And Derek doesn’t understand anything. Why it would matter to Stiles like this.
“I’ll be here,” he says.
They sit there for a while. Stiles watching him, breathing unsteadily.
Stiles, Stiles.
“Stiles,” Derek tries. Stops. “You shouldn’t feel responsible for me.”
“Little too late for that, buddy,” Stiles says.
He’s not quite shaking.
“Why?” Derek bursts out. “Why would you—Where were you when Peter killed me?”
And that’s it. That has to be it.
That’s all it is, it has to be.
“Did he do it in front of you?” Derek says. “And... you had to bring me back.”
“I know what you’re doing,” Stiles says. “No. I already cared about you.”
But that... It doesn’t make sense.
“You know about Kate,” he realizes. “How do you... What did she say to you?”
Stiles says, “I know about everything.”
His voice too still, and there’s a furious panic while Derek tries to work out what that means, exactly.
“She didn’t,” he says, and then he’s too angry to feel anything. “Not to you.”
But of course she did. Of course, of course...
She was looking for the alpha, wasn’t she? And Derek wasn’t gonna tell her.
Like he knew anything, like Stiles knew anything, but Derek knows her.
She’s easily distracted.
“That wasn’t your fault,” he says. “Whatever... whatever happened.”
Stiles shrugs. “You don’t know what I did.”
“No,” Derek says. “I know. It wasn’t.”
“I believed her,” Stiles says. “I more than believed her.” There’s a shaky breath, shuddering. “I thought I knew...”
And Derek’s never been this angry.
“She’s a psychopath,” he says. “She breaks things just to break it.”
Stiles stares at him.
And... Derek’s heard that somewhere before.
Something like that.
He says, “It’s the only thing she cares about.”
“I thought she was someone else,” Stiles says, after a while. After a while, just looking at him.
Someone whole, and human. Derek knows. Someone who might actually care what happened.
Who wouldn’t just destroy him.
“It’s not your fault,” he says again. “You were a child. She took advantage.”
“I was seventeen,” Stiles says. “And finally not out of my mind.”
He’s shivering. Wincing a little.
And Derek’s head is roaring.
Stiles, Stiles.
He can’t really think over the screaming.
He tries anyway.
“You said... there was a mercenary.”
“What?” Stiles says. “Oh, yeah, Braeden.”
“And she—” Derek says, but he can’t believe it. Can’t believe it can just be done, after everything.
He was sure he’d get to say something. Or die choking under her, or something. That she’d come back and torture him.
But he’s not really her type, anymore.
“So she...” he tries again. “Who is she?” Braeden, that’s a first name. Stiles knows her.
“About that,” Stiles says. “So... Cora’s alive.”
Derek stilling. “That’s not funny.”
He knows what happened to her.
“Except it didn’t,” Stiles says. “Her room, I know. And they never found...”
Derek says, “Stop.”
“She wasn’t home,” Stiles says. “Derek, I swear.”
“She was eleven,” Derek says. “It was the middle of the night.”
“It was like six,” Stiles says. “She was with Braeden.”
“The mercenary,” Derek says. Flat, he doesn’t believe this.
But Stiles isn’t lying about it.
“Why would she,” he says, and Stiles says, “She wasn’t a mercenary yet. She was fourteen.”
He says, “Deaton was training her.”
“Peter,” Derek says. “You said Peter killed me.”
Staring at him now. “Is everyone alive?”
“No,” Stiles says, and his voice is too even. “Derek, I’m sorry.”
Like he’s said it too many times.
“Besides—Laura,” Derek says, like that’s what Stiles ever could’ve meant. Like he doesn’t already know, of course not.
“Cora’s alive,” Stiles says.
There’s nothing steady in his voice now. And a tear slips down.
He shouldn’t care this much.
“It’s not your problem,” Derek says.
He can’t really feel anything.
But he knew already. He nods.
“You need to eat something.”
Stiles staring at him, and he says, “You’re still—you.”
Derek looking at him. “Who else were you expecting?”
There’s blood on Stiles’ shirt. And suddenly, Derek can’t stand it.
“Take that off,” he says.
“Excuse me?” Stiles says. Sounding almost like the Stiles Derek’s used to.
“Your shirt,” Derek says, already pulling off his own. “We’re switching.”
“Oh are we,” Stiles says, but he takes Derek’s shirt when he’s handed it. “Okay, you’re still—okay.”
Looking and not looking at him, sounding closer to the right Stiles all the time.
He puts on Derek’s shirt over his. Says, “It’s not like mine’s gonna fit you.”
Derek shrugs. “Didn’t stop you last time.”
“You remember that!” Stiles says. Then, “How much do you remember?”
Derek doesn’t understand the question.
“How much do you?” he says. “Seems like a lot.”
“Yeah,” Stiles says. “Too much, probably.”
“We’ll work on that,” Derek says, and stands. “But first? You’re eating something.”
“Break the circle,” Derek says, and Stiles stares.
“What makes you think I know how to do that?”
“I know you do,” Derek says. “Break the circle.”
“Yeah, but how?”
“Stiles, do you wanna starve to death?”
“In the pursuit of science?” Stiles says, but he’s tracking Derek’s face, and something stops him. “Yeah, food. I love it, you... eat it to survive.”
He looks at the boundary, and moves his hands, and—
“You do know how to do it,” Derek says.
“Yeah I do,” Stiles says. “But you knew that already. Right?”
Derek doesn’t answer him.
They get burgers, or more accurately, Stiles gets a horrifying mountain of food vaguely resembling a burger, and Derek tries to watch him eat it without visibly shuddering.
Stiles buys him a milkshake.
“You put the fries in,” he says, demonstrating, and Derek says, “Why don’t you keep that,” pushing it toward him.
“Aww, dude, thanks,” Stiles says. “So generous.”
“Eat,” Derek says.
“So, the food-hating thing,” Stiles says. “That’s... always been a thing with you. It’s not, like, trauma.”
Derek looks at him.
“Like, the bossy thing, that’s new,” Stiles says. “That’s like, a few months, maybe. ‘til you mellow out again.”
Really, sometimes it’s like Stiles just talks to himself.
“You were talking about Peter,” Derek says. “And...”
He still, he’s still not going to. He still can’t just start saying her name.
Like it’s real, like he believes it.
“Cora,” Stiles says, swallowing hurriedly. “Yeah. She’s—Actually, I don’t know where she is.”
“Stiles,” Derek says tightly.
“She’s alive,” Stiles says. “I know she’s alive, and with Braeden. I have her number, you can call her.”
Call her. Like she isn’t eleven, like she isn’t...
“How do you have her number?”
“You’re kind of... hard to track, sometimes,” Stiles says. “I’m a little more reliable.”
“You are,” Derek says.
“For updates,” Stiles says. “We’re not best friends, or anything. She just checks in.”
Derek says, “Cora does.”
“Yeah,” Stiles says. Then, “She worries about you.”
“She,” Derek says, and then he doesn’t say anything.
Stiles says, “She kind of loves you a lot.”
“Right,” Derek says, and then he’s standing. “I’m gonna wait in the car.”
Walks out, head spinning.
And... he didn’t look, before. Stiles’ Jeep, he didn’t look at it.
How the fender’s warped, and the door, like it was hit with something. Like someone hit Stiles’ car.
Derek’s sure he’d remember that.
He goes back in, but Stiles is at the door already.
“Derek, hey.” Eyes widening.
“Whoa, are you okay?”
And Derek can’t, he’s breathing too hard. Hands on Stiles, appraising, looking for scars, or bruises.
Stiles. Stiles, Stiles.
“Your car,” he says, finally. “Someone hit...”
“What?” Stiles says. “Oh, that was a long time ago.”
“That was,” Derek says, and then, “Someone hit you?”
“More of a self-own, actually,” Stiles says. “Um, I was kind of out of it. I replaced the bumper,” he adds.
“You were,” Derek says. He can’t think in straight lines anymore. Stiles.
“It was a whole thing,” Stiles says. “That was a relatively... minor part of it.”
“What?” Derek says.
“Long story,” Stiles says. “Um, I was possessed for a little bit. Wait, no.”
“Possessed,” Derek says.
“No, that was different,” Stiles says. “This was... um, I think Jennifer? The darach, the sacrifices. And I ran into a tree. A lot happened,” he says, and Derek just stares at him. “Gets... kind of fuzzy, after a while.”
Derek says, “You were possessed?”
“Yes, it was terrible,” Stiles says. “I don’t actually... love talking about it.”
“When?” Derek says.
“Um,” Stiles says. “A few months ago? I mean, today felt like it took about two years. My time’s not super accurate.”
“Tell me what happened,” Derek says, but Stiles said he didn’t want to. “Or—don’t.”
“Full range of options,” Stiles says.
“Yes,” Derek says. “You don’t—have to.”
Stiles looks down.
“But it’s over now,” Derek says. Checking, and reassuring, and he doesn’t even know. “It’s over.”
“Yeah,” Stiles says. “Um, I think so. My brain isn’t, like, full of worms anymore, so. That’s... reassuring. No, like, visible gaps in my memories.”
“So that’s what,” Derek says, and he shouldn’t be asking. “That’s what it feels like.”
“Part of it, yeah.”
“Like, your whole life,” Derek says. “Like, going back to childhood.”
“No,” Stiles says. “Just... the overtaken parts. Why?”
“I don’t know,” Derek says. “Forget it. It’s not important.”
Stiles, Stiles.
“And there’s... a voice in your head,” Derek says. “That’s you. But isn’t.”
“Yeah,” Stiles says. “I mean, no. Not really. Like, taunting.”
“Screaming,” Derek says. |
Peter tapped his foot absently against the side of his chair, and kept switching between rapping his fingers against the table and fidgeting with the plate in front of him. His eyes darted this way and that, searching for nothing in particular as he waited to be joined in the dining room of the penthouse that Tony Stark lived in. Where his mentor and childhood hero actually resided and had dinner and did normal things like watch tv with his fiancé.
What had his life even become? How did Peter Parker end up eating dinner in a penthouse with the Starks.
Everything there looked like it was more expensive than the entire apartment he and May lived in, and he should probably stop fidgeting so much before he accidentally broke something. Peter, as Spider-Man, was usually always running behind. Mr. Stark knew this - teased him about it constantly. Not that Tony Stark really had any room to talk. So it made sense that he hadn’t been prepared for him to be early.
“Oh sorry, kid.” He’d said when Peter called to tell him he’d arrived. “Wasn’t expecting you already. I’ll be there soon. Pepper’s already made the table and everything but had to run back to the office for a few, she’ll be right back. Go on up. Friday will let you in, so make yourself at home.”
Make yourself at home. It was like Tony didn’t know him at all. How was he even supposed to do that?
“Friday?”
“Yes, Peter?” The familiar calming voice filled the room, and Peter couldn’t help feel like she spoke a little differently to him than she usually did to Mr. Stark.
“Maybe a silly question, but do you have the same files here that are saved at Mr. Stark’s lab? Like any protocols saved for me?” He asked, tapping his fingers against the table again.
“Of course. Is there something you need assistance with? Shall I enable the Spidey Senses protocol?”
“Oh no,” he assured, a small smile turning up his lips at the mention of the protocol Mr. Stark designed to help him out when his senses got a little out of control. “I’m all good. Just making conversation, I guess.”
“No problem, Peter. Miss Potts is on her way up now.”
The sound of the elevator could be heard then, and a few seconds later a soft ding followed by Pepper rushing through the door holding a briefcase and a few bags. Peter immediately stood, the nerves he’d been feeling coming back ten fold.
“Oh, Peter! Hello! I’m so sorry I’m late. I hope you haven’t been waiting too long. Is Tony - no, of course he isn’t. I’m so sorry, again. Had a little snafu I needed untangle and then remembered I forgot dessert.” She didn’t stop talking until she reached the kitchen island and had dropped off her things before turning to smile warmly at Peter.
“It’s really no trouble, ma’am. Do you need any help with anything?” Peter asked, torn between staying frozen where he stood and joining her in the kitchen. He’d met Pepper before, so he wasn’t sure why he was so nervous now.
“No, no. Please, Peter. You’re our guest tonight. Please just relax and try to enjoy yourself. You’re still okay with spaghetti I hope?” Pepper assured, waving him off with her hand before setting to work in the kitchen. “Tony will be here soon. I’m surprised he’s not here - Ah, here he comes.”
——
“Petey!”
Peter was barely through the portal when he suddenly had a little, brown haired girl wrapping her arms tightly around his legs.
Immediately, he noticed Tony start to pull her back, but Peter just shook his head, feeling oddly a lot more calm about her presence than he’d expected.
“It’s okay.” He told him, as he let go of Mr. Stark’s hand to carefully kneel down to Morgan’s level. He felt slightly off balance, and the new position sent a shock of pain up his side, that he completely ignored. He sensed the others in the room. Could see them out of the corner of his eye. But in that moment, it was just him and the little girl in front of him. “Hey, Morgan,” he smiled, the most genuine smile he thinks he’s had since waking up in Wakanda. It spread warmth all the way through him.
She felt familiar, despite having never met and Peter could practically feel her excitement rolling off of her in waves. It was incredibly contagious and did wonders for his nerves and she once again wrapped her arms around him.
“Careful, Morgan. Remember what-“ he heard Pepper starting, but Peter cut her off, just as he had Mr. Stark.
“She’s fine. You’re not going to hurt me,” he smiled into her hair.
She hadn’t even pulled away completely yet when she started talking excitedly again. “I’m so excited you’re finally home. I always knew daddy would find you someday. Do you want to see your room? I helped mommy paint it and helped Aunt May decorate it. I put my favorite Spiderman stuffy on your bed in case you need company while you sleep.” She added the last part so matter-of-factly that he couldn’t help chuckle as he stood back up.
“I’d love to see my room. How about you lead the way.”
With that, he took her hand and let her happily lead him past a set of stairs and down a hallway, away from the watching eyes of the group of adults. As soon as they were past the stairs, Peter could hear them begin conversing, but he chose to continue tuning them out in favor of putting all of his focus on Morgan.
He still had a lot to wrap his head around, and he was still reeling from the revelation from his conversation with Tony that happened no more than a half hour ago. But there was one thing he knew for certain, no matter what. Morgan was his sister. He felt that connection to her the second they met, and he knew - he would do absolutely anything for that little girl.
|
“Jane! You can’t just leave like that! The whole world is going crazy – all the stuff we saw is spreading.” She seemed to notice them properly. “Did you go to a party? And who is that? Please tell me that’s not who I think it is...”
“Jane!” Erik came forward, and Jane froze. She should be glad he had turned up safe, and she definitely needed his expertise right now, but this was the worst possible situation for a reunion! Erik suddenly spotted who was leaning on her, gave a strangled gasp, and backed away shaking, sinking back into the chair he’d been sitting in.
“Oh yeah it’s totally who I think it is.”
“Uh, little help, someone? And can someone tell me why Erik isn’t wearing any pants?”
“He says it helps him think better,” explained Darcy’s intern (whatever his name was – Darcy had never actually introduced him), as they both jumped up to help her manoeuvre a barely-responsive Loki onto the couch. She grabbed a folded up blanket and draped it on the back in the hope of preventing it from meeting the same fate as the car seat. Now what? Think, Jane!
She turned to the unknown intern. “Could you get me a bowl of water, and a cloth? A glass of water would probably be a good idea too. Darcy, can you go to the medicine cabinet and get me, hell, get me anything that’s in there for cleaning and dressing a wound. “Erik-”
“I am not going to lift a finger to help him!”
“I wasn’t going to ask anything like that. I’m going to need everything you’ve got on the Convergence. All the work you’ve been doing on gravimetric anomalies, everything.” She sat down next to Loki, pulling at his clothing to get access to his wound. Healing or not, it’d be a good idea to get it cleaned and bandaged.
“Hey! Hey, come on, wake up!” She tapped his face. “Please don’t die! You need to focus on healing.”
From the corner came Erik’s voice, “Just let the bastard die.”
“He saved my life, and Thor’s. And trust me something even worse is coming and he wants to stop it just as much as I do. I know this can’t be easy for you after what you went through, but you need to trust me on this. Please!”
Loki groaned, his eyelids fluttering open. “I am not dead?”
“Nope. I refuse to let you.” She finally got to the last layer of his clothing, pulling the shirt over his head as carefully as she could manage, then carefully unwrapping the makeshift bandages she’d improvised in the cave. She almost fainted when she saw the wound. I knew it was bad, but fuck, how is he still alive? There was a subtle pale green glow emanating from it. Somewhere behind her she heard Darcy mutter, “Oh fuck!”
He chuckles, weakly. “Are you sure? There is an attractive woman stripping me of my clothes – surely this must be Valhalla?”
“Well at least you can still flirt. That’s a good sign. Here, drink this.”
She picked up the requested glass of water from the nearby coffee table where her intern’s intern had placed it and held it to Loki’s lips, letting him drink until he’d drained the glass. Then put the glass back down on the table and set to cleaning the wound, nudging him to lean forward so she could get to the exit wound in his back.
She grabbed the supplies Darcy had brought from the medicine cabinet. There was actually a full pack of wound dressing pads. They were presumably intended to last for a while, but Jane figured there wasn’t any point skimping and just used all of them, with half on the entrance and half on the exit wound, using an entire roll of bandage to fix them in place. Though even that wouldn’t be enough if he wasn’t able to heal himself after all. It’d hopefully prevent him getting blood all over the furniture at least.
“OK, that’s about as good as I can make it.”
He nodded, and closed his eyes again, but there was a different air about him and she sensed that he was concentrating, rather than passed out. Not sure how much he was aware of, she took one of his hands in hers and squeezed it for reassurance. Maybe it was her imagination, but she thought she saw his lips curve up slightly. This was Erik’s cue to emerge from behind his desk (this time wearing pants, much to her relief) and make his feelings known.
“Jane! What were you thinking bringing him here! You know better than anyone what he’s done to this planet, to me! He’s a monster!”
“I told you! He saved my life! And he was injured saving Thor! I wasn’t leaving him to die!”
“Who is he?”
“This is Loki. He led that alien invasion in New York last year and kind of messed with Erik’s head while he was at it. And while we’re doing introductions, who exactly are you? Darcy never told me your name.”
“I don’t think she knows my name.”
“I so do! It’s Evan!”
“Ian! It’s Ian!”
“Oh, yeah. Well I was close.” She handed Jane another glass of water. “Here. So how come you ended up getting into danger and getting your ass saved by Tall Dark and Crazy? I thought Thor took you to Asgard?”
“Thanks.” She paused to take a deep mouthful, wishing it was something stronger, even though that would probably be a bad idea. “He did. It’s kind of a long story.”
“Well I don’t think any of us have any plans for tonight. Unless you arranged another date with that cute Irish guy from earlier.”
“No.” She turned to Erik. “You’ve been studying this thing. Have you figured out when it peaks?”
“Tomorrow,” he snapped, definitely not willing to forgive her yet. “Probably around mid morning. Unless I’ve miscalculated again – my original estimate was next week but things went faster than I expected.”
“Oh good, so we have a bit of time.”
“Time until what?”
“Till we get invaded by elves.”
Darcy nearly choked on her drink. “Elves? Seriously, elves? Are you kidding me? Fuck, man. I know we’re on first name terms with a god and we’ve seen a giant robot and an alien invasion, but elves?”
“Yeah, with guns, and spaceships.”
“Oh great.”
“Anyway, yes, Thor did take me to Asgard. It turned out I’d been infected by some sort of magical weapon. I got dragged through a portal into whatever corner of the universe it had been hidden in and apparently went off the radar for 5 hours, which freaked Thor out so he came down to see what was happening. Odin figures out it’s something called ‘the Aether’ and gives me a history lesson about how his dad killed all the Dark Elves and destroyed their weapon and everyone lived happily ever after.”
“Hang on,” said Ian. “If the weapon was destroyed how come you found it?”
“Turns out even immortal beings who can remember most of time itself suck at history.”
“So then wha- Oh lemme guess – the evil elves show up wanting their thing back?” said Darcy.
“Congratulations, you’re smarter than someone worshipped as a god of wisdom.”
“Awesome, and I already took the God of Thunder out with what is basically tame lightning. Maybe Mr Mischief will let me have a battle of wits when he wakes up. See if I can’t go three for three.”
“Good luck with that. So they show up with an invasion fleet and storm the place. They got chased off without getting what they wanted but... they killed a lot of people.” It’s not your fault, she told herself. They’d have come after the Aether wherever it was, and killed anyone who stood in their way. That didn’t provide much comfort though. She took a deep breath and continued on.
“One of them was the Queen. Odin took it pretty badly; he had me locked up, and refused to listen to any strategy that wasn’t ‘Wait until they come back and keep fighting each other until one side gets wiped out.’ Thor had a plan that was slightly less stupid. He’d bring me to the Elves’ home planet, let their leader Malekith pull the Aether out of me – which was definitely a good idea as it was slowly killing me – then destroy it while it was out in the open. So, not as stupid, in the same way that Kilimanjaro isn’t as high as Everest. He broke Loki out of jail because he knows secret shortcuts between realms, and arranged with his friends to create diversions so we could escape. We get to the Dark World-”
“Seriously?” interrupted Darcy. “Who names these places? Did it have a mountain range called the Mountains of Doom?”
“Hey don’t blame me! Anyway, we get there, and it all seems to be working. The Aether is out, Loki has pulled me out of the way, Thor has blasted it to smithereens with lightning... Then it just sort of reassembles itself and flows into Malekith, and we realise we messed up pretty bad. I guess he figured we’re too dumb to bother with, because he just walks away into his ship and flies off leaving a bunch of underlings and some fucked up mutated monster elf to deal with us.
“I’d love to pretend I turned into a badass and took them all out myself, but the truth is I got the hint pretty quickly that I’m in the way and go hide behind some rocks. Thor goes for the mutant elf while Loki takes on the rest. He kicks all their asses without even breaking a sweat, but Thor is getting the shit beaten out of him, and his hammer might as well be a toy for all the good it does, so he goes to back him up.”
She knocks back the remaining water in the glass, just to put off the end of the story a few seconds longer.
“He runs up behind the thing with this huge sword thing he grabbed from one of the elves, and runs it through. I’m about to jump up and cheer, when suddenly the thing just turns round as if Loki just tapped it on the shoulder! Then it picks him up and skewers him on the sword Loki just stabbed him with and hurls him on to the ground. Only Loki didn’t just steal a sword, he took a grenade too, and he stuck it on the creature and activated it while he was being shish-kebabed.”
“Damn, that’s pretty badass,” Darcy says.
“I don’t know how they work, but they implode rather than explode, sucking all the surrounding matter in. One of them nearly got me before I ran for cover. If Loki hadn’t risked his life to push me out of the way I’d be dead.”
“Shit, don’t tell me it survived that as well.”
“No, it died. Sucked into nothing.”
Erik spoke for the first time since she began her story. “Jane, what happened to Thor? Why isn’t he here?”
It took several attempts for her to speak, the words not wanting to come, as if not saying it would make it untrue.
“He’s dead. He saw his brother getting stabbed and just lost it. I don’t know if he didn’t see the grenade or went crazy at seeing two members of his family getting serious stab wounds in as many days, but he just threw himself at the monster and got pulled in along with it.”
Everyone was too stunned to speak for several minutes. Ian recovered first. Thor was just a distant figure to him, mentioned in news broadcasts about the Battle of Manhatten. “So how did you get back?”
“Loki insisted he could heal himself. But a storm hit so he had to just patch himself up enough to not bleed to death and we hid in a cave. Which by bizarre coincidence turned out to be the exact place those portals led to. And since somebody had helpfully dropped the car keys into it...”
“Ooops.”
“...we had transport. Which is just as well – if we’d tried to get home on public transport, he’d have died and I’d have been arrested, and probably nobody would believe a weirdly-dressed woman in a police cell raving about how a bunch of elves were gonna destroy the universe tomorrow if somebody didn’t stop them.”
Darcy grinned, but it looked more like a grimace. “Hell it sounds crazy to me and I know this stuff is for real.”
“So what did you guys do while I was gone?”
“Well we managed to talk ourselves out of being arrested – I guess none of the cops wanted to piss off Thor, just for busting people for wandering round an abandoned warehouse. We got the Tube home and I just frantically called you, Erik, and SHIELD repeatedly but nobody answered. Then we saw Erik on TV and were able to track him down from that.”
“You were on TV? What for?”
Erik looked sheepish. “I was trying to give a practical demonstration of the Convergence and its effects, but things got out of hand.”
“He stripped naked and ran around Stonehenge declaring that he was trying to save the world,” supplied Darcy.
“Oh Erik...”
“Yeah your boyfriend kinda broke him.”
“He’s not my boyfriend!”
“So why are you still holding hands with him?”
Jane looked down at her hand, still clasping Loki’s in reassurance. It had somehow felt so natural to her that she hadn’t even noticed her failure to let go. She tried to come up with an excuse, but her mind was a blank. She wasn’t even sure of the truth of why she was still holding his hand. Or why even now she couldn’t open her hand and let go.
“Hey, I’m not gonna judge. He’s pretty easy on the eye.”
This was not something Jane really wanted to talk about in front of Erik. Not only had he suffered at Loki’s hands, but it felt extremely awkward discussing the attractiveness of any guy in front of someone who was like a father to her. “So what happened after you found Erik?” she prompted, trying to steer the conversation from the uncomfortable topic.
“Nothing much. We went to bust him out, got attacked by a flock of starlings, and came back here so Erik could work on trying to stop the fabric of space-time from being torn apart or whatever it is he’s doing.”
“Not that that will stop an army.” He sighed wearily and ran a hand through his hair.
“But you can stop the effects of the Convergence, right?”
“Maybe. The right signals, transmitted to receivers placed in the right locations, should be able to stabilise the effects. I modified the scanner I’d been using for detecting the anomalies, and built gravimetric spikes to carry the signal. But it’s still only theoretical. I did try to run a small test to confirm its effectiveness, but...”
“But you got arrested for indecent exposure.” Darcy filled in the rest.
“Well how sure are you that the theory is sound?”
Erik sighed. “I’ve been going over my calculations and I think it will work, but I would feel a lot better if I’d been able to do a trial run. And what about the Dark Elves? Closing the portals won’t help if they’re coming here in spaceships. The Avengers could maybe help if we could get them here in time, but I don’t know how to contact them, and SHEILD aren’t responding to our calls.”
“I think I might have an idea about how we can use your equipment to stop them. And it’s worth trying SHIELD again. Maybe the threat of an actual invasion will grab their attention more than vague warnings about portals. Even if they just show up to confiscate my research again.” She reached into her coat pocket for her phone with the hand that wasn’t still holding Loki’s, but turned to look at him when she felt his fingers twitch in hers.
“I think he’s waking up.”
Loki gave a groan and opened his eyes. Erik moved further away from the couch, back towards his corner.
“How are you feeling?” Jane asked, tentatively, unsure if he had been able to do what he claimed he could. He blinked a couple of times, then seemed to focus and turned to her.
“Much better.” He looked around at the others, his eyes fixing on Ian. “You! Are you Richard?”
“Wha? No, his name is Ian!”
Ian looked terrified at being the target of Loki’s apparent anger. “Who is Richard exactly?”
“He’s that guy I didn’t have lunch with. He called me.”
“When?” asked Darcy.
“While we were in the cave on Svartalfheim.”
“You got phone reception on a different planet? What network are you with?”
“It was because we were close to a portal. Turns out anything can get through, including signals.”
“Huh. Anyway what did Richard say in that phonecall that pissed you off enough that you look like you wanna kill him?”
“Nothing. I merely feel he is unworthy of courting someone who has been courted by Thor.”
“Yeah sure. I can’t help noticing that you don’t yet seem to have figured out what Jane took ages to realise and still hasn’t stopped doing.”
“What?” He suddenly looked down at their joined hands. “Oh.”
June at last removed her hand from his. “Erm, yeah. Sorry. I just thought you might need some comfort or- Hey is anybody hungry? I’m starving.”
Darcy got up and walked over to her laptop. “I’ll order pizza. Don’t think any of us feel like cooking. OK I know Jane and Erik’s usual orders, and I doubt Loki knows what pizza is so I’ll just pick one that looks good. Ian, what do ya want?”
Ian went over to see what website Darcy was ordering from, leaving Jane alone with Loki on the couch.
“What is this ‘pizza’?”
“A sort of flatbread, covered in cheese and sauce and different toppings. Can I take those off?” She pointed at the bandages. He nodded, and she set to removing another set of bandages, hoping it would be the last time she had to do something like this. His wound had bled more during his healing – evidently he’d had to abandon the patch of magic holding the wound closed at some point during the healing process - so needed cleaning again. She did so carefully, still not quite able to believe the damage could be fixed.
“Wow,” she breathed, unable to resist touching the area where the injury had been. “That’s amazing!”
Erik seemed to decide things had gone far enough. “Jane! Can I have a word with you? In private.”
He led her out on to the balcony, shutting the door behind them. “What are you thinking, Jane?! You know what he did!” She opened her mouth to protest. “And don’t even pretend you don’t know what I mean! I can see the way you’ve been looking at him.”
“It’s not like that! Look, I know what he did. But he saved my life twice on Svartalfheim! He saved Thor’s life! Tried to anyway. He didn’t have to do any of that! He could have been just the littlest bit too slow saving me, or run away while Thor was busy fighting, but he didn’t. And maybe he did it just to get back in Asgard’s good books – though I’m not sure Asgard has any if Odin is anything to go by – or maybe he did it because he’s a good person with a screwed up moral compass, but the point is he did it. And, Erik, Malekith killed his mom. He seems to have a lot of issues with his family, but I think he really cared about her. Whatever his feelings about Earth, he wants to stop Malekith just as much as we do, and we can’t afford to pass up any allies, considering SHIELD seem to be ignoring us.”
“I don’t trust him! I’d rather take our chances with the elves alone than rely on him! Didn’t you say you have a plan?”
“I do. I think I do anyway. But I don’t know if it’ll work, and even if it does I’d still like some backup, at least to keep the elves busy and distract them from attacking people. And he has the right to some revenge – they didn’t even let him go to her funeral, Erik.”
He sighed angrily. “Fine, but this is a bad idea. He’s trouble.”
“Well feel free to try sending him back to Asgard. By the way what is with the no-pants-running-around-historic-sites thing? I thought you said you were doing fine.”
“I am fine! It’s just hard trying to get back to normal after someone has gone poking around in your brain!”
“Yeah well I am going to have words with SHIELD when I finally get through to them about their not providing proper therapy. C’mon, let’s get back inside. I don’t think Darcy and Loki should be left in the same room together without supervision.”
Thankfully Darcy was nowhere in sight when they stepped back inside. Ian was sitting on a chair opposite the couch, talking to Loki.
“Perhaps you should tell her of your interest?”
“I will if you will.”
“What do you mean by that, mortal?” snarled Loki, glaring at the hapless intern.
“Oh come on-” They suddenly realised they were no longer alone. “Oh hey guys! Pizza will be here soon.”
“Great.” Jane walked over to the desk and looked through the results of Erik’s research. Erik joined her, pointing things out and adding explanations as she scrolled through the data. Some of it was barely coherent, but it looked like the idea she had been considering might work. Might being the operative word here, but it wasn’t as if they were drowning in options.
Darcy walked back in from the direction of the bathroom. “Erik finished giving you The Talk then?” she asked, leaning on the desk next to Jane.
Jane ignored her. “Malekith is going to fire the Aether at a spot where all the Nine Realms are connecting.”
Erik immediately understood the reasoning behind that. “Amplifying the weapon’s impact. For each additional world the power will increase exponentially. The effect would be universal.” He looked horrified by the idea, clearly not having imagined something like this even in his worst case scenario projections of the Convergence’s effects.
“Yes but the Alignment is only temporary. He must be in exactly the right place at exactly the right time in order to do this.” Erik jumped, having evidently tried so hard to ignore Loki’s presence that he had forgotten about him being sprawled on the couch.
“Well, how do we know where that is?”
“We follow the directions.” Erik marched over to the dining table, sweeping everything off it and spreading a map over the surface. “This has happened before, thousands of years ago, and the Ancients were there to see it. All the great constructions, the Mayans, the Chinese, the Egyptians. They made use of the gravitational effects of the Convergence. And they left us a map.” He grabbed a pen and began marking lines across the map between points that seemed to make sense to him. “All marking coordinates taking us... here.” He pointed at the spot where the lines converged.
“Greenwich?”
“The walls between worlds will be almost non-existent. Physics is going to go ballistic. Increases and decreases in gravity, spatial extrusions, the very fabric of reality is going to be torn apart.”
The doorbell rang loudly in the silence that fell after Jane’s statement, and everyone whirled to look at the door as if something was about to burst through and attack.
“Oh right, that’ll be the pizza!” Darcy said, deflating the tension.
*******************************************************************
“So anyway, what was that you were saying earlier about a completely brilliant plan for dealing with the Dark Elves?”
“I don’t know about brilliant, but it’s a plan at least. Okay, Erik, those gravimetric spikes of yours can stabilise the effects of the Convergence, right?”
“Yes but I don’t have enough equipment or time to set up anything that will prevent our world linking to the others, and stabilising the effects enough to close the smaller portals won’t prevent the elves arriving if they’re travelling by ship.”
“I know. I was thinking we could tweak the equipment to manipulate the anomalies rather than shut them down. It’s hard to stage an invasion when your forces are getting scattered and lost or being confused about which way is up.”
Darcy chewed on a piece of crust absently. “You sure that’s gonna be enough? I mean even if you’re sending half the army in odd directions there’s still gonna be a bunch of them fucking shit up. And this Mollykeith guy sounds like he could do some major damage.”
“You will leave him to me,” Loki snarled.
“Okay but are you gonna be able to handle it on your own? Don’t get me wrong, you seem pretty badass, but if I followed Jane’s story right then he got away from you twice before...”
“Once. I was locked away in the dungeons when he invaded Asgard. And the second time was down to Thor’s foolish plan. I told the oaf that it would get us ki-” He broke off abruptly, freezing for a moment, before snapping his jaw shut and looking away.
Jane fought down the feeling of grief, and the guilt at how she had managed to forget, even for a moment, that Thor was gone. And then another wave of guilt at how she hadn’t actually felt that guilty for forgetting…
“That’s all the more reason we need backup. I’m sure you can handle them on your own, Loki, but it can’t hurt to have a bit of help. I’m trying SHIELD again. Maybe a couple of Avengers are available and can get here by tomorrow morning. Just hope it won’t get awkward with them fighting alongside a guy they were fighting against last year.”
She grabbed her phone off the table and dialled the number, but Loki snatched the phone out of her hand before she could speak.
“Greetings, mortal,” he sneered in a sinister tone which had Erik pressing himself back into his chair as if he was trying to become one with it. “I am Loki. I am sure you remember me. I have the mortal Jane Foster in my keeping. Don’t worry, she is quite safe - for now. If you wish for her to remain so, I will be in Greenwich tomorrow morning, where we can discuss terms. More precise directions will not be necessary. The army rampaging through the area would be enough of a clue. I do so look forward to seeing your ‘Avengers’ again.”
He pressed the button to end the call and handed the device back to her, waking her from the almost trance-like state his voice had lulled her into. She stared at it for a moment, wondering what had come over her, before coming to her senses and turning the phone off before SHIELD could call back.
“There. I trust that will get their attention.”
Ian yawned suddenly, which set Jane off. There. It was tiredness that was causing her to find Loki’s voice soothing.
“Who is sleeping where?” asked Darcy. “It’s kinda crowded but I don’t wanna leave in case any Avengers show up.”
She thought for a moment. “Ian and Erik can take the bed in the spare room, and the two of us can share my mom’s bed. They’re both big enough for two people. Loki can have the couch.”
Erik fled immediately, relieved to have an excuse to leave. Ian followed him, yawning again and looking as if he would fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. Jane retrieved a pillow and some blankets for Loki, smiled and wished him goodnight, and then escaped herself.
“You sure you don’t want me to switch places with him?” asked Darcy, smirking. “I don’t mind sleeping on the couch if it’s for a worthy cause.”
Jane threw a set of pyjamas over her head. “Go to bed. You’re obviously sleep deprived,” she muttered, turning away and changing into her own nightclothes.
Darcy laughed, rustling noises suggesting she was also getting changed. “I’ll tell you something though.”
“What?”
“He’d have had a much easier job of getting people to kneel if he’d gone around shirtless like that.”
Jane snorted.
“Hey if he tries to take over the world again you could be queen. That’d be pretty cool.”
“Not funny, Darce.”
They both got into bed, and she shut her eyes, trying to drift off to sleep. She cast around for things to lull her into the rest she badly needed (falling unconscious didn’t really count as sleep), and found herself recalling Loki’s smooth voice as he’d goaded SHIELD. It had been so compelling... and soothing... and the way he had said her name... Her eyes flew open, and all relaxed feeling vanished. |
What with his exams and Magnus’s various business trips, Alec doesn’t get to see him a lot over the next few weeks. This is fine by Alec because he has a lot on his plate already: Jace fell for a new girl and had his heart broken, Izzy got a bad grade on a major test and was feeling extremely disheartened and their mother was trying to interfere in their lives more than usual, with the same lack of tact she always displayed. To top it all off, their father wanted to have a family dinner and see all his kids again. Alec had dug his nails into his palms so hard when he heard that news, he’d left half-moon shaped cuts on his hands.
[To: Magnus, 11.41 a.m.] Sorry I haven’t been taking your calls or answering texts. It’s an absolute mess here right now. Talk to you when you’re back?
Alec sends off the text, feeling inexplicably guilty. He’d missed two calls from Magnus in the past three days and hasn’t even had time or the energy to reply to his texts asking if things are okay. He really hopes Magnus doesn’t think he’s been ignoring him on purpose or trying to hint that he wants to end things. It’s bad enough that everything else in his life is falling apart. He doesn’t want to lose Magnus’s company and his support either.
[To: Alec, 11.43 a.m.] It’s okay, Alexander. Bit of a surprise, I know, but I am already back and currently in the neighbourhood. Can I come over?
Alec reads the reply with a mixture of relief, surprise and a little bit of excitement.
[To: Magnus, 11.44 a.m.] Yes! I’m at home. Please come over.
He’d thought about going off to the Library for a bit to work on a presentation for the coming week, but he could easily put that off for later. Alec spins around suddenly, taking in the shoddy state of his apartment. He hadn’t exactly been prioritizing cleaning lately and nearly every flat surface of the room is covered in papers, empty ice cream tubs, the odd bit of laundry, a million and one pens, and the occasional take-out container. It’s an absolute mess and Magnus is arriving in just a few minutes.
Fuck, Alec swears to himself, hurriedly sweeping things off the couch and throwing a quilt on it to hide the few suspicious stains. The kitchen table gets the same treatment, and so does the living room floor. He piles the empty dishes in the sink and turns off the kitchen light just as the doorbell rings.
“Hey,” Alec grins, opening the door to reveal a very dapper looking Magnus, dressed in a peacoat like the one he’d bought Alec, but in a deep, emerald green. There’s soft green eyeshadow on his eyelids to match, and his nails are done in the same colour. Alec thinks perhaps his pants are glittery and sparkling, but before he can investigate, Magnus has swept him up in a hug, leaning away just enough to be able to kiss him.
“Mm,” Alec melts into the kiss. It’s been a while since they’ve seen each other, and Magnus’s mouth feels hungry on his – teeth nipping at his bottom lip in a rather delicious way.
“I missed you,” Magnus smiles softly as they break apart and Alec shifts so Magnus can come in.
“Me too,” Alec replies, feeling a little awkward. It’s not exactly the truth but it isn’t a lie either. He’s been too busy to miss Magnus, but he has thought about him – once or twice. Or maybe more. He didn’t keep count. All he knows is that it doesn’t feel like enough times to be able to make his ‘I missed you’ feel genuine. Luckily, Magnus doesn’t pick up on his inner turmoil.
“So – talk to me?” Magnus sounds hesitant, as if he’s not exactly sure whether he should be asking Alec about his mess of a week. “I mean, if you want.”
Alec chews on his bottom lip and is about to answer when his phone rings. He groans and takes it out of his pocket. It’s his mother. He presses reject and looks up again with an apologetic smile. “Sorry. Mom has been keeping more tabs on us than necessary lately. Parents, am I right?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Magnus smiles politely, making Alec’s stomach sink. Shit, foster system, he thinks, too late. He really is losing it.
“Sorry,” he stammers, feeling awful. “I just –” His phone rings again.
“Perhaps it’s urgent,” Magnus says, looking slightly concerned. “Please take it.”
Alec swears under his breath and slides the green button across the screen to pick up. Magnus raises his hands in a ‘please take your time’ gesture and settles down on the couch Alec had cleared out minutes before.
“How’s your internship going?” His mother starts, without any semblance of a greeting whatsoever. Alec sighs and rolls his eyes. Maryse has never wasted time on small talk; she’s not going to start now.
“Hello, mother,” Alec says pointedly. “It’s going good.”
“What exactly is your position? I don’t believe you ever told me.” Alec supposes it’s his turn to be interrogated: Jace had already faced a lengthy and scary skype session where Maryse insisted on meeting his then-girlfriend and Izzy has received a disappointed lecture on her decision to go to medical school and how she isn’t even doing well.
Alec braces himself, looks at Magnus and mouths ‘sorry’ as he shuffles towards his bedroom. “I’m Magnus Bane’s PA.”
There’s a sharp intake of breath, a few seconds of silence and then his mother’s disappointed and confused voice washes over him. “A PA? Alec, didn’t you try for the finance department?”
Alec takes a deep breath and really hopes the story he hashed out in the beginning with Magnus will work. “I did, but Magnus took a liking to me and said he wanted to groom me himself. Plus, I get to see the inner workings of the entire company with this position.” He closes his eyes, crosses his fingers and waits.
A few seconds of silence later, his mother states the obvious. “I'm not very pleased, Alexander.”
“It really is better than interning for the finance department,” Alec argues, “Yesterday, I sat in on a very important international meeting.”
“But what sort of career prospects does this have? Nobody wants to hire an ex-PA,” she says it as if she’s saying ‘ex-con’. “I can’t believe you said yes without consulting me first.”
Alec lets out an irritated huff. “Mom, I’m old enough to make my own decisions now.”
“You’re a Lightwood, Alexander,” his mother replies disapprovingly. “You’re responsible for your family’s reputation.”
“And dad isn’t?” Alec says it without thinking. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that.”
“Please look into other internships or talk to Mr. Bane about changing departments. I expect you will not still be a PA by the time I call you next week.” Maryse says curtly before hanging up, not giving Alec a chance to say anything else.
Alec curls his free hand into a fist and throws his phone on his bed. Conversations with their mother always make the Lightwood siblings feel like shit but nobody has it as bad as him, Alec reckons. Being the eldest child comes with its own set of expectations and pressures.
He sits down on the edge of his bed and leans forward, arms on his knees, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. Magnus is still waiting in the other room and Alec wants to calm down a little before he goes out to meet him properly.
But then a knock on his bedroom door announces Magnus’s presence. Alec looks up with a tired and sheepish smile. “Sorry about that.”
Magnus ignores it, a concerned look on his face as he takes a small step inside. “You okay?”
“Yes,” Alec waves it off, smiling a little wider now to prove it. “She didn’t take the whole PA thing so well though. Wants me to find another internship or shift departments or something.”
Magnus comes closer, almost in front of Alec now. He curls a hand around Alec’s cheek and tilts his head up, looking into his eyes searchingly. “And what do you want?”
Alec leans into the touch and sighs. “I just want,” he starts, frustration clear in his voice, “Actually, it doesn’t matter,” he says, getting up and looking through his closet for a jacket. “Do you want to go out?”
“I’m here if you want to talk about it,” Magnus tells him. Alec nods in acknowledgment, pulling on the jacket. “And yes, I’d love to go out. Do you have somewhere in mind?”
“I do, actually. Are you allergic to animals of any sort?” Alec asks, picking up his phone and keys and following Magnus out.
“Um, no?” Magnus turns to look over his shoulder at Alec with a very confused and baffled look. Alec grins. “Where are we going exactly?”
“The animal shelter where Jace volunteers. I think I need some puppy cuddles.”
*
They reach the shelter and Alec makes a beeline for the back, where all the dogs and cats are. The girl at the front desk (she’s new; Alec thinks her name is Joyce) waves him in, smiling. Alec and Izzy are popular guests there, partly because of Jace and partly because they all love the dogs and cats there too much to stay away from them for too long.
“This is Mr. Snuffles,” Alec coos, kneeling in front of a cage with a golden retriever in it. Magnus peers in too, smiling. “He’s my favourite.”
Joyce unlocks the cage for them, and Mr. Snuffles comes bounding out, hugging Alec and licking him all over. Magnus laughs at the dog’s enthusiasm.
“Aren’t you an energetic beast?” He murmurs, scratching the dog behind its ears as Alec looks on, grinning.
“Come on,” Alec says to the dog, putting him on a leash. “Want to go for a walk?” At the word ‘walk’, the dog goes even more berserk. After Joyce okays it, Alec and Magnus head out with him for a quick trip round the block.
“You don’t seem like too much of a dog person,” Alec observes, looking at Magnus.
“You got me,” Magnus laughs, a little embarrassed. “I must admit, I’m rather fond of cats.”
“Huh,” Alec replies.
“I rather liked the look of the majestic black and white tom next to Mr. Snuffles’ cage,” Magnus continues.
“Oh, that’s Chairman Meow,” Alec laughs.
“Oh my,” Magnus giggles; it’s a delightful sound. “How absolutely charming.”
“I think he’s up for adoption, actually,” Alec says after they’re done giggling over the ridiculous name. Personally, Alec thinks its suits the cat. He’s rather stately and imposing and won’t even give you the time of day if he’s not in the mood for company.
“Oh, really?” Magnus looks curious.
“Yep. I don’t think he’s done with his shots yet but if you really want him, you can finalize paperwork today and pick him up whenever he’s done.”
Magnus smiles fondly to himself. Alec finds the tiny upturn of his lips rather endearing. “I think I’d like that,” Magnus murmurs.
“Awesome,” Alec replies.
They‘re back at the shelter and as Alec goes to the back to lock up Mr. Snuffles and say goodbye, Magnus waits by the front desk and fills out the paperwork with Joyce. He enters the back once he’s done and comes up to Chairman’s cage, smiling.
“I can’t wait to take him home,” Magnus says, fingers pressed up against the bars as Chairman continues to sleep soundly, curled up into a tight ball.
“I’m no cat,” Alec smiles, getting up and snaking an arm around Magnus’s waist. “But today, perhaps you could take me home instead.”
Magnus smirks, looking up at him with a raised eyebrow. “I think that is an acceptable alternative.”
*
“Coffee?” Magnus offers upon entering his huge, penthouse suite. “Tea? Something to eat?” He tugs off his jacket and when he turns around, Alec is there, hands holding onto his elbows, grinning.
“No, I just really want to kiss you,” Alec murmurs, leaning in, eyebrow raised questioningly. Magnus smiles back and leans in, closing the gap between them.
Kissing Magnus makes all of Alec’s worries disappear, almost like he and Magnus are the only people in the world. He gives into the soft press of tongue, the small hums of pleasure and the hands scrabbling for purchase on his belt loops and forgets all about Jace’s heartbreak, Izzy’s bad grade and his mom’s incessant interrogations. At that moment, it’s just him and Magnus and that’s all that really matters.
Walking backwards, Magnus guides them towards the living room, where he falls backwards onto the couch, pulling Alec along with him. They giggle as they untangle their limbs and resume tugging on each other’s clothes. Before Alec knows it, he’s shirtless. So is Magnus, now that he thinks about it. Alec has been running his hands absently up and down smooth muscle without even realizing it.
“May I?” Magnus asks, fingers hovering over Alec’s zipper. Alec swallows and nods, his skin buzzing.
Magnus unzips his jeans with one hand while he works on his own pants with the other. Soon, they’re both in their underwear, with Magnus now perched in Alec’s lap. Alec tries to slow his breathing down.
“Mm,” Magnus hums against the side of Alec’s neck. “Can I leave a hickey?” He whispers, his fingers slipping beneath Alec’s waistband to touch his cock.
“God, yes,” Alec half-moans.
Magnus sucks at a spot on Alec’s neck and then bites down a little, his lips curling into a smirk when Alec arches his back.
“Fuck,” Alec says, eloquently. He shifts the hand on Magnus’s back to his front, finding the impressive bulge in his boxers and teasingly brushing his palm against it. It’s Magnus’s turn to moan.
A few seconds later, Alec has both their cocks in his hand and Magnus has unearthed some lube from between the couch cushions. “Always prepared,” he grins when Alec sends him a questioning look.
“Mm, fuck.” Magnus’s hands come up to rest on Alec’s shoulders and his head falls back as Alec takes the both of them in his hand and starts to jerk them off. “Mm, that feels good. Don’t stop.”
Alec grunts as he quickens his movements, twisting his hand in the way he likes it. Apparently, it’s doing it for Magnus as well, going by the small noises he’s making. His skin glistens with a soft sheen of sweat and Alec stares at the bow of his neck, entranced at the way his Adam’s apple bobs. “Fuck, Magnus, you’re so pretty.”
“Oh, Alexander,” Magnus shudders, spilling all over Alec’s hand. The way he says his name, the vowels all stretched out and in a tone of utter bliss, makes Alec come too. Magnus laughs, panting, and reaches for some tissues to clean them off.
Alec leans in for a kiss, mouth lazily brushing against Magnus’s. He feels too boneless to put any heat in it and they stay like that for a minute, curled into each other’s skin, the moment far too intimate than any they’ve shared before. Then Magnus peels off with a soft smile, reaching for his boxers. Alec does the same, heart still not back to its normal rate.
“Alexander,” Magnus pauses, as if searching for the right words. “We should get tested now.”
Alec swallows. Getting tested means moving onto oral and penetrative sex. Without condoms. Thank god he had just come, because just the thought of fucking Magnus, or Magnus fucking him, would probably be enough to start him off again.
“If you’re okay with no condoms, that is,” Magnus adds, apprehensively. They hadn’t spoken about this bit of the contract in much detail. “In any case, it’s good to get tested every now and then.”
“Yes, I agree,” Alec nods, pulling on his jeans and his shirt. They’re on opposite ends of the couch now. “And yes, we should get tested.”
Magnus smiles happily. Alec smirks. “I can’t wait to blow you.”
Magnus closes his eyes and groans. “Mm, fuck, don’t say things like that.” He shifts closer and then climbs onto Alec’s lap again, straddling him.
Alec leans in so that his mouth is next to Magnus’s ear. “Can’t wait to wrap my mouth around your cock and suck you off until you’re begging for release,” he whispers.
“Fuck, Alec.”
“I like it when you lose control,” Alec continues, palms running up and down Magnus’s biceps, touch feather-light and teasing. Magnus leans in for a kiss but Alec stops him barely centimetres away, grinning.
“Hmm,” Magnus smiles, slightly dangerously. “Don’t get used to it.”
Before Alec can reply or let Magnus kiss him, they’re interrupted by a phone ringing. It’s Magnus’s, stuck in between the couch cushions. He fished for it and smiles at the name on the screen. “Hold on, I have to take this,” he says to Alec, getting off his lap and walking out of the room, finger held up in the ‘I’ll just be a minute’ sign.
Alec slumps back into the couch, and closes his eyes, wondering who it is. |
The thing about being a bit of a lone wolf is that he lives in a secluded area, out of the way of everyone else in the land. And the thing about living away from everyone else is that nobody would ever be able to find him even if they tried (not that they did). He liked it that way. He liked appearing near civilization ominously and lurking, striking fear into people's bones and maintaining his aloof and mysterious aura. And because he lives so far away, he has no need for added security around his little mountain bunker. He relies on the ignorance of others and his own ability to sneak away and he’s pretty confident they would never be able to find him without him outright telling them where he lives. And he’d been fine on his own, fine living far away, alone and safe.
Which is why when he wakes up one night to frantic clawing at his door, he begins to regret his own ego again. The hubris of man.
He quickly gathers up a chest plate, his mask, an axe and a shield, still shocked and sleep-dazed but prepared for a fight and stumbles towards the door.
He’s rubbing his eyes as he ambles down the corridor towards the scratching sound. He hits his foot on a protruding rock, slams his elbow into a corner and stumbles over a discarded pair of boots but he makes it to the entrance in one piece. He’s shaky and mildly disoriented but ready for the fight if there is to be one.
“No, no. Come on, why did we come all the way here? Please, let’s go back home.”
He hears a hushed voice from the other side of the door and pauses. There’s a break in the scratching and then it starts up again, more insistent than before, this time accompanied by sniffling sounds and now Dream’s confused.
He tugs open the door in a sudden movement, axe on the ready and his shield in front of him, prepared for a fight.
What he finds on his front lawn – the cliff outside of his cave entrance – stumps him. It is a very frazzled-looking Philza, trying to usher a hulking figure away from the aforementioned door with hushed words and futile tugs.
“Hey, mate!” Philza squawks and Dream is about to respond with a question when something bumps into his shield hard and pushes him back, sudden enough that it knocks him on his ass. He yelps in surprise, dropping his axe as Philza rushes into the doorway to help pull away whatever it is that knocked him over.
“I am so sorry, Dream. It’s just – he’s very stubborn, I didn’t expect him to – oh, Gods.” Phil babbles which is very uncharacteristic of him and Dream, still half-asleep, can only think to slap a button near him that opens up the glowstone hollows, lighting the hallway up properly.
His eyes meet blood red ones, his mouth popping open behind his mask, as he realizes there’s a very large Piglin-like figure on top of him, a snout very much in his face and sniffing.
“Is this – is this Techno?” He croaks, hurriedly backing away and managing to leverage himself into a sitting position. The Piglin follows, snout pressing into the crook of his neck in an invasive move that has him hitching up his shoulders and letting out an involuntary squeak.
“Yeah, mate, sorry. Really, really sorry.” Philza finally gets his hands hooked to the back of Techno’s cape collar and starts tugging. But the Piglin hybrid doesn’t budge. Instead, he relaxes his impressive weight on top of Dream’s lap, snout still snuffing softly and Dream feels his cheeks heat at the proximity. This is – he’s not used to anybody being this close to him.
“What, uh, what happened? I didn’t know he can go, uh, full Piglin.” He presses his hands to the other’s shoulders, finally thinking to help Phil get the other away.
“He usually can’t. There was, um, an altercation with a witch.” Philza winces, wings flaring out in the narrow hallway to try and put more force behind their pushing and pulling. It works for a moment but then Techno growls, eyes flashing dangerously before he digs his claws into the solid stone ground in protest.
“Oh, he’s definitely not budging.” He sighs, resolving himself to the current situation that he’s not entirely sure is reality and not some sort of a bizarre dream.
“Gods,” Philza throws his hands up in frustration. “I really – wait, you live here? I thought you were homeless.”
“Oh, come on!” He groans, slumping back against the wall. “I told him I had a house. Not my fault he didn’t believe me.”
“Well I can’t blame him, this place is in the middle of nowhere.” Philza points out, adjusting his hat.
“And for good reason, too.” He stares the other down, hoping his mask conveys the accusation he’s trying to dish out.
“Sorry, mate. Again. We weren’t looking for trouble, man. We must have encroached on the witch’s territory and Techno, the idiot, threw himself in front of me as a potion came flying our way.” Philza sighs heavily, hands on his hips as he surveys the Piglin’s dozing form. “Nothing happened at first but as soon as we got to the tundra, he began shifting into this form. He’s gone full feral, mate.”
“Okay, but how did you, uh, end up here?” He presses a curious finger to the ridge of the other’s snout, the fur there coarse and rough.
“We were – well, I was having dinner, he was trying to grasp the concept of a spoon, and then he just bolted upright, nose high in the sky and… started moving this way. That was yesterday, we didn’t take the Nether.” Philza looks exhausted as he speaks, his shoulders drooping and wings relaxing involuntarily. “I lost him in the forest a couple of times but managed to catch up as soon as he started scaling the side of the mountain.”
“And he took you straight to my remote, hidden lair. Fun.” He taps the Piglin’s forehead and the other snorts, opening one eye to stare at him inquiringly. “Can he understand us?”
“As far as I’ve gathered, he’s still got his rudimentary knowledge of language but he’s not verbal – aside from the occasional grunt or growl. He knows of concepts and what he’s supposed to be doing but he doesn’t seem to care much for propriety.” Phil chuckles tiredly and Dream feels wholly for the man who’s somehow gotten into another mess against his better judgment.
“Well, um. What I’d like to know is why he came here but I guess that’ll have to wait.” He pries the other’s claws from the ground gently, coaxing the hands into relaxing. “Come on, Techno, buddy. Let’s get up, how about we go settle in front of the hearth, huh?”
The Piglin doesn’t look convinced so Dream does the only thing he can think to do and pushes his hands under the other’s jaw as if he were nothing but a big cat, scratching through the rough fur. Techno’s large form tenses up and Dream feels him stop breathing for a brief moment – it’s almost like the other is contemplating Dream’s imminent demise –before surrendering to the feeling.
“That’s right, buddy. Come on, can we do this somewhere that’s not this very narrow hallway, yeah?” He croons, still embarrassed – neither of them is going to live this down if Philza has any say in it, he just knows it.
Though, the soft tone and the promise of more scratching seems to work and Techno’s hulking form rises to its full height. For the first time Dream realizes the other’s taller than usual. He’s about seven feet and a couple of inches and he’s definitely wider in the torso than he used to be. There’s also longer fur along the curve of the back of his neck where once the other’s pink hair was. Techno stands and hunches over then proceeds to pick Dream up off the ground and put him down onto his feet before he can even think to protest.
This is definitely some weird nightmare, he thinks, miffed.
“Right, um. Can you get the door, please?” He asks and Philza turns around to close off the cave, hiding it from the outside world again.
“Follow me I guess.” He eyes the Piglin who’s waiting on him patiently and then heads for the area where he’s actually living.
It’s a hollowed out cave, spawn-proof and simple. There are all the necessities he can wish for in it but there are no walls so everything – aside from a spare room and a bathing area – is located in that cavern. It might look a little sad to the average outsider but to Dream, it’s home.
“You can stay the night, Phil, I guess. It’s too dark to make it back now anyway.” He shrugs, rubbing the back of his head, messing his hair up further. “You can stay for breakfast, too.”
“Aw, thanks, mate. We’ll sort this out in the morning, don’t worry.” Phil promises him with a pat on the back and Dream shows him to the spare room door before returning to Techno’s still-as-a-statue figure.
He stares at the hybrid and the Piglin stares back. It’s almost as if the other can see right through his mask. It’s creepy and intense and he doesn’t necessarily like how squirmy it makes him feel.
“Uh, food?” He ventures uneasily but Techno shakes his head. “Are you even all there?” He steps closer to the other, wanting to see what the hybrid would do.
Techno tilts his head, before something seems to tick him off and he starts tugging at the cape he’s wearing. Dream watches him struggle to unlatch it for a few seconds before deciding that helping the other would be in his best interest. He bats the other’s clawed hands away and does it for him, not letting the material drop into the dust and instead unthinkingly throwing it over himself – surrounding his own body in warmth and the scent of the woods and iron ore. It’s pleasant.
Techno grunts, his wild boar-like snout twitches and then he begins trying to take off his breastplate.
“Oh, hey, don’t scratch it up, c’mon.” He closes the distance between them more permanently as his arms go to the side of the other’s torso to try and feel out the latches and clasps he needs to undo in order to take off the armor piece. It’s a tedious process and some of the bits and pieces have obviously been bothering the hybrid because as soon as the thing is off, Techno heaves out a heavy sigh.
“There we go, better now, huh?” He smiles, pleased at how the other relaxes further but a little concerned as he finds himself on the receiving end of the other’s weight, the tall figure leaning into him.
“No, hey, I’m still very fragile and human. Please don’t flatten me to the ground.” He pushes the taller away – or, well, tries to. But Techno doesn’t budge. He seems fixated on suffocating Dream to death with hugs. And it’s not like they haven’t tried to kill each other before but it was never serious. They both knew it was all in good fun, in the spirit of sparring. But he doubts that it’s murder on the other’s mind in this case, anyway. The Piglin seems tired and Dream can’t fault him – they did come all the way out here from their tundra which is even further from the general area where everyone else has settled.
“You tired, man? Sleep?” He inquires, awkwardly patting the Piglin’s broad back. Techno huffs and pulls back, clawed hands going for his pants and Dream panics.
“Hey! No, no, no! How about we leave those on?!” He squeaks, hands grasping at the other’s wrists – he faintly notices that his fingers can’t wrap around them fully.
“Techno, propriety, how about it?” He frantically tugs the other’s belt closed but loosening it out so it’s not too tight on the other’s hips. Techno grunts and bats him away, trying to go for the cuisses and poleyns on his legs.
“Come on, wait, I’ll get it.” He sighs but at least Techno has given up on trying to do this on his own. He drops to his knees and immediately realizes his mistake as he feels the unmistakable sensation of a hand in his hair. He freezes, scared to breathe with the sharp and powerful claws so close to his soft spots. The hand cards through his loose hair and tilts his head up, he stops breathing. The red eyes that peer down at him are entirely devoid of anything human, they are instead very predatory.
It’s a precarious position Dream’s landed himself in, and being down here with the other looming over him like that – well, it doesn’t seem like a good idea.
“Techno?” He whispers out, finally sucking a breath into his lungs as the other blinks, releasing his hair and turning his head abruptly to stare at the crackling fire in the hearth. He ignores whatever just happened and continues with his task of taking off the other’s armor and boots.
The armor clinks against the stone ground and he pushes it aside before standing up. “Alright, you can, uh, make yourself comfortable now. I guess.” He looks around his humble abode and winces as he realizes that the only couch he does have is too small for the towering figure. “You can take the bed for tonight.”
Techno turns to stare at the large mattress and then back at Dream, contemplative in his careful movement. He watches as the other sniffs the air and heads for the sleeping area, poking at random items on the ground or the shelving units. The hybrid appears to be curious about his home and Dream finds it endearing.
The other turns to him and points to an old shield displayed on the wall, black with red accents, a relic of the first L’Manburg war. He shrugs and the other’s gaze doesn’t budge, almost as if asking you live here?
“Yeah, Techno, this is my house. You finally made it.” He spreads his arms to showcase their surroundings and this time Techno’s gaze says you live like this?
He huffs, putting his hands on his hips. “Yes, and what of it? Nobody bothers me here, I’m away from everyone’s drama and I have all the freedom I could ask for.”
Techno looks unconvinced.
“I don’t have to justify myself to you, you’re a pigman.” He Hisses and points to the bed. “Sleep, now. Stop bothering me.”
The Piglin huffs but obeys the instruction, gingerly sitting on the bed before sniffing around the area as well. Dream squirms, knowing, realistically, that the other’s sense of smell and hearing are much better now than his eyesight and that he needs to do this but also feeling weird about the whole situation.
“Can you stop that?” He grunts and the Piglin ignores him, purposefully stuffing his snout under the pillow and all over Dream’s stuff.
“God, you’re insufferable.” He shakes his head and turns away from the bed, not looking forward to sleeping on the couch. He’s just taken his chestplate off when a pair of hands grabs him by the waist and tugs him backwards. He yelps at being manhandled and struggles futilely as he’s laid upon the bed.
“What the fuck are you-?” He squeaks indignantly as the Piglin huddles him against his chest like he was a mere feather-filled pillow. His cheeks are blazing from embarrassment and he feels powerless as the other’s breathing begins to deepen.
“Am I just supposed to cuddle you?” He grumbles, tugging at his mask in order to take it off, for once not caring that somebody might see his face as long as he’s comfortable.
Techno is like a furnace and that warmth, accompanied by the rhythmic beating of the other’s heart, lulls him to sleep quickly.
He wakes up feeling warmer than he has in a while. His cave dwelling is always somewhat cold, even with all the blankets and a constant fire burning in the hearth, so this is odd. He also wakes up pressed to a warm body, his cheek on a firm chest, an arm under his waist curled around him and another gripping his thigh, hiking it up.
As soon as he realizes the precarious position he’s in he tries to dart away, his palm slapping the bed in search of his mask. But Techno’s Piglin form is holding on too firmly, a dangerous set of claws so very close to Dream’s soft bits again. He mutters a quiet fuck under his breath when his hand comes up empty, the mask having been kicked around in the night far enough that he can’t find it.
In all of his wiggling frustrations he fails to notice that Techno has woken up and is only made aware the moment the grip on his thigh tightens painfully. He hisses, snapping his eyes up and meeting red ones, suddenly locked in an intense staring contest.
“Mind letting me go?” He whispers, scared of speaking loudly in case it somehow startles the other.
Techno grunts, eyes not leaving his, but the hand on his thigh lifts. However, it makes its way uo to Dream’s bare face and he shivers as a thumb is pressed against his cheek. Much like last night, Techno seems enraptured by the newly-revealed pieces of Dream. And once again, Dream realizes just how big the other’s hands are as they span the side of his head. He sucks in a sharp breath as the claw of the thumb is dragged down to where his dimple usually resides when he smiles. It’s a soft motion that holds a heavy threat in it and all of the hair on the back of Dream’s neck stands up. He’s positive he’s going to pass out because he stopped breathing but much like last night, Techno abruptly looks away, releasing him and shuffling until they’re not pressed together anymore.
No care for propriety, Philza had said last night and Dream’s sleep-addled brain hadn’t really thought about what that meant. But now it seems like Techno’s problem is controlling impulses and urges and that the pulling away thing is him somehow regaining some of his senses. There’s some hope for this situation yet.
He tips over the side of the bed and finally locates his mask under it. Hanging off the tall frame and reaching under to fetch it, he stretches his torso a little and something in his back cracks uncomfortably. He startles as pressure is applied to his hips, two hands holding him so he doesn’t tip over fully. He feels the blood rush to his cheeks and his gut clench at the gesture.
“I think I can handle this, big guy.” He mutters and his fingers finally grasp the strap of his mask. He puts it on while upside down and then uses his hands to lever himself up. Techno, however, seems determined to be helpful and starts manhandling him up. In a move that is totally unnecessary he ends up leaned with his back to the other’s chest. There’s an awkward, stilted, pause and the air grows stuffy between them. Though, by the looks of things, he’s probably the only one the awkwardness is affecting to the fullest.
“If you don’t let me go right now, I’m gonna start fucking stabbing.” He threatens, hands reaching to the side of his bed where he keeps a large hunting knife at all times. Techno huffs, pushing his snout under the strap of the mask briefly in protest before allowing Dream to bolt out of the bed.
He straightens his clothes and pretends like seeing Techno give into baser instincts isn’t intriguing.
“Right. Um. I’m making breakfast, you wait here I guess.” He waves a hand to the bed and then turns to where his little kitchen area is set up.
By the time he’s got eggs and toast going in a skillet – while having avoided adding bacon to the mix – Philza has shuffled out of the extra room, looking rumpled but rested.
“Morning – well, afternoon.” He waves his spatula at the other and Philza yawns.
“Hey, mate.” The man slumps into a chair at the dining table and then turns slowly to look at Techno who’d spent the time in the interim staring at Dream as he cooked. “He give you much trouble after I went to sleep?”
“Well, aside from not letting me sleep on the couch, no.” He plates some of the eggs and brings butter with him for the toast. Philza’s staring at him when he sets the food on the table and he clears his throat.
“He – slept in your bed?” Phil tilts his head and Dream nods.
“He’s a little too big for the couch and I wasn’t going to make him sleep on the floor.” He shrugs, feeling the heat creeping up the back of his neck.
“No, it’s just that – Techno is very particular about personal space. He’ll tolerate proximity but he’s, uh, picky about where he sleeps. His bedroom’s always off-limits… to everyone.” Philza scratches at the scruff on his chin.
“Maybe he recognizes that this is my bedroom?” He ventures, hoping that this doesn’t really mean anything other than Techno regaining some of his senses.
“Maybe. Or maybe he’s claimed it as his own already and is allowing you to stay in it for some bizarre reason.” Philza squints at him, so much more behind his blue eyes than he’s letting Dream in on. The other suspects something and he’s not doing to be telling him anything by the looks of it.
He huffs, feeling slighted at the mistrust even though he understands the man’s perspective. “Whatever it is, hopefully today we get him to go back to your tundra.”
“Oop, here comes the boy.” Phil croons as Techno slinks out of the bed and towards the scent of food with a rumble from within his chest.
The Piglin settles himself onto the floor by Dream’s side, seemingly not grasping the concept of a chair at the moment and Dream gawks at the hulking form. He’s folded himself nicely and is seemingly awaiting patiently for something.
“I think he wants you to feed him.” Phil chokes out, obviously holding back a laugh.
“He what?!” He squeaks with an involuntary wheeze. “What the fuck?!”
“I told you he couldn’t use utensils last time.” Phil shrugs. “I put his bowl on the floor and he went for it but he seems to be waiting patiently and politely at the moment.”
“You, uh, hungry, man?” He offers out a piece of toast and Techno opens his mouth. Dream pops the food into his other mouth and the Piglin snaps his sharp teeth, causing Dream to pull his hand back quickly lest he lose a finger.
“You bastard,” He hisses, flicking the other’s snout. “Behave or no food until lunch.” Techno huffs and lowers his head until it’s resting on his knees, looking as calm and cuddly as a housecat.
“Oh, you don’t fool me for a moment.” He snorts but continues feeding the other until there’s nothing left of Techno’s designated portion.
“There we go,” He pats the other’s head, somewhat condescending but also genuine in a way because the other’s been very well-behaved and it deserves acknowledgement.
“I’m impressed,” Phil hums, “That’s the most pliant I’ve ever seen him.”
Dream chokes back a violent cough that wants to vacate his throat at the weird backwards compliment. “He doesn’t seem like a problem child.” He offers uselessly.
“I guess we should head back, then. Do you, uh, have a quicker way of getting to the community house or should we brave it through the forest again?” Phil stands up, stretching his wings out.
“I’ll show you a shortcut, don’t worry.” He promises and walks Philza to the Door, grabbing his own gear on the way.
“Come on Techno, let’s go.” Phil calls for the hybrid but the Piglin just stays where he was, by the table.
“Uh, I don’t think he’s budging.” He walks back over to the hybrid uneasily. “Hey, dude, we had a nice sleepover but it’s time to go home, yeah?”
The Piglin cuts him down with a flat look and then promptly turns around, walking over to the hearth and settling down on to the bearskin rug in front of it.
“What the fuck.” He stutters, hands on hips as the Piglin refuses to move.
“Seems like we have a situation on our hands.” Philza frowns as they both stare at the Piglin’s still form. “Techno,” Phil croons sweetly, “Come on, bud, we should go home, no?”
Techno grunts briefly and falls back into silence.
“Judging by yesterday, I don’t think we stand any chance moving him if he does not wish to move.” The winged man sighs heavily. “Listen, I’m sorry to ask this of you but … can you look after him for a couple of days? I was going to take him back to the witch hut and maybe look for clues as to what happened but I guess I’ll have to do it on my own now.”
“Oh.” He stammers out, taken aback by the possibility of Techno staying with him for the foreseeable future. “Uh, I mean, he’s not really doing anything bad at the moment so I guess he could stay here. At least he’ll be safe and not a menace to anyone else.”
“Thanks, mate. I appreciate it. I’ll be back in a few days or as soon as I get some answers.” Philza pats him on the back. “If he breaks anything, I’ll repay you.”
“It’s not like he’s a dog.” Dream frowns behind his mask again, hands fiddling with his hoodie strings.
“Still. I can’t imagine this will be easy.” Philza crouches down next to the Piglin and ruffles his scruff. “Be good, you big lug, okay?”
Techno turns and eyes the other, something odd in his eyes – almost like he doesn’t recognize Philza at all. It’s gone the next moment though and Techno huffs, nodding and returning to his nap.
“I’ll show myself out, you can keep him company.” Philza smiles, eyes squinting up with mirth but there’s tension in his fame. He knows the other’s not used to parting with Techno for longer periods of time and that this must be difficult even if he’s leaving the other in capable hands.
Techno spends most of the day dozing and when he’s not then he’s demanding either scratches or food. And Dream indulges him. He lets the other follow him around as he does his daily chores, exercises, and armor maintenance and he’s left feeling like he’s adopted a pet. A large, demanding, menacing, grumpy pet. Or a side-kick.
It’s quite peaceful in a way. Dream has to stop himself from talking out loud a couple of times, from spilling nonsense to a willing ear. He’s considered getting a dog before but with the amount of time he spends away from home, the responsibility would be too much.
Once it’s time for dinner, Dream realizes a whole day has passed and nothing bad has happened.
He looks at the hybrid that’s scratching his back against a pointy rock. What a simple creature, he thinks with a little chuckle.
The sound catches Techno’s attention and the big idiot lumbers over towards him, purpose in his steps. Dream freezes on the spot, which is unfortunate because the hybrid head-butts him firm enough that he topples back in order to lessen the hit, on the ground for the second time in as many days with Techno following.
“Hey, no!” He squirms, “What are you doing?!” The words come out as a squeak as Techno’s snout shoves its way under the hem of his hoodie, warm breaths spreading across his abdomen. He lets out an involuntary giggle, pushing the other’s head away.
“Get off me, you great beast!” He laughs even as the full extent of embarrassment hits him. “Fucker!” He smacks his open palm onto the other’s forehead as the other tries to go under his hoodie further and Techno’s arms shoot out, gripping his wrists and pinning them to the floor in an instant.
He freezes again, wild-eyed as he stares up at Techno who now has him immobilized very efficiently. Not once in his life has anyone managed to hold him down so firmly that it doesn’t even connect in his brain to try and get out of the position. Techno is terrifying from this angle. He shifts a little and Techno’s muscles bunch as if he’s prepared for Dream to struggle. It’s scary and it’s –
“Can you, um, let me go, please?” He clears his throat, blood pounding in his head. He can feel his heartbeat pulsating all over his body and he’s hyperaware of how he’s splayed almost indecently.
Techno releases a soft growl, his nose burying itself in the crook of Dream’s neck which makes his shoulders hitch up automatically. This is – it’s weird. It’s definitely odd but he doesn’t think Techno means bad by it, he’d probably done something to upset the other without realizing. He should read up on Piglin customs. Well, if he doesn’t die via crushing weight of Techno’s entire body flattening on top of his on the ground as if he’s an overgrown puppy.
“Hey, dude, can you let me up? I’m not, uh, very comfortable on the floor like this.” He gulps, wishing for at least a softer surface to lie on if the other’s going to insist on cuddling him aggressively like this.
Techno pauses for a terrifying moment and then Dream finds himself being hoisted up effortlessly. He squeaks, hands grappling to hold onto the other’s shoulders even though he doesn’t need to because the other’s grip on his waist is secure. He shudders at the thought of how strong the other’s arms are and how much of that translates to him when he’s more human. He’s deposited onto the bed unceremoniously but Techno doesn’t stop there. No, the other reclaims his position and rests his big head onto Dream’s abdomen, red eyes staring at him intently, expectant.
“You, um, want scratchies?” He winces, feeling stupid just saying it out loud. He’s convinced that the moment Techno turns back, they’ll never speak to each other again. Which is a shame, because he likes talking to Techno. He likes sparring with him on the occasion that they cross paths and are both free. He likes just existing in Techno’s space and being a bother when they’re not fighting, too.
Techno furrows his heavy brow at him but closes his eyes. They haven’t had dinner yet and going to bed now would fuck up his sleeping schedule but there seems to be a giant Piglin immobilizing him. He’s not really hungry anyway.
He closes his eyes and buries his fingers in the other’s scruff, scratching in a motion that has become familiar to the both of them.
“You’re just a big softie.” He mumbles, already drifting off, feeling safe and oddly enough, protected.
He needs to go to L’Manburg. His food has depleted sooner than expected with Techno living with him now. And with feeding the Piglin enough food for three people just to keep him from trying to mine through the walls in search of mushrooms. He needs to head to the market but there’s the problem of leaving Techno alone.
He could probably do it, that’s not the issue, he trusts the other not to destroy his house. The problem had occurred when he’d tried to leave the cave and Techno had tackled him to the ground hard enough he sprained his wrist.
He finishes off the healing potion and stares Techno down. The hybrid had settled himself in front of the entrance door, refusing to budge in the slightest. He taps his foot against the ground.
“We need food, Techno. I can’t feed you pork, that’d be wrong.” He elaborates for the nth time but Techno ignores him. He sighs heavily and throws his hands up. “Alright, fine. You’re coming with me, then.” Techno perks up at that, getting to his feet in a swift move.
“Hey! You can’t leave without your armor, come on.” He shoos the other in the bed’s direction where he shoved the other’s Netherite after the first night.
It’s a slow process of putting the pieces back onto the Piglin. All of the straps need to be adjusted by hand and there are still some pieces that are ill-fitting even after. The set clearly hadn’t been made for someone of the hybrid’s current size but he’s not letting the other leave without it in case anyone tries to ambush them on their way.
He’s worked up a sweat by the time they’re done and he stands there huffing as Techno looks put out all dressed up. He snorts at the other’s expression and waves a hand towards the entrance.
“Well, time to head out, I guess.”
He hopes that they won’t encounter anyone along the way. Of course, he’ll have to somehow convince the other to stay out of city bounds as to not rouse suspicion from everyone. He can only hope the hybrid will comply.
Of course, that’s not how things go because things never go according to plan for Dream.
Best-laid plans of mice and men and all that…
“What the actual fuck, Dream? Is that – is this Technoblade?!” George questions loudly, hiding behind his shield as Techno refuses to stop growling at him.
“Yes! I don’t know, okay?!” He pushes back against Techno, stopping the taller form from lunging at George if he thinks the other’s about to overstep. Sheesh, he never knew Techno had beef with George to the point where this animosity is manifesting while the other is in this form, his baser instincts on display. “I have to keep an eye on him so he had to come with me.”
“First of all, no. That’s not what I’m asking. Seeing you two together isn’t all that strange, believe it or not.” George scoffs, lowering the barrier a little. “Second of all, that’s oddly sweet of you, but still no. I’m asking why the fuck is he like that and what are you doing in the city when there’s a warrant out for his arrest?”
He pauses, looking to the side and eyeing the wanted poster there. “I was running out of supplies so I came to the market. Didn’t know about the warrant.”
“And the other thing?” George taps his foot onto the ground impatiently, seemingly still jittery about the low growling.
Dream huffs and shrugs, “Idiot got himself cursed, or something, by a forest witch. Philza is out looking for answers or a cure, whichever he finds first.” He leans back and meets Techno halfway, the other resting the underside of his Piglin head on top of his own, seemingly finally no longer mad at George for whatever.
“That’s rather… unfortunate.” George pushes his goggles up to hold his hair out of his eyes. “And you decide that taking him out on a stroll like a pet was the best idea?”
He shrugs again, throwing his hands up. “I didn’t think that, no. But he refused to let me leave otherwise. I don’t know if he’s, like, scared of being left alone or whatever but, yeah. He had to come along.” He reaches up and scratches under the Piglin’s ear, smiling a little as the hybrid rumbles happily at the action. He’s momentarily distracted by Techno’s happy noises, entranced by how trusting the Piglin is in this form, too busy enjoying the moment to notice George staring with his mouth slightly agape.
He freezes as he’s made aware of the expression and hastily removes his hand from Techno’s scruff but it’s too late, George’s mouth is already stretching into an obnoxious-looking grin.
“Dream,” George purrs, the smarmy expression on his face further accentuated by the wiggling of his eyebrows.
Techno, apparently, dislikes the tone as much as Dream does because the angry growling starts up again. Except this time, Dream can feel it against his back. The vibrations make him shiver a little inside his Netherite armor.
“What?” He demands, half embarrassed and half confused.
“Why, I thought it was him that was a little puppydog but, as it turns out, it’s you. He’s got a firm grip on you and he’s not letting go!” George cackles, his entire frame shaking, armor clinking loudly.
“What?!” He yelps, trying to extract himself from Techno’s hold. Unfortunately, as if he completely understood George’s words, Techno tightens his grip on Dream’s waist, causing him to squeak in surprise.
“You” George points at him, wiggling his finger, “Are whipped. He’s bossing you around, look at you, he’s not letting you take a step further!”
“Fuck you, man!” He screeches, indignant and offended at the mere implication of- Techno grunts as Dream attempts to lunge at George himself, the hands on his waist tugging him back and lifting him off the ground and putting him slightly to the right.
“This proves nothing! Let go of me!” He swats at the hybrid but the other remains unbothered. “Gods!”
“Don’t stop on my account,” George chuckles and Dream wishes Techno would let him get far enough to clock the smiling idiot in the face.
“Just, go away.” He pats the Piglin’s hand, both of which are now on his shoulders, and nods his head in the direction of the market. “I’m done with whatever this is.”
“Oh, come on, Dream. I did actually need to talk to you about something!” George reaches out, making the mistake of getting too close to Dream and Techno reacts immediately.
A large hand swipes in the other’s direction, the back of it meeting the sturdy Netherite breastplate and sending George flying back as if he’s but a mere ragdoll. George yells as he meets the ground with a heavy thud. They descend into silence, both stunned as Techno puffs his chest out proudly, not a single regret to be seen.
Dream’s the first one to break the silence with a mighty wheeze. He starts laughing, bending over with his hands on his knees. His chest constricts at the absurdity of the situation and his voice cracks as he yells. What the actual fuck?
“Dream!” George struggles to get up, his armor and shield weighing him down so he mostly just ends up looking like a disgruntled turtle on its back. “What the fuck? That was so rude!”
“What can I say, stay in your lane?” He gasps out, still shaky from the laughing fit. “What was that, Techno? Poor guy just wanted to talk to me, come on.” He pats the Piglin on the shoulder reprimanding and the taller grunts, turning away from them both almost as if embarrassed.
“You know what? Forget it, I’ll talk to you once you get rid of your guard dog.” George huffs, obviously offended by the treatment. Dream can’t blame him but he just – he can’t figure out why that just happened.
“He’s not,” He chuckles. “Come on, don’t be a dick.”
“Me!?” George gasps. “He just hit me! How am I the dick here?”
“He’s not a guard dog, he’s still Techno.” Dream reaches up and flicks the other’s ear, amused as it twitches at the action.
“I can certainly see that, he’s still just as protective as he usually is. Nothing new there.” George scoffs, dusting himself off.
“When have you ever interacted with Technoblade for long enough to garner that?” He tilts his head, genuinely curious because he certainly hasn’t heard of this before. Well, it’s not really like Techno has to report who he speaks to every time they meet but surely someone would have told him if they –
“Calm down, asshole.” George rolls his eyes, fully annoyed now. “I came by his cabin in the tundra looking for you once, when you went MIA a couple of weeks ago.”
Ah, he remembers that. It had been a rather unfortunate and embarrassing series of events where he came across Techno then had to spend the rest of the day throwing him off his scent as the Piglin tried to follow him home after repeatedly calling him homeless and making fun of him. It was – a little mortifying, especially considering Techno had that weird effect on him, that weird thing where his words can make or ruin Dream’s day, where he can either make dream wheeze and cackle like a madman or riled up and angry in a matter of seconds.
“What did you need to talk to me about?” He asks instead of acknowledging whatever George is implying.
“There was an altercation at the Court but that’s irrelevant now.” George waves him away.
“Wait, why would Techno know where I was?” He crosses his arms over his chest, genuinely puzzled by the other’s thought process.
“Well, you see, Dream, there’s this thing where, um. Lately.” George begins in a mocking tone, sarcasm dripping from it. “Where, um. You come to this place only when you need food or you want to spar with Techno because you need the main Nether hub access. You’re not as subtle.”
“What?! That’s preposterous!” He protests, cheeks heating. “That’s not true!”
“Oh, yeah? When’s the last time you were here for me or Sapnap or Bad?”
Silence. It’s almost deafening. Mostly because George is somehow, inexplicably, correct. It’s been ages since Dream voluntarily spent time in L’Manburg or the Badlands or the Greater SMP area. Sure he drops by for a minute or two to chat with the residents or scare some wrongdoer straight but it's been ages since he stuck around.
“That’s not true! I was here the other week!” He tries to protest but it’s moot point.
“That was two months ago. You came by because you needed concrete. Sapnap had to physically engage you in a fight to keep you around and Bad had to bribe you with food to stay the night.” George pouts, looking put out and sad with his puppy dog eyes all round and watery.
“Well, you know, I’m a lone wolf.”
“You’re a fool who’s overeager for the approval of another idiot. I get it, Techno’s cool and all, and we all know he’s handsome and tall and strong-” George clears his throat. “My point is, you’re stupid and you need to be better to your friends. And not just the guy you’re in lov-”
“That’s enough of that!” He jolts forward, slapping his hand over George’s mouth. “Not another word out of you, please.” It’s phrased as a plea but his tone is commanding, causing George to roll his eyes again.
It’s not true. He’s not – there’s no way. He just like spending his time with Techno sometimes. He likes to spar with him and he likes learning from the Piglin that seems to know so much and loves to read in his free time. Because Techno is old, older than any of them will ever know, and he’s accumulated knowledge and experience – and knowledge is power, and Dream likes to hold every ounce of it that he can greedily and close to his chest. And Techno has so much of it. It attracts Dream like a moth to a flame every time he acknowledges it, without fail. He relishes in the challenge, in trying to surpass the other, relishes in the competition and tension between them every time they meet to fight.
Gods, maybe he was fucking whipped.
He squirms under George’s scrutiny and Techno perks up, shuffling closer to him and burying his snout under his jaw again. Dream is powerless to stop him from doing so and he ends up standing there like an idiot while the Piglin sniffs at him with a little pleased-sounding rumble leaving his chest.
“What – what is he doing?” George hushes, no longer looking smug just perplexed.
“I don’t know. He does this sometimes. Like, obviously not when he’s not cursed, but in the last three days. He’s been doing it throughout the day.” He shrugs, biting back a giggle as the huffs of air meet his skin.
“Not going to lie, that’s kind-of weird.” George wrinkles his nose at them.
“Like I don’t know,” He grunts. “This whole situation is so fucking weird. But I wasn’t going to just leave him on his own or trailing after Philza.” He looks up at the Piglin who froze a little at the mention of his friend. “I mean, he sniffed his way all the way to where my actual house is so. You know, a little too late to kick him out now.”
“Wait, you’re telling me he knows where you live?” George gapes, looking indignant and genuinely pissed off now.
“It’s not like I lead him there!” He protests, waving his hands in front of himself in a hurry. God, if George takes offence to this, he’ll never hear the end of it.
“He knows where you live and none of your actual friends do?! That’s fucked, man.” George crosses his arms over his chest, letting the shield he’d been holding fall dramatically to the ground.
“Stop being a baby, it’s not even that big of a deal.” He rolls his eyes.
“Oh, what? Next thing you’re gonna be telling me is that he’s seen you with your mask off.”
Dream freezes awkwardly before he can stop his own body from jolting at the words. “Um.”
“Dream!” George gawks. “That’s really unfair!”
He should stop talking, he should shut the fuck up. He really should. But he’s embarrassed and his brain and mouth work as a quick duo to override his filter and he ends up shrugging awkwardly. “It was an accident! We fell asleep and it got knocked off during the night and then in the morning-”
“You slept with him?! When he’s a PIGMAN?!” George shrieks in shock, his entire body tensed as if he’s ready to throttle Dream.
“NO! What the fuck?! No! We slept in the same bed because he wouldn’t let go! I would NEVER! What the hell, man?!” He probably shouldn’t tell George about the whole him being pinned against any flat surface available at all times of day, whenever Techno sees fit, thing then, huh? He looks over at Techno, takes in his large, human-like stature, the whites of his eyes and red irises, and his distinctly hog-like head and quickly looks away.
“Dream!” George yells again, aghast.
“No, shut up!” He shakes himself out of it. Bad, bad brain. “I’m done talking about this, we’re going to the market and I gotta figure out a way to keep him out of sight.”
“Invis pots?” George offers and Dream squints.
“I don’t think that’d stop him from knocking into people.” He frowns at the Piglin hybrid who’s trying to drape his cape over his shoulders unsuccessfully. He swats him away and unbuckles the cape from around Techno’s neck. He wraps it around himself so the other will stop bothering him.
“This is just getting weirder and weirder. I’m out.” George picks his shield up and turns around, promptly leaving with a swish of his cape.
“Whatever,” He huffs. “Come on, you bastard. Let’s just get the stuff we need and leave.”
Everyone gawks.
How could they not when Techno is looming over everyone, sticking out like a sore thumb, an overly-large Piglin out of the Nether. Dream has to continually explain to everyone that no, he’s not going to eat anybody nor is he going to attack them for not wearing gold. Techno is well behaved and only growls at people when they get too close to them. He picks up what he needs and makes Techno carry the groceries in a satchel that is now tied around his waist.
He’s trying to make Techno walk past the L’Manburg property line when he feels a presence at their back. He’s trying so hard to shove the other past the shitty propaganda and the giant wanted posters but Techno just stares longingly into the distance. Something’s here, something Dream can’t see nor hear but it’s certainly captured Techno’s attention.
“Uh, um, Dream? What’cha got there?” Quackity’s voice inquires and Dream stiffens.
He’s heard of Quackity’s butcher army that’s on the hunt for Techno. He knows they want him dead for his transgressions against the L’Manburg people. He knows and he was trying so hard to avoid anyone they know but the other’s so very stubborn.
“Glass.” He shows the other the panes he’s been carrying. Hoping the other will ignore the Piglin and vice versa.
“I’m actually asking about the Piglin carrying your… groceries?” Quackity tilts his head, crossing his arms over his chest. He doesn’t look outright hostile but that must be because he hasn’t recognized Techno yet. Maybe he can salvage this.
“Oh, uh. Yeah, he sort of followed me from the Nether so I employed him. Thought he might as well make himself useful, you know.” He shrugs, not really confident in his lie but thankful his mask covers the shaky eyes darting left that would give him away.
“That’s – unconventional. Hm.” Quackity takes a step towards them, stepping on some stones and promptly making Techno aware of him. “Why’s he staring at where Ghostbur usually chills?”
Techno whirrs around, a snarl on his face as he bares his teeth at Quackity, making him jump and let out a shrill scream.
“What the fuck, man!?” Quackity throws his hands up as if that would protect him from a feral Piglin attack.
“Best not to get too close.” He chuckles, privately pleased that Techno is still overprotective.
“Well!” Quackity protests. “You’re standing right next to it!”
“Yeah, but he seems attached to me. I don’t know about other people.” He pats the Piglin’s flank and Techno shakes out the longer mane on his neck like a horse would.
Quackity squints now, eyes darting from the red cape draped over Dream and to the Netherite armor adorning Techno’s person, suspicion clear in his gaze. “He seems almost familiar.”
“I don’t know, you see one Piglin Brute, you’ve seen them all. I mean, how much could one Pigman differ from another?” He subtly tries to push Techno into walking but the other’s still not budging.
“I’m not sure about that…” Quackity trails off, still staring at Techno intently and Dream thanks whatever foresight Philza had to take away all of Techno’s weapons because the Obliterator is certainly iconic around these parts.
“Wow, would you look at that. Time to go.” He chirps and takes a running start, jumping off the cliff of old L’Manburg and into the water, hoping Techno follows.
He dives for a bit until he finds the entrance to the sewers they often use to traverse the land. In retrospect, they should have gone there in the first place. Hindsight 20/20 and all that.
He surfaces on an outcropping and clambers his way into the tunnels, hating that he’s now wet but preferring that to talking to Quackity. He waits a couple of minutes and Techno bursts out of the water after him, looking frantic and worried.
“Hey, hey. It’s fine. You’re okay.” He wheezes as the other pushes him against the wall, nose sniffing at him, possibly looking for injuries. “I’m okay, too. Come on.”
Techno huffs once he’s satisfied and steps back. He then promptly shakes out his fur and sends droplets flying about like a dog. Dream snorts at his antics and then takes a moment to orient himself in space. The nearest sign is incomprehensible, the chicken scratch handwriting definitely belonging to Tommy. He guesses they’re somewhere under Ranboo’s house or in that general area.
“Come on, we can surface by the honey farm.” He starts walking in the direction they need to go in but Techno goes the other way. He sighs and follows the hybrid, wondering where he’s heading.
They come to a stop just outside a carved out little area and the resident ghost sitting there, talking to himself. Techno stares at Ghostbur and something inside of Dream’s chest pangs with a distinct sense of sadness. They’ve all been through a lot, he’s glad they’ve gone peaceful – for the most part. The ghost doesn’t seem to be aware of them and Techno just keeps still. When Dream looks at him, he’s staring at something above Ghostbur as the dead man giggles.
“Oh, Technoblade?” Ghostbur tilts his head and finally looks at them. “Technoblade! Buddy! You look a little different.” The ghost floats over to them and Techno plops down to sit on the wet ground. “You’re a lot fluffier. Oh, hi, Dream.” The ghost smiles at him, grin blinding. He doesn’t know if there was ever a time Wilbur smiled at him like that and he wasn’t planning to start shit when he was alive.
“Hey, man. Who’re you talking to?” He questions, leaning on to Techno.
“Oh, you wouldn’t know her. Don’t worry.” Ghostbur waves him off then turns back to the Piglin. “Oh,” The ghosts face softens into something fond.
Dream steps away to see what the ghost sees and Techno has his eyes closed, head tilted up as if somebody’s cradling it in their hands. Techno’s form relaxes almost entirely and when he looks at the ghostly form of Wilbur, there are blue tears sliding down his face.
“What’s um, what’s happening?” He hushes, genuinely confused.
“He hasn’t seen her in a long time. This is a special moment.” Ghostbur sniffles, smiling at whatever being is currently making Techno behave like a housecat.
He sits himself down a little ways away and watches everything unfold. Techno rumbles deep in his chest and Ghostbur settles against him, whispering something and crooning. It’s sweet but he feels like he’s intruding, he feels like he’s somehow somewhere he’s not supposed to be. He thinks that perhaps Techno would be crying if he was human at the moment.
At a certain point Ghostbur starts singing and Dream leans back against the wall, relaxing at the voice bouncing around the empty cavern they’re in, the sound or running water nearby lulling him into an almost meditative state. It’s the most relaxed he’s been in a long while and he can make an educated guess and say Techno feels the same.
It’s a couple of hours later that he wakes up to a gentle breeze caressing his face - his mask has been slipped off. He doesn’t remember falling asleep but when he blinks his eyes open, a heavy head is lying in his lap and there’s no one there even though he now discerns the breeze as cold hands on his skin. He can’t see anyone else in the vicinity and he can’t even hear anything other than the rushing water and Techno’s soft snores – nobody else should have seen his face. He shakes the feeling of hands off and gently runs his hands through the Piglin’s fur.
“Hey, wake up, Bacon. Time to head home.” He chuckles as Techno makes a disgruntled sound and buries his snout into his armpit, trying to hide from the faint light coming from the glowstone nearby. “Come on, I bet you’re hungry.”
Techno perks up at the mention of food and lifts the upper half of his body up until they’re eye to eye. Techno stares at him and it’s even more intense than when the hybrid does it usually due to the heightened shade of red that they are now. Slowly, the Piglin closes in on him, pressing their foreheads together.
“Oh,” He sucks in a sharp breath. “You alright there, bud?” He questions uneasily, wondering what’s gotten into the other.
Techno nods against his forehead, showing he’s fully cognizant and that he understands what’s happening and that’s even weirder. Dream can’t imagine the more human version of Techno doing this to him and if he tried he might just combust from embarrassment.
The Piglin pulls back a couple of moments later and stands, dragging Dream up with him. He squeaks a little as the Piglin’s clawed hands settle onto his hips but calms down and straightens out his clothes and armor.
“Right, then, let’s get back.” He puts his mask back on and starts heading out.
For the third night in a row, they end up cuddled together in bed – or, well, Dream ends up being cocooned in Techno’s warmth, maskless and unsure of how he feels about their situation.
He wakes up to a pounding on the door; he wakes up with Techno’s head in the crook of his neck again and feels only a little bad when he has to push the other away.
“Come on, someone’s at the door. And by someone I mean it’s probably Philza.” He wiggles out of the other’s hold and puts his mask back on, not really caring he’s still in his sleep pants.
He opens the door and finds Phil shaking out his wings there, a light drizzle in the air.
“Hi, mate.” The man grins, his hands offering to Dream a vial.
He looks at it blearily, still half-asleep. “Hey, man. Good news?” He accepts the vial and swishes the liquid inside in circles, watching it shimmer.
“This should be it, but I’m not a hundred-percent sure.” Phil takes off his hat as he steps in, shaking it off in the hallway to get some of the water off. “The witch didn’t actually know what happened so we couldn’t find anything that would definitely work.”
“Alright, let me just get him out of bed.” He jogs over to where the Piglin is sleeping, kind-of looking forward to having his – mostly human – techno back.
“Techno, buddy, come on. I’ve got something for you to take.” He coaxes gently, running his hand through the mane-like fur on the back of the other’s neck. “Up and at ‘em.”
Techno huffs but rolls over, eyeing Dream warily and sniffing at the vial. Dream offers it up and Techno opens his mouth, fully trusting Dream to do whatever he needs to. The level of trust makes his insides warm and he wants to coo or maybe scratch the underside of the other’s head but he remains calm and pours the contents of the vial inside the other’s mouth instead.
“And now we wait?” He turns back to Philza, ignoring how the winged man is looking at them and ignoring how the Piglin is trying to tug him back to bed in order to use as a body pillow.
“Should either work in a couple of minutes or hours, it’s a wide time frame, I’m afraid.” Philza shrugs but his eyes remain on the general area of Dream’s neck.
“It’s fine, guess we’ll see by the evening. You want any tea or breakfast, we went to the market yesterday to stock up on food.” He stretches, watching carefully as Philza’s eyes track him.
“You went to L’Manburg? Have you seen Ghostbur by any chance?” The other follows him to the kitchen area. “I’ll have some tea.”
“We did actually. Speaking of, something weird happened, um. Ghostbur was talking to someone? Something? And I’ve seen him do that and it’s sort-of a given these days, but then – Techno seemed to be able to see whoever… you alright, man?” He stops talking, instead he becomes concerned with the state of the other’s wings: they’re puffed up and have two additional ones that have sprouted out down below.
“He could see Her?” Phil’s voice is breathy and a little choked up, and when Dream looks closer his eyes are watery.
“Her?” He questions but receives no response.
“Techno,” Phil approaches the bed, holding a hand out for the other to sniff at it before resting his head on top of the other’s open palm. “You saw Her? Did she speak to you?”
A couple of moments of silence and then the Piglin nods, finally comprehending the question and answering it.
“It’s been so long,” Phil grins, a single tear making it down his face. “I, ah, apologies, Dream. This is just a bit of… family drama, you could say.”
“Um, that’s fine, just… you know, are you guys okay?” He asks again just to make sure nothing is wrong.
“Yes, yes. Her, um, my wife, the Goddess of Death. The last time he saw her was years ago.” Phil chuckles weakly, wiping at his face and leaning down to press his forehead against the Piglin’s. “She misses him but she understands how important not dying is to him and that staying ahead of the demon’s he’s trying to outrun takes priority.”
Dream’s jaw drops a little at the casual way Philza has just relayed to him that he’s married to the Goddess of Death. “There’s a lot I don’t know about you two, huh?” He shakes his head as Phil laughs faintly.
“Not many people know anything at all about us. You’re one of the few that knows even this much. And…” Phil eyes him with a fond smile that takes Dream aback some. “Maybe you’ll get to learn more eventually.”
“Well, I know better than to pry.” He shrugs, wondering what that could mean.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to take that tea another time, I have somewhere to be.” Philza grins and shakes out his wings. “Call out to the crows if anything changes with Techno and they’ll find me.”
“The crows, of course.” He raises his eyebrow, not really surprised at this new bit of information considering the amount of birds always following the two.
“I’ll see you later, Dream!” In a flurry of black feathers Philza leaves his cave dwelling before he can even say a proper goodbye.
“Um, that was abrupt.” He shrugs and watches as Techno finally drags his heavy body out of bed, walking past Dream and bumping their bodies together before settling at the table, ready for breakfast.
“Yesterday was big for you, huh, bud?” He scratches under Techno’s chin and the Piglin rumbles, pleased at the attention. “Guess I better get you food, then.”
Nothing happens to Techno the entire day and they go about their schedule as they previously have. Dream cooks, does some chores, tries to work out and do some sword work but get interrupted by Techno and ends up trying to brawl the Piglin – losing horribly in the end.
It is at sunset that it happens.
He’s trying to read a book to Techno, something he’d picked up months ago at the market but never got around to starting when the Piglin bolts upright, getting to his feet and pacing in a tight circle.
Dream, who’s found himself inexplicably draped in the other’s red cape again, watches in horror as the other’s body begins morphing. The snapping of bones, the shedding of hair and whatever the fuck is going on with the other’s skin – it’s all a gruesome sight but he can’t look away.
After many excruciating moments and a roar of pain that sends Dream’s teeth rattling inside his mouth and his blood freezing, Techno drops to the ground. He rushes towards the prone figure and turns him onto his back, checking the other’s now-human features over and breathing a sigh of relief when there’s nothing outwardly wrong with the hybrid. He’s back to being his tall, long-haired, ripped self and Dream couldn’t be happier.
“Oh, thank fuck.” He slaps the other’s cheek lightly. “Wake up, dickhead.”
Fingers grip his wrist before his palm can connect with the other’s face a second time. The other’s eyes blink open but they’re that same heightened red as before. But more importantly, there’s very little recognition in them – there’s very little human in them.
“Techno, bud. You’re squeezing me kinda hard.” He swallows dryly, certain that the other’s fingers are going to leave a couple of nice bruises on his skin. The hybrid looks at where he has his fingers wrapped around Dream’s wrist and flexes his hand, making Dream suck in a sharp breath at the creaking of his own bones. Techno could snap him like a fucking twig and never has he been more aware of this than now.
Techno tugs, making Dream’s knees buckle and ending with him straddling the Piglin’s waist.
“Hey, uh. What’s up?” He croaks awkwardly, extra aware of all the places his body is touching the hybrid’s. It makes something hot coil in the pit of his stomach and unfortunately he knows exactly what it is.
The hybrid’s other hand reaches up and with a sharp claw, severs the strap of Dream’s mask. The porcelain clatters to the floor and he fights the urge to turn away. Techno has already seen his face, there’s no need for secrecy, but it’s a reflex at this point. The claw hovers around his face before pressing against the spot where his dimple appears when he smiles.
“You’re still not here with me, huh?” He gently touches the other’s jawline with his free hand, running his nails lightly against the smooth skin and watching as Techno’s eyes flutter closed. “Oh.” He breathes out heavily, relaxing a little as Techno’s hold on him loosens. “Yeah, you’re still just a housecat.”
This is good. This is okay.
No, this is so much worse than when other was full Piglin. At least when the other was in his Piglin form Dream could ignore how unfairly attractive Techno usually is. George was right, he hates to admit it. He’s gotten to be a professional at ignoring how attracted he is to Techno; for his sake, and the sake of their friendship/rivalry, he’s wilfully ignorant to the fact. But now, that he’s practically seated in the other’s lap, it’s almost impossible to be so obtuse. He reels his hormones back in because Techno still isn’t all there, he’s still mostly feral and running on instinct, he can’t let himself think about him like that right now.
The hybrid pushes up until he’s sitting with Dream still straddling him. And now they’re face to face. Which is somehow even worse. The other’s got a mighty frown marring his scared face, tugging his mouth down. He seems confused about something, but what it is, he can’t possibly know. Techno’s an enigma when he’s himself; like this, the Piglin hybrid is unpredictable at best.
“What’s up, Bacon?” He smiles, hoping to ease the other somehow and it works – at least he thinks it did. Because Techno’s frown eases and a pout replaces it, something almost fond in his eyes now. The Piglin tips forward, nudging his nose against Dream’s pulse point. His pulse coincidentally jumps at the contact and he flushes. He doesn’t have his mask to hide behind this time but Techno doesn’t seem to be paying attention.
“It’s getting pretty late, aren’t you tired?” He hushes, afraid of speaking too loudly. “Wanna go to sleep?” He offers, hoping it’ll be enough to get him out of this situation.
A miscalculation on his part, really. Because Techno just stands up with him in his arms and Dream has no other choice than to let the hybrid carry him to bed, wrapping his legs around the man’s waist to feel more secure.
“Not what I had in mind, but, um.” The hybrid sets him at the edge of the bed and stands up, still looming over him menacingly. He swallows as the other grips his face with a wide hand. It’s a situation not unlike the one from the first day except there’s no armor for Dream to take off. Except this time, he can recognize the heat in the other’s eyes. He surges up and out of the other’s grip.
“I have to – to go tell the crows!” He darts around the other’s tall figure, fast enough to avoid the hands reaching for him again and runs for the door. He manages to get out of the cave where he promptly collapses against the entrance, breathing heavily as his heart rabbits inside his chest – and not only because of the running.
“Fuck, okay.” He takes a deep, calming breath to center himself. “Okay. Calm. Calm.” He stands up and dusts himself off, looking out into the forest at the bottom of his mountain.
“Hey, um, crows!” He calls, feeling incredibly stupid. “Philza’s crows?” He yells and receives the sounds of commotion back as a murder of crows flies out of the forest and starts circling him. “Hi, guys, uh. Can you go tell Phil that Techno transformed back but he’s, um, still feral?”
A chorus of caws meets his ears and the crows form a sort of bird… made out of birds (?) and fly away in the direction of L’Manburg. He cringes a little at the thought of anyone seeing him talking to birds and prepares to go back inside – where Techno, who’s very humanlike now, is awaiting for him.
He creeps back into the cave, taking care not to let the door slam shut as he usually would. With skillfully silent footsteps he makes his way down the long hallway. He doesn’t know why he’s sneaking around, it’s his fucking house, but the thought of Techno jumping him and manhandling him against the nearest surface for cuddles or whatever the other is accosting him for. And he says accosting, but he doesn’t really – well. It’s a complicated situation, isn’t it? Now that he’s faced with a mostly-human Techno, with George’s words echoing around in the back of his head, he can’t help but feeling like he’s taking advantage of the other’s strange affection to fuel his own infatuation. Even if he’s trying to keep their interactions as innocent as possible, Techno seems to be implying a lot more with his unregulated touches and actions than whatever’s on the surface.
Techno is – he’s shirtless when Dream finally enters the cavern. He falters, heart slamming against his ribcage as he takes in the myriad of scars littering the other’s skin. There’s so many of them. A lot of them overlap, some are old enough to almost blend into the other’s pale skin and some are still a little red. There are places where the flesh is missing, creating an interesting relief that Dream would like to run his fingers along. He tries valiantly to calm down his rapidly beating heart and approaches the other.
“Techno, bud? Are you okay, where’s your shirt?” He flinches as the other whirls around to face him, still so fucking intense in all of his movements.
“You getting ready for sleep?” He ventures when Techno makes no noise to show he’s comprehended what Dream asked him.
The hybrid squints at him, leaning down until they’re almost nose-to-nose and Dream swallows heavily. The hybrid nudges him with his nose and huffs and then, in an absolutely unhinged motion that Dream will continue to think about for months, grabs him by the hips to steady him and bites the crook of his neck.
Dream freezes under the sharp teeth making indentations in his skin, bruising it easily. He freezes as heat coils in his gut and makes him queasy, makes his knees weak. His breath stutters out of him shakily, his eyes rolling into the back of his head slightly. He flutters all over as Techno keeps holding on to him, the warmth he’s feeling overwhelming all of his senses. Has he been touch starved this entire time, is that what this is? He relaxes against his better judgment, lets Techno hold him and do whatever he pleases with his loose form. He sighs deeply, feeling content for a moment before Techno releases the bite and licks over the wound. He comes to his senses as the tongue makes its way upwards and realizes that this is absolutely not something that should be happening.
He dashes away from the other, putting distance between them and panting, feeling some kind of way about the situation. “No!” He places a hand out to stop Techno from coming closer. “We are absolutely not doing this! You need to keep it in your pants, mister, whatever that was! None of that!”
Techno has the audacity to pout at him, looking sweet and downtrodden, unbearably sad even.
“No.” He puts his foot down. “Now put your shirt back on and we’re going to sleep.” He crosses his arms after pointing to the shirt that’s on the floor by the bed.
Techno looks at it, grimaces, and then kicks off his boots before getting into bed.
He pinches the bridge of his nose and sigh; well, it’s something. It’s a step. But now he has to either risk the other’s ire by trying to sleep on the couch or risk his own sanity by subjecting himself to shirtless cuddles.
“I’m guessing you’re not – you’re not going to let me sleep on the couch, huh?” He observes the other and watches him wiggle around in bed before reaching a hand out for him.
“Yeah, yeah.” He’s thankful that he chose today out of all the days to stay in his sleep clothes because he can’t imagine stripping while those intense eyes stare at him unblinkingly.
Techno seems calm, though. He has been this entire time. Usually, the hybrid would either talk constantly and often under his breath and he would twitch around at random times. He’s somewhat paranoid, Dream knows this. Knows the hybrid is always on the lookout for people trying to hunt him down and with a price on his head, he understands the need to do so. But he seems almost settled now, relaxed even, unburdened by whatever pressure is constantly on him. Not a thought behind those red eyes.
“You just love staring at me, huh?” He takes the opportunity to stare back. His gaze trails along the scar that bisects the other’s brow and drags down the right side of his face. There’s smaller pockmarked areas of his face as well, almost as if he’d gotten too close to sizzling oil or lava. The bridge of his nose is crooked like it got broken and then healed wrong, a thin scar there as well. There’s stubble on his chin but it’s dark like his eyebrows, contrasting the pink hair. There’s been times where he was this close to Techno but it was always in the heat of the battle or during serious spars.
He sighs and Techno’s eyes flutter closed, hands reaching under the covers and dragging him closer into his warm chest. He closes his eyes as well, resigned to the situation and hoping Philza comes up with a solution eventually.
“I know I said I didn’t want our rivalry to go down this path but this is rather nice.”
His eyes snap open, suddenly aware of an abundance of things all at once: he’s sleeping on someone’s chest, cheek pressed to the skin, there’s an arm squeezing his middle and a steady heartbeat echoing around in his head. There’s a hand in his hair, softly running through his locks. His leg is thrown over a hip. The voice that rumbled him awake clearly belongs to Techno.
“Oh my fucking gods.” He tries to scramble away from the other but Techno has an iron grip on his waist and a vicious grin on his face. This isn’t good.
“Aw, what’s wrong, Dream? You were all comfy and cuddly just yesterday! Don’t tell me you don’t want snuggles now!” The hybrid croons and Dream mourns the loss of a silent Techno that wouldn’t do this to him.
“Yeah and you – you were!” He trails off, eyes refusing to meet the now again intelligent rubies. “You were full Piglin! And stubborn! And…” He quiets a little with a pout. “Very strong.”
“I’m always very strong.” Techno replies automatically but croons at Dream.
“How much, uh, do you remem- would you let me get up, please? How much do you remember?” He hisses as Techno scrapes his nails along his scalp.
“Hm,” The other pretends to think it over. “No.”
“You fucker, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re enjoying this.” He retaliates by flicking one of Techno’s pointy ears.
“I remember most of it.” Techno hums, letting his head drop back onto the pillow, hands idly tracing lines along any part of Dream they can get to like he has the right to make him putty in his hold.
“I don’t think – I’ve never told you about the voices, I suppose, but it was quiet. It was finally blessedly quiet inside my head and it was miserable.” Techno sighs with a rueful smile.
“Voices?” He inquires, always starving for new information about the other.
“Yes, the ones in my head. I hear them all the time. They’re usually unhelpful and very opinionated, not to mention critical of everything I do.” The hybrid rolls his eyes. “But they’re there, they’re mine and I’m theirs.”
“There’s so much I don’t know about you guys,” He repeats what he’d said to Philza last time.
“They’re – they’re souls I’ve taken. From before. A lot of them are, at least. Some were gifted to me. This potion… whatever its intended effect was, it was not what it did to me.” Techno sniffles and Dream looks up to see an indignant frown on his face. “It reverted me back to the way I was before. Before Philza and before Her, back when it was just me and the Blood God. Before proper sentience, or, well… more instincts for certain.” The hybrid muses, the hand in his hair twirling wavy strands through his fingers, relaxing Dream despite the intense topic. “I always had more autonomy than the average Piglin due to the hybrid status but the – the understanding was granted to me in the form of the Voices. I learned from them as I reaped them, ran from them whenever they got too close to the surface, was promised retribution if I ever died. Fire and brimstone, all that Jazz.”
He sucks in a breath, hissing lightly as the new information makes its home inside his head, unravelling the mystery of Techno. And the other is just giving him all of this willingly. Something’s wrong here.
He wants to ask thousands of questions, poke and prod until he knows the other inside and out but he settles on only one for now. The most pressing issue.
“Why are you telling me all of this?” It comes out more affronted than he meant and he quickly shuffles until his chin’s resting on the other’s chest instead of his cheek, looking straight at the other. “I mean, I appreciate it. I – it’s good to know more about you, I guess. But you’ve always been so tightlipped about your past that I… it’s weird.”
Techno seems distracted for a moment, none of his pre-transformation jitteriness anywhere to be seen, none of the focus he used to hold. It feels purposeful.
“Because I’ve learned something very interesting in the last couple of days.” The eyes zero back in on his own and he freezes, his own hands feeling like led where they’re crossed under his chin, palms flat against the other’s scarred skin.
“Something you didn’t know? I’m shocked.” He chuckles to try and dispel the tense atmosphere that’s suddenly descended upon them.
“Did you know that sometimes, you smell like green apples?” Techno asks suddenly, a gentle smile on his lips instead of the previous frown. “It’s so sharp and poignant and then other times, it’s caramel apples.”
“You – you and your fucking sniffing, Prime.” He looks away, embarrassed at being analyzed so blatantly. “What did you learn?”
“I learned to differentiate when those scents occur.” Techno says cryptically. “The plus side to being more Piglin than man is that I had no reservations I usually do. And any time I wanted to pin you somewhere, I just did.”
“You – uh. Certainly did… just that.” He feels the heat in his cheeks and Techno closes his eyes, nostrils flaring. The hand in his hair tightens and Dream’s pulse jumps, making the other look at him once again.
“Mm, caramel.” The other chuckles. The other hand moves from his back to his neck and fingers press into the teeth marks there. “Got you good, huh?”
“You’re so weird.” He grimaces, unsure of where they stand and why is techno prolonging his torture like this.
“I should really be offended you treated me like a housecat but these were some of the most relaxing days I’ve had in recent history. I’m not even a little sorry this happened. And, well, I’m also glad you really do have a house.”
“I fucking told you.” He grumbles.
“Yeah, and it’s in the middle of nowhere! Gods above, Dream, it took me a day to get here that first night.” Techno groans loudly, an exaggerated sound.
“Why did you come here in the first place, anyway?”
“I followed the scent of green apples. Seemed like the right thing to do at the time, seemed like a safe scent. Phil was familiar, sure, but he’s busy with his own buddies and with my head being so empty, I needed… constant attention? I guess? I don’t know. It was weird.” The other explains, ears flicking a little.
“You’re dumb,” He snorts. “Are they back now, the Voices?”
“Yes, they’re also very happy you’re here. They’ve missed you.” The other admits easily and Dream would rather die than do the same out loud even if it’s true.
“We saw each other like a week before this whole thing happened.” He snorts and Techno’s hand moves to cup his cheek.
Dream’s entire world shrinks down to revolve around that touch and how gentle it is. He’s afraid to blink, afraid that if he does, it’ll stop being real.
“We always miss you when you’re gone, Dream.” Techno says easily, an affectionate grin stretching his mouth.
“Techno.” He breathes out finally, hadn’t even realized that he’d stopped breathing, too.
“The difference between the scents is that anytime you’re, hm, excited is the times you smell like caramel apples.” Techno purrs and Dream, once again, becomes aware of the intimate position they’re in. Excited? Does Techno mean- ?
“Wait, um It’s not-”
“Shush, idiot. I wasn’t done talking.” He hand on his face pinches his cheek. “You’ve taken such good care of me, Dream. You fed me and kept me decent and you let me toss you around all I wanted. You even…” Techno’s smile turns sad for a moment. “You helped me see Her again. Even if unintentionally. I think it’s time I take care of you, if you’d be up for that?” Techno offers – Techno is offering him something and Dream doesn’t dare put his own ideas onto the empty plate.
“Yes?” He squeaks, embarrassed.
“You don’t sound sure.” Techno raises an eyebrow at him.
“I’m just not sure what you’re offering, I guess.” He feels like an idiot, he feels out of depth and feels like a teenager in comparison to Techno’s cool and collected demeanor. He didn’t know the other was so fucking suave.
“I’m offering myself to you, Dream. My devotion, care, worship, anything you want.”
It’s stated so bluntly that it almost gives Dream whiplash. He scampers up until he’s kneeling by the other’s side, looking him dead in the eye. “You what?”
“Are you this dense with everyone or am I the exception?” Techno sits up a little, the sheet slipping down to his waist, drawing Dream’s eyes downwards for a moment.
“What?”
“Dream, man, you’re making this very difficult by being purposefully obtuse. You like me, no? You have feelings for me?” Techno’s hands make it back to his cheeks.
"I-" He tries to protest but every sound dies on his lips under Techno's scrutiny.
"It's alright, Dream." The other coos sweetly. "If you can't admit it at the moment, it's fine. But know that I feel the same and would like to see where this thing leads the two of us together."
Dream's stumped. In all of his months spent pining over the other, he never expected it to be requited. "Techno, what? Since when? Wh-" He wants to say more but words fail him at the moment.
"You've always been someone I admired, Dream. You're so strong and so caring when you want to be. Even if it weren't for the Voices and my instincts telling me you're perfect, I would be able to see it. You're amazing and I love fighting alongside you, against you, anywhere in your vicinity." Techno takes in a long drag of air again and grins sharply. "You make my life so much more interesting and if you know anything about Piglins is that they appreciate all of these traits in their partners. Very much so."
He's sure he's smelling like a whole candy store right about now with the praise washing over him in waves, making him warm.
"You never said anything."
"I don't know, you seemed busy. Preoccupied with other things and other... People. I didn't want to intrude." Techno's fingers go back to tracing the bite mark and something feral sparks in his eyes again, a look Dream is very familiar with by now.
"And then I'm the dumb one. Didn't you hear George? I barely see them anymore, all I'm ever there for is you." He fiddles with the covers idly, wondering if they're hurtling towards something that will destroy both of them or make them blossom, make them bloom.
"Remind me to apologize and thank him, I was out of line." Techno clears his throat, looking a little uncomfortable for the first time since this conversation had started.
"You - you were jealous, weren't you?" Something curls inside him, pleased more than it should be at the notion.
"Yeah. A baseless thought, really. It's just the - the instincts. Very protective. You know how it is."
"Sure, buddy." He grins and Techno rolls his eyes.
"You gonna kiss me or what, Dre?" Techno taunts and Dream's entire body buzzes as he leans forward to oblige.
The kiss is slow, cautious, both of them trying to figure out what feels the best. It's comfortable and slow until Techno presses on the bruise and pries Dream's mouth open on the gasp that he releases. Then it's as wild and untamed as Techno himself and Dream relishes in finally being allowed to enjoy being pinned under the other and being manhandled like he weighed nothing at all.
They don't leave the bed until the afternoon. Around two p.m. Dream gets hungry and remembers to go let the crows know about the situation so he does that and when he comes back Techno is staring at his hands again, popping his knuckles.
"What's wrong?" He asks, approaching the other and burying his hands in the other's hair. Their eyes meet and Techno's gaze holds him captive.
"I can't believe you would have slept with me even if I was mostly pig."
"You fucking dickhead!"
"That's true love, baby."
"Shut the fuck up!" |
With a yelp, you leapt backward, putting some desperate space between you and the monster. Your heart was thundering in your chest and you could already feel the return of adrenaline to your system. You had thought you had seen the last of him when you had collected those disgusting, slimy ink hearts for Angel.
It wouldn’t be the first time that this studio had an unpleasant surprise hidden just for you.
Without further warning, the Projectionist leaped forward at you, his hand still outstretched to grab you. Lucky for you, the pile of desks was still the perfect shield. His hips and waist cracked against the hard surface of one of the desks, making him off balance. With a small, distorted howl, the rest of the Projectionist’s body fell on the surface of the desk, landing with a small splat. A few trickles of ink dripped from his body, slowly running off the edge. His light was still on though. So he was down, but not out. Already he was raising his body, ink repairing the small scratches, preparing to climb over the desks to get to you.
This may be your one and only chance.
Scrambling backward to your feet, your ankle once again beginning to groan in protest, you ran. Ignoring the loud, desperate scream, one that could only come from something inhuman, you continued on. You ran straight down the way you came, not bothering with the tunnel any longer. At least you knew this way, knew where the cut outs were, knew where to avoid. And Bendy had headed in the opposite way so you didn’t have to worry about him. He would be busy for a while.
Despite your ankle, you were moving at a quick pace. Skidding around corners and slipping through ink, you continued on. Every step counted. Every step meant more distance between you and it. The softened boards quieted your footsteps, the boards even slicker after Bendy’s round.
But with every step you took, you slowly gained distance on him. You shouldn’t kid yourself. The Projectionist was fast, but he had a bobbing pace, one that jerked him side to side, forward and back. Probably trying to balance the weight of the projection machine on his shoulders. That couldn’t be light. Whatever this demon was or who he had been, he had been very strong.
That alone might be your biggest advantage over him.
Judging by the familiar cry and the slowly fading sound of footsteps, you knew that your advantage wouldn’t last forever. He was probably already around the table and running after you. Trying to kill you. Such was the way of these ink demons. Or what was it that Norman called them again? Seekers. Seekers and the Butcher Gang members.
Skidding around a corner you felt your ankle give a small crack but you pushed yourself onwards. Every step mattered to you. Forcing your ankle onwards, begging it to last just a little while longer. You knew that this wasn’t the best for it but you couldn’t exactly afford to stop in the middle of the hallway. If you could find a proper hiding spot you would rest, elevating it as you decided on your next move. With a great step, you were out of the tunnel. Finding yourself back in the main tunnel, before the small offshoot that sheltered Joey’s body, you realized that there was two other branches – both a right and left tunnel. It sort of reminded you of the choice of the Demon or the Angel passageway. You knew that the right tunnel would simply take you back to the music department, destroying any progress that you had made. Hearing a distant sound of slopping footsteps behind you, the choice was easy. The left… the left would be the way to go.
As you hobbled your way into the tunnel, a stray thought crossed your mind. Why was this monster so much more focused on you than before? He had been a stealthy hunter before but now he was actually following you. Was it because of the scent of… well. No time to think of that. Other things. Time and place for everything.
Ducking into the left tunnel, you dodged old crates blocking parts of the tunnel, ignoring the numerous cans of bacon soup, rubble, and small plushies. Instead, you continued to focus on putting as much distance between you and the Projectionist as possible. All while keeping your eyes peeled, looking for any place to hide and recover.
Finally. There was a small sign, so small that you could have missed it. A metal door labeled “Storage 9” was open up ahead, looking like it led into a new room. And where there was a room, there had to be a safe house or at least other tunnels. More options to hide, make him lose you in this maze. You ran towards it.
Without warning, bright light flooded your vision, temporarily blinding you for the moment with the after burn. It was real light, not just the dim, flickering candle light that you were used to around the studio. Rubbing at your burning eyes, you looked around. Lightbulbs were everywhere, bathing the entire opening in artificial, but gratefully bright light. It looked a bit like the carnival that came to your small town annually. There were games of every kind shoved into the small area, and even a banner that read Bendy Land. Though Land was crossed out and messily replaced with Hell, a name that suited the area and studio better as a whole you thought. Heh. Someone was clever. The masks of the beloved three characters lining the walls, as did costumes and other merchandise. There were smiling Bendy faces that grinned at you from every possible, conceivable angle.
Ok. You had to hand it to Joey. Even without your father, he really had big ideas for the little cartoon. Bendy Bacon Soup, toys, the other merchandise and now… rides and games and even half put together mechanics. The overthrow of the staff by the ink creatures must have been devastating and sudden.
Ok. Marvel at everything another time. The Projectionist was who-knows where at this point. Time to find a hiding hole. Moving forward, you had to admit that you couldn’t hear him now. There was no scream, no sluggish footsteps. Despite the situation, you began to feel something that felt like relief and you allowed yourself to slow. Take your time. Don’t make any rash decisions. Carefully take in the environment around you.
Limping your way through the mess of carnival supplies, you began to notice that the tangled wires on the floor seemed to have an electrical current running through them, leading all over the opening. The lightbulbs were working, the majority of them not even burned out, but if everything was live…
Well, you thought, carefully watching the half-finished robots as you walked by them. You really hoped that those robots won’t be coming to life any time soon. It was bad enough listening for soft footsteps and watching for ink to start bleeding from the walls.
There was one wire in particular that you were following. It clung to the edge of the room, running the entire distance of the room, before disappearing into another open room.
“… Research and Design?” you whispered to yourself, reading the sign above the door. Design… possibly design for the carnival rides and robots though you can see it also being used for meetings about Joey’s ideas for the toys. That would mean that it had to store the excess equipment and supplies. You could imagine hiding your aching body behind some crates or metal, waiting for the Projectionist or Bendy to pass by.
Yes. This room sounded promising indeed.
*
As you slowly limped into the large hallway from the opening, you missed seeing the long, lean shadow of a familiar enemy silently standing a floor above you. Watching you. Nor was there disguising the disgusting sneer on her face as she watched you slowly disappear.
Her face was still badly disfigured, one eye missing, half her skin almost melted away, and her halo mangled and broken, but there was no mistaking her basic form. Of who she should have been. Her hair was long and dark, flowing to just past her shoulders. Her dress was dark with white bows, although covered in ink and gore. She gripped the handrails tightly, slightly quivering in rage. She had been so sure that you had died in the fall. After she had grabbed the Boris, she hadn’t seen or heard of you. Nor had any of her pathetic minions reported to have seen you.
And yet, here you were. As clear as day. More than a little beaten up and an oddly shaped bruise blooming and slowly traveling on your neck and arm, but here nonetheless. Here to foil her plans, yet again.
Why was everyone getting in her way of being beautiful? Of her taking what she deserved! She was The Alice Angel! No matter what that stupid bitch Alison thought! She was THE Real Alice Angel, the demon that had been sent from above. Everyone that had seen her knew who she was. She was the one that had breathed life into her first. It was her right!
“Hopefully you enjoy your little games as long as you can,” she whispered, tossing her hair behind her shoulder and returning to her darkness. “You won’t be playing them for much longer.” She would ensure that an old friend of hers would make sure of that.
*
The dark little tunnel was far from what you had imagined. It had lead you to a large open, room, one that was thickly coated in dust. It was the furthest thing from a Research and Design room that you could think of. There was no tables or diagrams, not even a lone piece of tin was in the area. Instead it reminded you a bit of a conference hall. Multi-floored, it was large and open, the hallway you were on flowing into a boardwalk that lined completely around the perimeter of the room. Limping onto the boardwalk, moving closer to the open area of the room, you saw three of the Butcher Gang members clustered around a fire….
And a single familiar looking footprint on the floor, leading further into the room below. The ink had caught it surprisingly well, staining it on the wooden floor, marking it clear as day. No mistaking it.
With a small gasp you ran down the stairs, crouching by the print. It was about a size eight running shoe, the tread worn and thin. As you stared at it, your heart beginning to flutter in your chest. The Butcher members had shuffled eagerly towards you, making loud chattering noises before they too scattered at the sight and smell of the bruise on your neck. You ignored them, refused to pay them any attention. How often had you teased him about his taste in shoes? This had to be your father’s print. He had owned the same pair of shoes since you were young, always claiming that they were good enough and still in good condition even though the rubber was slowly flaking off of the side of it. He hated not using anything to the end. You had always speculated that it was from THOSE days but you never asked.
It was best not to bring back those memories if you could help it.
There was a quiet, distant cry, jerking you back to the present. The little ink creatures looked between you and it, already slowly shuffling off to the edge of the room. Were they hiding? Why? They were one of the most violent ink creatures here. If they themselves were hiding…
Then it was damn time for you to find a place to hide too.
You jogged into the tunnel, one that would hopefully lead into the next room, still ignoring your ankle’s protests. In this next room. The next room you would find a hiding spot. You could feel it. You would wait for him, whichever him it was, to pass and then you would continue on.
There was all sorts of odds and ends in this tunnel. A few more robotic Bendy parts, some bumper cars and other tools. No hiding spots yet. You wouldn’t be able to move behind the cars without having something stick out. Slightly more hurried, you continued on. Checking every corner, every shelf. There wasn’t even a safe house in this area. Norman must not have come down this way when he was alive.
Norman… your mind began to wander as you began to search in more of a panic. You knew, deep down inside of you, that when you saw the Sammy toon that it was the same Sammy that your father had worked with so many years ago. There had been something profoundly human about him. He had described saying that his body was abyss… like he was still unused to it. Both Norman and your father had described him as “Bendy-obsessed”, so it would make sense that he would declare himself as a prophet of his so-called lord.
You accidently knocked over a toolbox as you continued to search. With a wince at the noise that it caused, you began to run into the next room. You didn’t want to stay in the same room as you unlucky beckon.
Your mind continued to race, picking at some trail of information. Sammy the prophet, he was supposedly dead, or at least Norman had initially considered him as such. But Norman had only described seeing Bendy push Sammy into the hot ink of the machine. Bendy and the other toons hadn’t actually killed him unlike the others that worked there. Sammy had screamed, but Norman hadn’t seen him die. He had grabbed Joey and ran to hide.
It was almost the same with Susie. She had fallen into the hot ink, as explained by Joey himself, but there was never a body discovered.
And with both Sammy and Joey practicing both satanic and healing arts… you had read somewhere that it was easier to make a new form than heal an old one. It took less energy, less time and materials to simply try over than try and figure out what was wrong with the old copy. How many times has this happened in a business model? People don’t have the resources or money to find out why something is failing? Shut it down. Something wrong with a car? Scrap it and move to the next model. An endless cycle of new vs the old.
What if the Ink Machine was the same way? It had attempted to produce numerous copies of the same character until perfection was achieved, at least until Bendy was produced. That must have taken time and effort. Yet there was only one Sammy, and one angel. You could imagine it taking the bodies it was given and using them to form the others. If… if your theory was correct, that could mean that the Projectionist….
Well, there was only one person that he could be.
Throwing your head over your shoulder to watch the exit, just to make sure of your escape, you missed seeing the low branch of metal, hanging exactly at head level for you. With a loud clang, you ran face first into it. The smell of iron and blood filed your nose, even as it felt like your entire body shuddered. As darkness and stars took over your eyesight, you fell to the floor, looking at the ruined arms of some sort of ride. How… how had you missed that? Not looking where you put your feet as your dad would say.
Hopefully no one would see you here. They could just consider you part of the wreckage. Your head really hurt and the bright lights… they just made it worse. Maybe you could nap it off. You would be still enough, perhaps others would think you dead? Or even just part of the ride’s destruction.
Losing the battle with your heavy eyelids, you gave yourself into the darkness.
* * * * *
The classroom was stuffy as always. Perhaps it was a rule of your university, you thought to yourself, doodling in the corner of your paper, that all lecture halls needed to be stuffy, hot and incredibly uncomfortable. God knows that it wasn’t the teacher’s first choice of environments. Mr. Adam’s balding head was littered with shine, small beads of sweat running from the top of his crown, and down his neck. He looked as uncomfortable as everyone in the room. And yet, he continued on with his lesson.
“Aphorism. An aphorism is an expression or a quote that expresses a moral, truthful principle about the world around the author, or you the reader. It is generally accepted as a general truth. These are commonly slipped into everyday speech, often without the speaker batting an eye. For example, it was the famous rock band, The Rolling Stones, that first came up with the ever popular, ‘You can’t always get what you want’ aphorism that everyone seems to throw around these days. All is fair in love and war. Measure twice, cut once. You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink. Better the devil you know, than the devil you don’t. There are of course countless more, but if I listed them all off, we’d be here forever. So. Your challenge when you write this essay is to avoid using these overused sayings. I want you to be creative. Think outside the box!” he said to the collective groans of the crowd. Adams thought himself so funny…
* * * * *
You groaned, rubbing your head, trying to blink the stars from your eyes. You had run straight into the arm of the destroyed carousel, knocking yourself out. You were lucky that you hadn’t knocked yourself for very long, but you more than likely had a concussion. If not from this injury, then from the fall with the elevator. You were so sore… your entire body ached.
Fuck. You had known before that you needed to be careful. Needed to watch out for anything that could do you harm and yet, here you were. Like a bull in a china shop. Crashing through your father’s studio with no regard to anything else. Your mother would have said something about wearing blinders.
You stared at the arms of the machine, staring at the screws. It looked like someone had taken an axe to them. Forcing the metal to fail. With a small groan, you rubbed at your eyes again.
There was another shrill screech, and the echoing sound of messy, approaching footsteps. There was a large, dark form headed towards you, a bright light bouncing slightly and becoming larger as it approached. Seems like Norman… the Projectionist, had finally caught up to you. But how? Shit. You had spent too much time on the ground, must have knocked out longer than you had expected. With a loud groan, you weakly tried to get to your feet. You had got away from him twice before, you knew that you could do it again. He was laden with that large, bulky projector as a head. You weren’t. Yes. You needed to run, get away. Or at least hide from him until you could move past him.
Your ankle shook and at last gave out on you, sending you to the floor. Shit. All the running and walking you had done had really taken its toll on it and its injury. You slowly raised yourself to your hands, trying to brace yourself against the floor, slowly stand, listening to the sound of approaching footsteps. It didn’t even last a second. No, it couldn’t handle any of your weight.
The Projectionist was already close, reaching out for you. You could sense the anger and the hostility radiating from him, his dark body. He would not spare you. He would kill you. And you already knew that he would not be detoured as the Seekers and the Butcher Gang were.
Still you couldn’t let him just kill you! That was giving up! You could almost see the disappointment in your father’s face as you considered it. There had to be something that you could do… taking a precious second to consider your choices, you watched the ink slowly drip from his fingers, down to the palms of his hands. He was so close to you…
Better the devil you know, than the devil you don’t…
“BENDY!” you screamed. |
GAVIN
~ DEC 22ND, 2038 * PM 7:02 ~
Stepping out of the meeting room, Gavin took a sip of his coffee only to find out it’d gone cold. He grimaced down at it. This cheap shit was bad enough at the ideal temperature, so lo and behold, go figure it was way worse in its current state. If the DPD didn’t invest in a better coffee brand soon, he’d do it himself. He needed it now more than ever.
Gavin approached his desk without looking up from the pad in his hand. For the past ten years, he’d been able to navigate the precinct with his eyes closed, throwing the cup of coffee he’d begrudgingly knocked back like a shot glass into the recycling bin. Fingers ghosting over the other pads lying on the surface of said desk, he double-checked when his next briefing was. Fifteen minutes. Breaks between briefings were the closest thing to breathing room he could afford with his new rank.
When he was ready to set course for the break room to get another coffee -- only thing keeping him awake at this point as he hadn’t slept for maybe three days -- he saw the looks directed his way.
Said looks were immediately directed elsewhere as if anything in the room was remotely more interesting.
His brows furrowed.
Gavin gave his coworkers the side-eye before throwing down his pad and approaching Tina in dialogue with Connor.
“Who the fuck died?”
Tina and Connor had already registered his presence and shared a look -- they’d been gazing his way, too, like he was a fucking tourist attraction -- the former’s features being just a hint softer than the latter’s.
Sure, Gavin regretted how he’d been treating Nines’ predecessor, but the last thing he was going to do was apologize.
Maybe one day. Small steps.
Connor fidgeted with his coin. “I’ll... leave you to it. I’m sorry, sergeant.”
When Connor left them to their own devices, Gavin arched a half-exasperated and half-amused brow at Tina.
“Did Hank’s plastic pet seriously just apologize for talking to you? Like he’d need my fucking approval?” he asked and let out a scoff. “Over a month working at this place and he’s yet to grow a backbone.”
“Not exactly. He just doesn’t know what to say.”
Gavin sighed, all-too-tempted to roll his eyes. “‘Bout what?”
Biting into her bottom lip, Tina hesitated before handing him the pad she was holding. His eyes fell to it for his frown only to deepen, glaring back at her before snatching it out of her hands. His eyes landed on the recording of a news broadcast that had aired a few minutes ago. He’d been too busy with the first wave of his briefings to see it.
Rosanna Cartland was the news anchor “...just in today, a man was found guilty for the murder of an FBI agent,” she reported, images of a familiar neighborhood appearing on-screen. He couldn’t quite place where he knew it from. “The incident occurred an entire 32 years ago in Birmingham and has remained a mystery until now.”
Birmingham?
That was where he grew up.
Gavin’s body froze solid as the headshot of the assailant appeared on-screen. Bushy grey beard, short hair, worn tattoos on both arms.
It was his father.
“Supposedly, the victim carried crucial information, the killer disposing of him before said information could be shared with the state. Espionage is rumored to be at play and the assailant will likely end up on death row for such a heinous crime. In respect of his family and to not involve them in these trying times, the DPD has refused to share a name -- first or last -- with the public. We’ll further report once we have more information. This is Rosanna Cartland and you’re watching KNC news.”
Head spinning, Gavin found himself unable to look away from the screen. Memories came back to hit him like a truck. Tina’s mouth was moving -- concern on her face -- but he couldn’t register her words.
This wasn’t right.
~ OCT 5TH, 2006 * AM 01:10 ~
Paper plane in hand, a four-year-old Gavin made engine noises as he flew around his father’s office. Mr. Reed had confiscated the rubber bands as Gavin had accidentally managed to destroy three vases in two weeks, and his toys were uninteresting, so he chose to improvise. Yet, it was boring. His mother wasn’t home -- naturally -- but Gavin rarely even saw her anyway.
He’d been sent off to bed by his sitter, but he wasn’t tired, and thus he decided to explore his father’s office instead. He got distracted quickly when he found one of his paper airplanes on the way.
Elevated once he climbed up on his father’s desk for the takeoff, off in the distance, an interesting sight caught his eye. His father’s gun. The owner of said gun did practice shooting every morning and it seemed that he’d forgotten to lock the display case. Gavin had never held it before and thus he settled for rubber bands, but now, even they were gone.
“Whoa,” he said in awe, paper plane forgotten on the floor.
Gavin jumped down from the desk and approached. He tried to reach for it, but it was too high. A pout followed before he bolted for the office chair. Lining it up under the display case, he spun it around, climbing up with little effort. He used the same technique when getting to the higher shelves where he knew his father stored his favorite snacks. Picking it up, he grunted, realizing how heavy it was. The metal was cold to the touch and was well-polished. For his father to so effortlessly hold it, he must’ve been really strong.
“Smi... Smith,” he tried reading the inscriptions, scowling down at it. Words were hard. He registered a strange ‘&’ symbol that looked like the number 8 and thus that’s what he called it. “Smith 8 We –wess...on. Smith 8 Wesson.”
He didn’t know what it meant.
Going into the room next-door, he lined the gun up -- proving hard considering how heavy it was -- and aimed for the target that he’d seen his father shooting at before. A dummy riddled with bullet holes. To some, they seemed wealthy, but what they didn’t know was that said training room was the only thing his father had bought for himself. He wasn’t a big consumer when it came to money. The rest went to Gavin, getting nearly everything he pointed at, his father saving up to things that they couldn’t afford at the time of Gavin’s request.
Gavin put his finger on the curved piece underneath the barrel and pushed. Nothing happened. It was stuck, it seemed, and Gavin tried again. Nothing. He’d seen his father use the gun, so he thought he knew how it worked.
There was a button on it, on the grip, and Gavin tried to push it. He wasn’t strong enough. There was also a switch, and that one he managed to turn, a red light appearing beneath. The capitalized word ‘DANGER’ was written in said light. Gavin lined it up again and tried to pull on the curved piece again. Again, nothing happened, and frustration emerged.
Maybe his father could help.
Face lighting up, he made a beeline for the exit.
His father was talking with a man downstairs that Gavin knew as ‘Carter Wells.’ He was a friend of his.
“I’m sorry,” Wells said, voice muffled but sincere. “You were at the wrong place at the wrong time and now there’s a need for damage control, ‘cause ‘wrong place at the wrong time’ ain’t gonna cut it.”
Gavin’s father took a step forward. “For fuck’s sake, Carter. I could lose my family because of this.”
“Look. You know I have a son on my own and Kayleigh is expecting a little girl, but this? This entire situation is too delicate. I know you’re innocent, but I can only do so much. You can’t mention those documents you found to anyone. We need a cover-up and this is the only way they won’t put charges for seeing you at the scene of the homicide at eleven in the evening -”
With that, Gavin sprung around the corner with the gun pointed their way.
“BPD, hands where I can see them!”
Wells’ eyes went wide as he bolted back. “Jesus!”
“Whoa, kiddo. Easy,” Gavin’s father said, palm flat towards him as he slowly stepped forward. “That’s not a finger gun, all right? Put that down.”
“...but I’m doing what you do!”
“Reed,” Wells tried, tone reeking of caution.
His father pushed on. “Gavin, please, that’s dangerous,” he demanded, voice stricter now. “Give it to me. Right now.”
Face falling, Gavin’s heart sank.
He didn’t understand. He just wanted to be a hero like his dad, and now, he was being scolded for it. Whenever his father used that tone, part of him died. He just wanted him to be proud.
“Why? It’s stuck anyway,” he replied, pushing harder against the curved piece.
“Gavin, don’t -!”
*Gunshot*
~ DEC 22ND, 2038 * PM 7:04 ~
“So it is your father.”
Tina finally managed to snap him out of it, her voice soft as she addressed him. After all, she never met Gavin’s father. He was fired long before she even came to the precinct. It took a solid five seconds before he even registered the hand on his arm ready to shake him as if he’d passed out over his desk or something. He reacted before she could.
Gavin immediately shrugged out of her touch. “How many?”
“Gav -”
“Tina, how fucking many?” he demanded with a glare.
She took a moment to just look at him.
“Just me, Connor and Fowler, as far as I know,” she replied, Gavin’s lips pressing together as he averted his eyes. “There’s some family resemblance, so a couple theories are probably going around the precinct. I don’t know. Fowler probably wanted to keep you out of it, but... it’s all over the news. You were bound to find out eventually. I’m sorry.”
Only Gavin, his father, the deceased Carter Wells, and Hank knew the real story. Why would his father cover up for him? It was no secret that they weren’t close.
He registered Hank taking note of the commotion and had to bail before he could approach. Before he could say whatever he wanted to say.
“Fuck, they got it all wrong,” Gavin muttered.
Just about to make a beeline for Fowler’s office, Tina grabbed his arm again.
“Whoa!” she said, alarm and mild annoyance on her features. “What the fuck, Gav? You can’t just drop a bomb like that and piss off.”
“I’ll deal with it.”
“Gavin, seriously, whatever you’re going through? This is not the time to push me away.”
He tore free. “I said, ‘I’ll deal with it’!”
His guilt emerged at the brief surprise on her face -- shock, even -- and he felt sick to his stomach. He rarely snapped at Tina. Frankly, he probably never had. One of the few things he didn’t let her in on was his past and he wanted to keep it that way. He realized he was making a scene by his outburst, so if the precinct hadn’t put two-and-two together before, they sure did now.
Nevertheless, Tina’s hold-up was enough for Hank to reach them. He wasn’t gentle.
Hank grasped his collar. “Stay right fucking here, son.”
“Piss off, asshole!”
“No, you shut the fuck up and listen to me. I know you’re about to do something real fucking stupid.”
“Oh, so I’m just gonna let my old man get tortured in death row because I fucked up?”
“Because you were a four-year-old kid,” he replied through clenched teeth, voice lowered for Tina not to hear. Gavin held the glare. “I made a promise to your dad when you signed up in the DPD and like hell if I’m letting all the shit you’ve worked for all go down the drain. Use your fucking head, Gavin. These corporate assholes are gonna ruin you if you speak up now.”
Lips pressing harder together, Gavin’s eyes darted.
“Your dad’s got nothing more to lose than you, so if you wanna do right by him, you shut the fuck up,” Hank added, releasing his grip with force and push for good measure. “He worked his ass off so his ungrateful kid could have whatever he wanted.”
“What I wanted was a fucking father and guess what? He did a shit job at it.”
...then you walked in, I got my hopes up, and then you fucked me over when I needed you the most.
How could Hank not see that he was the father Gavin never had? How much it hurt Gavin that Hank was so focused on his own pain of losing Cole that he didn’t see Gavin suffered, too? That he left Gavin to grieve on his own? After Cole died, Gavin was rendered obsolete in Hank’s eyes, and that hurt. He trusted Hank and then he let him down.
“At least he tried, and Christ, I doubt you made it easy.”
“Well, boo-fucking-hoo. He didn’t try hard enough. I don’t owe him shit, but I’m not sitting on my ass while they off him. I got morals.”
“Only when we get this espionage bullshit sorted out can you clear your precious conscience.”
Before Gavin burst -- berated him about just how little he actually knew -- he managed to stop himself. He didn’t know what to think. What to do. He was overwhelmed by the entire situation and such a thing didn’t allow for logical reasoning. The reason why it took so long for death row inmates to be executed was because nearly two decades before said execution was torture in itself. Despite his dislike for his dad, it wasn’t morally right to let someone else suffer for something you did. Especially when said person covered for you.
Tina broke the following silence.
“Look. I don’t know what’s going on, and fuck, I guess I’ve gotta respect that,” she butted in, arms crossed “...but whatever it is, I’m not letting you do whatever you’re doing alone. I’ve got your back, Gav.”
She always did.
~ DEC 23RD, 2038 * AM 12:22 ~
Pacing the floor with his phone to an ear, Gavin was about to boil over with rage.
He’d attempted to find out more about this Carter Wells and who he was dealing with when it came to the trial, but said FBI agent having a busy family that still lived in Birmingham, Gavin was left on hold. Deemed unimportant. Turns out it wasn’t easy to find out who had made the charges against his father. So far, little to nothing had turned up.
A click was heard and the door swung open, him turning to it. Gavin needed a moment to really register what he was seeing.
Disheveled, lids heavy over light grey eyes, LED flickered at a clear red. His broad shoulder pressed up against the open doorway frame to support his body and blue blood emerged from the side of his hairline. Splattered all over his uniform. His, or another android’s, he didn’t know. Several rifts were sighted, his arm laid horizontal across his abdomen as if to keep his regulator in place, artificial skin ripped open at the entire right side of his face to reveal his white exoskeleton. Said artificial skin glitched against the damage.
It showed no signs of regenerating.
“What the actual fuck?” he addressed with an offended look, phone forgotten on the kitchen table as he bolted for him.
Knowing Gavin would catch him, Nines pushed from the doorway and fell against his body.
"̶̤̑̿F̴͇͉̊͝o̷̧͙̔u̷̱͊ṅ̴̡̕d̴̜͔͂̓ ̶͇̳̄h̶͍͜͝i̷̪͜͠͝m̴̭̈́,̵͙͊͜"̵̠̖̆ he crackled, voice almost pure static.
The RK900.
He’d been so caught up in work and his own problems that he’d entirely forgotten that Nines had gone after the android. That was nearly six hours ago. Cupping his shoulder, Gavin pushed him off enough to see him.
“I told you to fucking wait!”
"̸̯͜T̶͖͈͙̳͙͛͌͌̕͝ĥ̸̭ĭ̵̧̤͈̀̉r̷̢̜͍̘̒͘į̶̦̹̦̉ȕ̴̡̧͖̃̑m̵̨̠̆̕.̵̪̼̺͈̗̾̈͑͐̚"̶̧̬͎̆̏̆
Thirium. He got that.
Quickly he led Nines to the couch and had him sit down. Gavin was nothing but thankful that he’d stocked up on blue blood beforehand in case anything like this happened. He was actually able to help out for once. His full attention turned to the cupboard where he had the thirium stored, pulling out the drawer and grabbing one of the bags.
He paused. It probably wouldn’t be enough and thus he grabbed another.
Crossing Nines in passing to get something to store said thirium in, he registered just how bad of a state Nines was in. His head was bowed, a hunched posture, his eyes closed. It was all-too-different from his usual pole-up-his-ass, raised chin, ‘I couldn’t care less about you’ demeanor. Nines -- a weapon in android form -- had nearly been torn apart out there.
He just looked so damn vulnerable.
“Hey,” Gavin tried as he poured the thirium into a glass, receiving no response. “Hey, Nines. Look at me. Keep your eyes open.”
Lashes fluttering, Nines did his best to ascend his gaze. Not that it helped on Gavin’s part. After all, androids could shut down even with their eyes wide open, but Gavin was human and the request was an impulse.
The LED was spinning at red and -- seeing that Nines was no longer deviant -- it merely reflected his damages. Not his emotional state. Even still, whatever happened sure had given Nines a beat-down, both physically and mentally. He knew him that much. The way he was holding his arm pressed against his pump regulator as if worried it’d fall out was disconcerting.
Or maybe because his reduced strength thanks to said damages he merely protected it the best he could.
For Gavin, it just then hit him how pissed he was.
This fucker had nearly killed his partner. The one android he un-ironically found himself giving a shit about.
Glass in hand, he was quick on his feet to approach and hold it out to him. Nines missed it by three inches, his coordination visibly damaged, possibly even having lost his depth-of-field vision if that was a thing.
Gavin was ripped from his own mind when Nines’ hand brushed against his.
A jolt went up his body. It was unexpected, the touch in general and just how cold Nines was, his thirium supply too drained to be able to turn his internal heater on. He had to fight the urge to wrap his own hands around Nines’ to warm them up as if tin cans were actually capable of getting frostbite. His attention turned elsewhere when he registered the skin pulling back on Nines’ hand -- as if wanting to interface -- exactly at the tips of his fingers that came in contact with the inside of Gavin’s palm.
Nines, in his damaged state, didn’t even seem to notice it happening.
The moment he managed to get ahold of the glass, he knocked the thirium back. Gavin refilled it. He had to grab a third bag after Nines finished his second and it was only when Nines downed that one as well that his skin began to heal. The process was quicker than any other android he’d seen, naturally, eyeing the red LED intently as it slowly processed.
Yellow.
Then blue.
Stepping up to the sink, only then did he need answers.
“The fuck happened out there?” Gavin demanded without any real bite, wetting a clean cloth.
Pushing from the counter, he shortly flopped down next to him. There was no protest on Nines’ part when Gavin grabbed his chin and directed his head in a better angle so he could get the thirium -- on its way to get into his left eye -- away from his face. Nines made a whirring sound at the movement and hell if it almost sounded like purring.
He realized the sound must’ve come from his blood vessels filling up with the ingested liquid, returning to the empty vessels, but that wasn’t enough to spoil his focus. All he knew was that he needed to get the thirium off his face.
Gavin had no issue with blood, blue or red, dried or fresh.
Nines’ blood, however, was different.
Somehow.
“Connor’s intel was correct,” Nines replied, voice mostly back to normal. “Eighty-Eight was in the Midtown district. One of the CyberLife facilities there. I believe he was gathering supplies and could register fuel among said supplies. Wires and metals. Gunpowder, maybe. I’m convinced he’s dealing with explosives, but aside from that, I can’t tell what he’s planning.” Brows tight, Nines refused to look anywhere but forward. “I was unable to catch him.”
Things weren’t looking too hot.
“We’ll get it done.”
“If I‘d been more efficient, we’d -”
“Nines,” he cut him off, nails digging into his shoulder and pulling it back. Gavin forced him to meet his eye. “We’ll get it done. I don’t know what the fuck this guy’s deal is -- or CyberLife’s -- but we’ll stop it.”
Keeping his gaze pinned, he expected a response. It never came. Nines just looked at him, with a mix of what he would call appreciation and confusion, holding it. A hint of frustration was thrown in for good measure judging by how tight said expression was. It was an expression he was all-too-familiar with at this point, Nines rather settling for anger than boredom, seeming more and more expressive as time passed. He’d registered him vaguely picking up some of Gavin’s mannerisms as well and mirroring them.
He supposed it was natural considering that they were figuratively attached by the hip these days.
Or by the shoulder, really.
Gavin had a tendency to use Nines as a wall to rest against as he never moved from slightly behind him. Nines, in return, didn’t seem to mind.
Aside from Gavin, Nines only ever spent time with Hank and Connor. With Tina and Chris, Gavin usually worked as a middleman, so it was rare to see Nines interact with either of them on his own.
Most people were too intimidated by Nines to even attempt conversation. The android in question had no issue with putting his foot down and only needed to direct a hard glare for people to back off. With the accompanying LED in his forehead -- and the knowledge of Nines being an android literally designed for combat -- that was enough. Gavin had never been intimidated by Nines personally, per se. Just his ability to take his job if he wanted. Stupid maybe, but at this stage, Gavin trusted he wouldn’t.
These past few days, Nines had seemed somewhat lost. Gavin couldn’t put his finger on it.
Whether related to the case, or personal, he had no idea.
He suspected both.
Nines had yet to look away from him and Gavin’s eyes darted, becoming all-too self-aware. Of his breathing, his posture, everything. Didn’t help that Nines was looking at him as if he’d register the tiniest movement.
For fuck’s sake, Gavin mused, realizing he was being analyzed again. Use your words, tin can.
Nines really was awful with human interaction and this only proved it. Was he expecting him to continue talking? Gavin was done. He’d said what he wanted to say. Conversation came easier for Connor. He was friendly with all and everyone -- seen as a part of the precinct -- while Nines seemed more of an outsider. Just like Gavin, in a way, but Gavin chose to be by his own volition.
He didn’t know what the case was with Nines.
Eventually, Nines broke the contact. Gavin could resume his breathing in return.
“Why are you investigating an FBI agent that was the victim of a homicide 32 years ago?”
Frowning at the out-of-nowhere comment, Gavin followed where grey eyes landed. He let his own fall to the coffee table to see the pad with the revealing article wide open. Cursing, he quickly reached over to turn the pad off, but Nines grasped his wrist in the movement. Gavin was ready to snap, but saw no use in it. Knowing Nines, he wouldn’t let it go before he had answers.
He let out a defeated sigh and had his arm fall to his thigh, hand curling into a fist around the thirium-dotted cloth before the other followed.
Nines picked up the pad. “This mentions your father.”
“Yeah, no shit. That isn’t exactly my concern right now. You nearly got dropped.”
“Didn’t know you cared.”
“I care enough not to want your dead fucking body on my conscience!” Gavin snapped, Nines’ face twisting in mild surprise as he regained eye contact. “Whether you like it or not, that’s where we’re at.”
“I was the one that chose to investigate on my own.”
“...and I let you, dipshit.”
His answer wasn’t immediate. “I’m fine, Gavin.”
Gavin let out a scoff, lips pressing together as he directed his eyes to the floor.
He nearly wasn’t.
He’d known Nines was growing on him, but now seeing him stumbling through his door on the brink of death, it was as if a third eye opened.
This was exactly what he’d been trying to avoid.
“Can I finish up now?” he asked, not bothering to wait for a reply before he grasped Nines’ chin again. Nines let him. Nevertheless, it was a bit difficult with his current angle. “Jesus. Tilt down your head, will you? This is difficult enough as it is.”
Nines frowned. “I can’t. If you haven’t noticed, this collar is very limiting.”
...and here I thought you were just an arrogant piece of shit.
“You can’t fucking look down?” he asked, taken aback by the reveal. “Why would CyberLife put a collar on you that doesn’t allow you to move?”
“Status, I’m certain. A way to show everyone that the most dangerous android ever created was at their mercy.”
Unable to help himself, Gavin just stared. It was seriously fucked up. CyberLife really were supremacist assholes. There was a reason Gavin usually wore V-necks and the reason was just that. Movement. Anything higher than his collarbone and he felt trapped. The only time he was comfortable with his neck covered was when someone wanted to get a bit rough in the bedroom and that was it. Then again, he wouldn’t allow just about anyone that power over him. Gavin had a need to be in charge regardless.
In any event, CyberLife didn’t control him anymore.
Reaching up, he grasped the sides of Nines’ collar and ripped them apart from one another. His neck was exposed. Long, but not too long. Strong, but not too strong. Gavin refused to acknowledge that he was staring. As if on autopilot, Nines reached for his own neck before looking down. There was a hint of uncertainty in his stoic expression.
Gavin averted his eyes. “How’s that feel?”
“I don’t know. Exposed. It did provide protection, but it’s not like I have a windpipe to worry about. My only critical component is my thirium pump and its regulator.”
“It’s a human thing.”
Gavin pushed a hand up beneath the fabric of his collar -- Nines removing his own to allow access -- palm against the side of Nines’ neck. Said collar had heated up the skin beneath ever so slightly. Trapping his jaw between a thumb and forefinger, Gavin tilted his head aside, receiving the angle he sought. He was able to continue were he left off and it turned out that a few streaks of thirium had managed to drip down through the collar’s edge. He still couldn’t tell who it belonged to.
“You’re avoiding the topic.”
He wasn’t getting out of this one.
“...and you don’t just fucking quit, do you?” he asked, voice drained. Nines gave him the side-eye. “My old man’s been wrongly accused of the murder. To top it off, some false espionage charges were made, so I’m trying to figure out how the fuck that happened.”
“Does Fowler know you’re investigating this?”
“If he did, he’d throw me in the bullpen himself.”
Nines grasped his wrist and moved it from his face. “Gavin, you’re interfering with issues of the state,” he said, turning his head to look at him as Gavin’s forearm still holding the sheet dropped to his shoulder. “You’ll face severe consequences if they find out.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time. Fuck, you already forgot how you pulled my ass up on the Stratford Tower roof a month back?”
“I was there to make sure it didn’t backfire, but you were about to do this on your own.”
“Dad’s gonna suffer otherwise,” he replied, releasing his wrist to rest his forearms on his own thighs. He straightened out the sheet and stared down at the blue blood. “Espionage results in death row. I get it can take about 16 years before the actual execution, but those sick fucks are gonna torture him -- break him -- until then. Part of the punishment.”
“So what do we know?”
Ascending his eyes, Gavin couldn’t help the lines in his forehead from smoothening out.
‘We.’
Just how quick Nines was to take his side was unexpected. Still, he couldn’t say he didn’t appreciate it. Not to mention that having an android sure would help out a great deal.
Gavin straightened his back. “Not much,” he replied, directing his attention to another pad on the coffee table. “Guy’s name was Carter Wells. Left behind a wife -- Kayleigh -- and two kids. Claire and Trevor. Claire had yet to be born at the time, so she’s about 32 now. Trevor died in a car accident six years ago. As you saw, Carter was a Fed, so information about his job is classified.”
“What connection did your father have with this family?”
“Wrong place at the wrong time? Fuck if I know,” he replied vaguely, not ready to talk about any of that.
Nines, of course, took note.
“Whatever you refuse to tell me better not be crucial.”
“It isn’t,” he said, before falling into a pause. His jaw clenched. “The fuck are you doing this, anyway?”
“If what you’re saying is that your father has been wrongly accused, I believe it,” he replied, Gavin redirecting his gaze to see Nines hadn’t moved his eyes from him. “That aside, espionage charges can’t be made from nothing. If he’s already placed on death row, it must’ve been proven, so perhaps this Wells was the one involved and somehow had it pinned on your father.”
Although he doubted Carter -- whom he knew was a friend of his dad -- would do such a thing, he wouldn’t put it past him. If there was one thing he’d learned in the force, it was not to be blind-sighted by personal opinions.
A light went up for him. “Pinned or paid off.”
“There’s a high probability, but that still doesn’t explain who killed him and why.”
Again and again, he went over whether or not to tell Nines in his head. That it was Gavin. That it was an accident.
He didn’t.
“Doesn’t matter,” he replied, rising to his feet and throwing the cloth into the recycling bin. “So what’s the plan? Whether or not Wells was involved with espionage isn’t exactly something we’d find on the internet.”
“The FBI archives certainly would, but it’s nearly impossible to get in there.”
Gavin snapped his fingers. “Fuck, you still have the, uh... the voice-mimic function or whatever? Use Perkins.”
“That would only get us so far. The FBI knows who you are, and because of that, they also know me. We can’t exactly just walk in there.”
“Fucking hell, you were the one who wanted to infiltrate CyberLife.”
“No matter how influential CyberLife is, I’m certain infiltrating the FBI archives would be a tad bigger undertaking,” he deadpanned, Gavin sighing as he averted his eyes and brushed a thumb against his slightly chapped lips. A habit. “I suggest we start with something smaller. I may be able to hack into their database if I had a computer attached to it. Any FBI agent would do.”
The only FBI agent he knew of that was still in Detroit was Dick -- well, Richard -- Perkins.
It could work.
Guy wouldn’t be happy with them breaking in, though.
Turning to face Nines again, he was only to be reminded of what happened to him before he went off. The yet fresh thirium splattered on his uniform made him feel even shittier that he was prioritizing his own needs.
“Not like we can do anything ‘bout it right now in your fried state,” he replied, regarding Nines from top to bottom. “You sure you’re good?”
“All my functions are in order.”
Gavin crossed his arms. “Mentally, smartass. I didn’t ask for a damage report.”
Back straightening, Nines blinked.
“Albeit not ideal... it’s certainly in a better state than it was minutes ago. The moment I stepped inside, I was more focused on not getting blue blood on the floor. Last thing I needed was to listen to your whining.”
“How fucking dare you? Whining is my specialty.”
That had nowhere near as much venom as he’d anticipated. If anything, he sounded drained.
...and where the fuck did that last part come from?
He should’ve been angry, and yet, he wasn’t. Especially not when he glimpsed the corner of Nines’ lips curve slightly upwards. The fact that he even noticed revealed that, fuck, he’d been staring.
Gavin cursed internally and directed his glance elsewhere.
He’d figured the physical attraction would mend over time, but it had anything but, as Nines became more and more appealing as time passed. Wanting to bone down a coworker was a no-no. Wanting to bone down an android programmed to follow orders -- that you could literally order in bed -- and a friend, yes friend, at that? Fuck. Even worse.
His dick really had to stop thinking for him.
“Glad your twin didn’t tear out your sass chip,” Gavin added, meeting his eye again. “That’s all well and good or whatever, but I’m serious.”
Nines took a moment before answering.
“I was... scared. Less than I was when I was deviant, but said fear never truly left.”
Last time he heard something that raw from Nines was back at Kamski’s. It was obvious now that Nines needed to talk whenever something happened, and for once, Gavin was ready to step up.
Sighing, he let his hands fall to his sides and took a seat next to him again. He didn’t really know what to do. Without knowing why, he found himself hooking an arm around Nines’ shoulder, pulling him in sideways and burying his nose in his unusually disheveled hair. For comfort, maybe. Then again, he didn’t really know if it worked.
The steady blue LED revealed nothing in Nines’ machine-like state.
“Welcome to the real world, tin can,” he muttered, knowing the feeling all-too-well. They simply sat there for god knows how long. The moment was oddly comforting, and although he’d never admit it, Gavin needed it as much as Nines did. Tilting his head, he saw that Nines was -- quite literally -- halfway lying down. Then he scowled. “Why the fuck are you so tall?”
Nines looked unimpressed. “I believe the question you’re attempting to phrase is why ‘you,’ as in ‘Gavin Reed,’ is so shor -”
“Finish that sentence and you’re no longer welcome at my place, toaster.”
“I wasn’t aware I ever was.”
“Oh yeah? Well, happy fucking birthday,” he replied, before falling into a pause. “Not a damn word ‘bout this to anyone, you got that?”
“Certainly not yet. It’s valuable blackmail.”
Gavin puffed a laugh.
Fuck you, he mused, not having the heart to say it aloud.
Couldn’t stop himself from grinning, though. |
Before Steve and Darcy can do anything more than blink, Bucky turns his gun towards the Hydra soldiers closest to them and fires, he then uses his metal arm to punch Monobrow in the face, knocking him to the floor, before turning and disarming the soldiers behind him. It takes no longer than a millisecond for Steve and Darcy to get over their shock and join in the fight. Steve rams his shield into the soldiers still standing near them as Darcy flips one who is pointing his gun at Steve over her shoulder and into the wall. At the same time she kicks another soldier, who was aiming at Bucky, in the knee breaking his leg and disarming him. They’ve taken out most of the Hydra soldiers in 30 seconds but more begin to pour into the room. Upon seeing the Winter Soldier, who they thought was on their side, smashing Hydra bodies into the floor, the new Hydra soldiers start to fire into the room with abandon, not caring if they hit their own men or not, just desperate to take out the super soldiers.
Bucky is able to use Hydra agents as shields against the bullets as Darcy jumps in front of Steve with her force field protecting them. “We need to get to the switch!” Steve exclaims to Darcy, looking like he is considering barreling through the room like a bull to get there.
She nods in agreement, “throw me!” Although they are on the other side of the room Steve easily picks her up and tosses her across, using his shield to make sure they don’t get shot in the process as Darcy has to turn off her forcefield so Steve could touch her.
A couple of Hydra agents make a soft landing for Darcy and she strikes an open palm to the throat of a soldier standing in front of the switch completely incapacitating him. She barely pays attention to the feeling of being bitten as a few bullets make their way into her thigh and side as the ammo piercing rounds Hydra are using penetrate her suit. Darcy turns as she gets to the switch and yells to Bucky, “THE FLOOR IS LAVA!” Remembering a game of tag they once played in the Tower communal living space he jumps to a window frame and balances on the edge as Darcy flicks the switch. The room makes a slight buzzing sound and all the Hydra soldiers collapse, except for one who figured out what Darcy meant and jumped onto a table. Bucky quickly shoots him and he tumbles to the floor. Silence follows as Darcy flicks the switch off and Steve jumps down from his perch on a hospital gurney, he then immediately strides over to Bucky and they embrace in a brief but powerful hug.
“Glad you could make it, Punk.”
“Sorry we’re a little late, Jerk.”
Darcy is semi-frozen on the other side of the room, breathing heavily, not from exertion but shock at finally finding Bucky. She manages to shake herself out of it and begins to restrain the unconscious soldiers at her feet. She senses rather than sees Bucky cross the room to her and before she can stop him he picks her up in a huge bearhug, her feet dangling off the floor as he buries his face in her neck.
“Thank you.” He says simply and Darcy wraps her arms around him. They stay like that for a moment, as behind them Steve restrains the remaining comatose Hydra agents.
“FRIDAY, let them know we have him and we’re on our way home.” Steve says into his comm unit.
“Affirmative Captain,” The AI replies, “SHIELD are on their way, ETA six minutes.”
“Thanks FRIDAY. Time to go.” He directs at the other two who disintagle and Bucky puts Darcy’s feet back on the ground. They all run up out of the base together and the Quinjet, being piloted virtually by FRIDAY, picks them up off the roof. Steve jumps in the pilot seat and navigates them up and over the sea, headed for New York.
“How’d you do it Buck?” Steve asks once they are on their course and autopilot is turned on. “How’d you beat the programming?”
“I didn’t.” Bucky says simply as he peels off his armor. “Darcy did.”
“I did?” Darcy asks, a little bit confused.
“When you saved me, you must have healed the pathways in my brain that the Soviets had created. So the trigger words didn’t work.”
Steve gets up from the pilot seat and claps Bucky on the back, words can’t express the joy he is feeling at the moment, knowing his best friend is finally out from under the influence of those words. He knows they have haunted Bucky for a very long time, causing many sleepless nights and fearful nightmares. They share a smile that they both turn to Darcy, who is a little bit bemused at the situation.
“So when they had finished saying the words I just acted like I thought the Asset would behave and they bought it.” Bucky continues as he sits down and pulls of his gloves. “I was able to learn everything about their plan to capture you two and turn you both into assets. So then I was able to counter-plan to attack at the right moment.”
“I can never repay you Darcy.” Steve says, his serious voice coming on.
“Oh shut up Stevie.” Darcy turns around, a blush creeping across her cheeks as she starts to pull her weaponry off and put it away, “there is no debt amongst friends.”
Bucky laughs at their exchange, feeling happy like he hasn’t in a long time. “It’s nice to see you two getting along so well.” He watches as Darcy and Steve hold hands for a moment, like its an automatic movement, and sees the millisecond of glow as Darcy heals him. “Maybe even too well?” He teases.
Steve blushes a deep red. “It wasn’t like that Bucky, you got the wrong end of the stick.” Steve gulps nervously, worried that his best friend thinks that he is trying to steal his girl, especially because the position they were found in when Bucky arrived could be seen as overly close.
“I know Punk, I’m just teasing.”
“Here.” Darcy says holding out her hand, and without hesitation Bucky takes it and Darcy gives him a burst, energising him and healing any cuts and bruises not already healed by his accelerated restorative ability.
“You seem to be better at this than before.” Bucky states curiously as he stretches out feeling pleasantly refreshed.
“I have been using it a lot this week. More so than I’ve probably used it in the past few years even.” Darcy pulls her blade off her back, both pleased and disappointed that she didn’t get to employ it against Hydra.
“Like any muscle, it gets stronger with practice and training.” Steve explains, “the growth in Darce’s energy and power is amazing.”
“I guess training is gonna get more fun then huh?” Bucky teases moving to bop Darcy on the nose.
“She will make an amazing addition to the Avengers, both of you will… if you want to.” Steve smiles gently before clapping Bucky on the shoulder again and moving back to the pilot's seat, giving them what little privacy a supersoldier with super hearing can.
“So what’s for dinner tonight Doll? I’ve been dreaming of your cooking for days.” Bucky smiles as he leans nonchalantly against the opposite side of the Quinjet to Darcy.
“Something full of fat and salt and definitely a dessert full of sugar.” Darcy gives a half smile as she finishes putting away her gear. “But first, a shower, because man oh man do I stink.”
“You smell wonderful.” Bucky protests as he tries to block thoughts of him helping her in the shower from his mind.
Darcy snorts, “yeah, yeah.”
Bucky can tell something is up, that she isn’t her usual gregarious self. He shifts awkwardly as he worries about what it could be. “I know seeing me as the Winter Soldier can be a bit disconcerting, but I swear I never was under the influence of Hydra.”
“I’m not worried about the Winter Soldier, Bucky. I know I could take him.” Darcy tries to cover up her worry with jokes but can see that he isn’t fooled. “I discovered a new power just before you arrived, and it’s not so great.”
“Tell me Doll.” Bucky says softly as he moves to sit next to her, sliding his arm around her shoulders.
Darcy leans into him, letting his body warmth comfort her. “Turns out I have the ability to not only give life but take it too. I don’t know how, I was so angry at that General for talking about you like he did, I just pulled the life right out of him.”
“We all have the ability to take life Darce.” Bucky holds up his hands in front of them, turning over the flesh and then the metal one. “The number of lives these hands have taken that I don’t even remember…” He shakes his head and pulls her back to his side. “We all have the ability, but it’s whether we use that ability or not that makes us who we are.”
“But what if I can’t control it? What if I hurt someone innocent?”
“You will learn to control it, and you won’t.” Bucky’s voice is absolute and Darcy doesn’t bother to argue, knowing how stubborn he can be sometimes.
I can’t risk it, I can’t risk them or him. I have to leave.
Curled up against Bucky for the rest of the journey back to New York, Darcy plans her departure from the Tower quietly in her head.
|
Sehun searched for any hint of shock or surprise and found, disappointingly, none. Apart from a cold, cutting gaze that was brimming with a sangfroid that only Kai could ever display even during the most dangerous situations. Not even a life-threatening sitch could falter that smug smile of his. It was as though nothing in this world had the power to daunt him, and under no circumstance would he let his fright show. He feared no danger, he feared no death. One would either have to be a god or a complete madman to be that confident. Kai was a madman. No question there. But Sehun knew he was not only that. He had seen the human side of Kai, too. The side that Kai had always tried to conceal underneath his deranged, sadistic façade. Except that Sehun knew that it was not all just a façade. Kai was wired that way. He was simply… many things.
Even so, somewhere in the deepest, darkest corner of Sehun’s heart, he had hoped to see Kai’s determination and complacency demolished, his spirits wounded for good, his face paling as his eyes met Sehun again for the first time in a very long time. Instead, Kai faced him with the same smug look he had left Sehun with on their last meeting, even though he was no longer the same man.
His complexion resembled that of a corpse. Bluish veins were visible underneath his pasty skin. His hair was longer now, his jaw dusted with a faint stubble, his fatigued eyes red. He looked too much like a dead man for someone who was smiling with such complacency.
Cruel, bitter memories flooded Sehun’s mind then. He momentarily felt like he was caught in a deadly whirlpool as images of him being kissed by Kai for the first time, of them sharing the same bed for the first time, trying to clumsily hold hands for the first time swam around him. Did Kai ever think of those moments? They could have been all just an act when they happened, but before it had all ended between them, Kai had confessed that he wanted Sehun with him, at his side. He had dreamed up this sickening yet wonderful future with Sehun. And many times, Sehun had wondered what if he had not turned Kai in. What if they had stayed together, free and dangerous? It would have been them against the world. Side by side.
But it would have been wrong. Kai was the definition of wrong, wasn’t he?
Although there was a certain level of coolness in Kai’s eyes, there was something else in them. Something contradictory. A fire. An anger. And the way he smiled with a clenched jaw had Sehun shuddering.
This was not at all how he had thought he would meet Kai again. In fact, he had wanted to believe that they would never cross paths ever again. He had wanted to believe it, and he had tried to so badly. But something had always told him that this was not the end for them.
“Sehun,” Jaehyun called for the fourth time, taking hold of Sehun’s arm. “Are you all right?”
Sehun was not even sure that he was breathing. As he finally managed to tear his gaze away from Kai, he looked to Jaehyun. “Yeah,” he let out shakily and glanced at Kai again. Kai did not take his eyes off Sehun.
“What’s going on?” B.I asked through the comm. “Is everything okay? I have a visual of the room, but I don’t see you guys moving. Come on. We don’t have a lot of time, guys! Get him out of there!”
Jaehyun licked his lips and turned to one of the guards. “What’s the plan?” he muttered to Sehun.
The two guards looked at them with a dubious look etched on their faces.
Sehun met Kai’s eyes for one last time before he tried to get a grip of himself. He had seen so much in the last few years. He was not going to let Kai break him down so easily. Not again. Sehun balled his hands into fists and gritted his teeth. He wanted nothing more than to show Kai and everyone that he was over it. Kai would not hurt him again. He would let it happen.
With a fist cocked, he turned in one sharp move and lunged at one of the guards while Jaehyun promptly tackled the other. As soon as Sehun’s fist landed on the guard’s face, he caught the other man’s hand that was reaching for the taser at his hip. Keeping a firm grip on the wrist, Sehun shifted on his feet and planted an elbow into the guard’s face before he quickly went for the stun gun. Ripping it from its holster, he released the man and charged a side of the guard’s neck with it, punching into the trigger.
The guard convulsed uncontrollably for a few seconds before he dropped to the floor, body writhing in pain. Heaving in a breath, Sehun turned to Jaehyun, who had already felled the other guard as well.
“You were slower,” commented Jaehyun, smirking as he tossed the stun gun in his hand.
Sehun ignored the cocky remark and glanced to the glass panel. Kai was watching the entire thing with a smile. It was as though he had seen it all coming and had second-guessed exactly what Sehun would do. Sehun tried not to let anything about Kai bother him or falter his determination. He could not afford it.
“Quick,” he muttered to Jaehyun, crouching down so that he could start stripping the uniform from the guard’s convulsing body. Jaehyun followed his suit.
Once he was clad in the guard’s uniform trousers, jacket and cap, Sehun retrieved that access card and keys from the guard’s belt.
“Get that,” he then told Jaehyun, pointing toward the muffling device in the guard’s possession.
“What is it for?” asked Jaehyun, grabbing it.
“Trust me,” Sehun sighed, starting for the door that led to the next room. “The bastard can never shut up.”
“Oof,” Jaehyun scoffed. “You are really bitter about your ex-boyfriend.”
“He was not my boyfriend,” Sehun murmured, swiping the guard’s card to unlock the door. Boyfriend… sounded so normal and ordinary. And everyone knew that there was nothing normal and ordinary about Kai.
Stepping into the next room, Sehun halted in his tracks for a minute to look at Kai. His heart was galloping thunderously in his chest, which felt as though it were being repeatedly stabbed at. Kai continued to smirk at him, his eyebrows raised slightly. Sehun thought that he might say something, but he did not.
“Sehun!” B.I growled in his ear. “We don’t have the time for all this reminiscing. Just get him and get out of there!”
Sehun swallowed the lump in his throat and moved his numb feet toward Kai. The closer he got, the faster his heart pounded. He realized then that he was… scared.
Which was silly. Sehun had always been reckless. He never cared about dying. In fact, he had tried many times to do it himself. But something about seeing Kai after all this time frightened him more than death ever could.
He tried to muster the courage and seem brave now.
His fingers trembled around the keys as he approached Kai. He kept his other hand close to the stun gun in the pocket. It really did feel like it was a lifetime ago when he had kissed Kai for the last time. But at the same time, he still remembered how it had felt. Seeing Kai again brought all of his memories back.
Kai tilted his head back a little to look up at Sehun in an atrociously arrogant way. He ran his tongue between his lips as he watched Sehun fumble with the keys for a moment.
Keeping his gaze away from Kai’s face, Sehun bent forward and hurriedly unlocked the shackles around the armrest.
A click, and one of Kai’s arms was free.
Without a single second of hesitation, Kai’s hand flung up and caught Sehun’s neck in a vicious grip that nearly crushed the bones. In spite of looking broken, Kai still retained the enormous strength in his grip. A struggling whimper broke from Sehun’s throat. It took him a moment to retaliate.
Seizing Kai’s wrist, Sehun twisted it as hard as he could until Kai released his neck. Then in a fury, Sehun slammed a side of Kai’s face, backhanding it hard enough that he could have cracked a knuckle.
Kai sucked in a breath through his mouth, his lower lip caught between his teeth, and he still smiled. “One,” he said, almost chuckling.
Sehun clenched his fists and jaw before he sprung at Kai, his hand wrapping around Kai’s neck now. “You want to get out of here, don’t you?” Sehun hissed at him, fingers tightening around the neck. “Then fucking behave.”
Kai stared at him unblinkingly for a moment before he whispered, “Two.”
Sehun scowled and spat, “What the hell are you counting for?”
Kai let out a breathy chuckle then. “Well,” he muttered, as though he were sharing a secret with Sehun. “I have to give back, don’t I? I always keep count, my love.”
Sehun felt his heart sink to his stomach as blood drained from his cheeks. His hand loosened around Kai’s neck, and he straightened up, scowl softening into a worried frown.
“We should go,” said Jaehyun, bursting into the room.
“Take the corridor to your left when you get out of there,” B.I said.
Sehun sucked in a breath and wrenched the muffling device out of Jaehyun’s hand before slapping it against Kai’s face. It locked itself in place over the lower half of Kai’s face at once, covering his mouth.
“Here,” Sehun grunted, tossing the shackles over to Jaehyun. “Be ready with the stun gun. This asshole can be unpredictable.”
Kai laughed behind the mouth muffler.
Jaehyun held the stun gun to Kai’s chest as Sehun quickly unlocked the rest of the shackles. As soon as he was done, he grabbed Kai’s shirt and yanked him up to his feet.
Kai staggered forward and fell against Sehun. He was having a hard time standing straight as Sehun fastened the shackles against around his wrists at his back. That was when he looked down at Kai’s feet that were covered in cane marks. Gnarly red and brown stripes were all over his feet, including the soles. How many times could the cane have broken the bones on his feet, Sehun wondered.
“Come on. March,” Jaehyun ordered, grabbing hold of one of Kai’s arm while Sehun hesitated to touch him. He eventually caught the sleeve of Kai’s shirt and yanked him forward to walk.
Kai made no sudden movements as he followed Sehun and Jaehyun out of the room, acutely aware of the stun gun that was pressed to his back. Sehun kept his head down, hiding under the cap as he and Jaehyun steered Kai down the left corridor.
“All right,” B.I said. “Now, take a right when you reach the end of the corridor.”
Although they walked past some of officials in the hallways, no one seemed to suspect a thing. Some of them did slow down to pin Kai with a grimace, though.
They followed B.I’s direction without a single misstep until they finally reached one of the backdoors of the building. While Jaehyun unlocked it with the access card, Sehun held Kai’s arm, his heart thumping in his throat. How could he still remember the heat of Kai’s body like it had all happened yesterday?
Beyond the fence, Sehun spied Akane’s van awaiting them.
“Now, wait for me,” rasped B.I as Sehun and Jaehyun dragged Kai toward the car.
“Where’s B.I?” Akane asked as Jaehyun forced Kai into the back of the van.
“He’s on his way,” Sehun told her as he jumped in the front seat. Akane glanced back at Kai and looked Sehun again worriedly.
“He looks scary,” she said.
“Oh, you have no idea,” Sehun muttered under his breath, fighting the urge to look back at Kai. Removing the cap, he said, “We’re going to have to take him back to the apartment.”
“And keep him there?” asked Jaehyun as he sidled next to Kai, still keeping the stun gun on Kai.
“Yes, we—” Sehun was cut off by the sudden commotion that broke out at the back. When he looked back, Kai was headbutting Jaehyun with a brutal force, knocking him to the floor of the van. Jaehyun quickly recovered, with blood oozing out of his nose, and plunged the stun gun into Kai’s chest.
Sehun gasped and almost reached back but stopped himself as Kai dropped unconscious on the floor.
“God, don’t tell me he’s dead,” Jaehyun groaned, checking for Kai’s pulse. “That was on low volt!”
“You okay?” Sehun asked, crawling to the back of the van to help Jaehyun. “You’re bleeding.”
“I’m fine,” Jaehyun groaned. “What was he thinking? Even if he manages to get out of this van, he was not going to make it past the compound without being noticed.”
Sehun sighed, turning Kai over so that he was lying on his back. “I don’t think he was trying to get away from us.”
“Then why did he attack me for no reason?!”
Kai was completely unconscious. Sehun doubted that he would wake up anytime soon.
“He does a lot of shit for no reason,” Sehun muttered, eyes raking Kai’s face that had been haunting him day and night for the past couple of years.
“Son of a bitch,” Jaehyun spat and wiped the blood on his mouth on the back of his hand.
“Here,” Akane said, handing him some tissues.
As soon as B.I finally joined them, they drove out of the compound as fast as the van could take them.
* * *
“Where should I put him?” Jaehyun grunted as he stumbled into the apartment with Kai slung over one of his shoulders.
“My room?” B.I offered. “It would be convenient to lock him up there.”
As Jaehyun teetered toward the room, Sehun stood in the living room, trying to compose himself. They had to be careful from now on. The Central Directorate would be hunting for them now. Julien would only be able to keep them pacified to some extent. But they had still committed a crime, and Sehun would be better off to watch his back for as long as they were in Japan.
“What now?” Jaehyun asked when he joined Sehun, B.I and Akane in the living room.
“We should let him recuperate for a while,” said B.I. “Maybe feed him? He looks like he hadn’t eaten in ages.’
“We have to contact Red Peril and then wait for our next meeting,” said Sehun. He plumped on the couch and planted his chin in his hands. It still all felt so surreal. Kai was here. He was actually here.
“We have a psychotic terrorist locked up in our home,” said Jaehyun in a sharp whisper. Akane flinched at his side, her dreadful expression hardening. “Something tells me he is not going to be very happy about it.”
“We just broke him out of the most horrific prison in the world,” said B.I. “I think he owes us thanks.”
“He is not free,” Sehun said, scowling. “He goes back in there the instant we get more lead on Red Peril.”
Standing up, he tore the jacket away and started for the room in which Jaehyun had left Kai in. On his way, he pulled his phone out and found some messages and missed calls from Jon. He sighed.
Sometimes, as much as he wanted to believe that he needed some normalcy and peace in his life, it was difficult to maintain a balance. Especially when the life he lived was mostly anything but ordinary.
He found Kai on the bed, limp and asleep, when he entered the room. He did not bother to turn the light on as he shut the door behind him. For a few minutes, he stood by the door and stared at Kai on the bed with bated breath.
This was all very strange. Sehun was having a hard time wrapping his head around everything that was happening.
Then taking a deep breath, he walked over to the side of the bed and fished the keys out of his pocket.
Unfastening the handcuffs, Sehun brought a knee onto the bed to lean forward and lock one of Kai’s wrists to the metal rails of the headboard. As he straightened up, his eyes wandered to the skin exposed by Kai’s raised shirt. He stopped and stared at the swirling patterns inked to Kai’s lower abdomen, along his deep waistlines. Sehun recalled how those tattoos used to drive him crazy. From the first time he had seen them.
Sighing, he then unlocked the muffling device and took it away from Kai’s face. Now, he was staring at Kai’s mouth. Shaking his head, he quickly turned away.
“I’m going to see Jon,” he told the others when he stormed out of the room. “Text me when he wakes up.” |
Merlin held his breath as he slipped past the doors and into the King’s chambers. The guards were fast asleep at their posts, and he couldn’t have been more grateful at the moment.
The room was dark—lit only by the hearth and moonlight coming through the window near the bed.
“Merlin?” A voice called quietly, both hopeful and wary. “Merlin, is that you?”
“It’s me,” he replied in a whisper, his voice carrying across the room despite the low volume.
A soft breath of relief followed the confirmation, and Merlin smiled. He let his eyes flare gold, lighting the candles around the chambers. Light filled the room and Merlin walked over to the bed with his path newly lit.
When his eyes fell on Arthur, who laid snuggled in his bed with the duvet pulled to the chin, a smile spread across his lips.
“You look like a little prince,” he teased, sitting on the edge of the bed. “All small and tiny and tucked in for bed.”
“Shut up, Merlin,” Arthur huffed, narrowing his eyes at him, “I am a king. I am neither tiny nor small.”
“Oh, that’s for sure.” Merlin smirked. As Arthur’s face grew red and he sputtered, Merlin tugged on the duvet. “Come on, let me in.”
Arthur glared at him for a moment before sighing and tossing back the covers. “Get in here. Did anyone see you?”
Merlin’s heart ached at the frantic tone to his voice when he asked the question. He hated it was something they even had to think about… It shouldn’t have been. They deserved to be open and happy and proud and…it hurt to have to worry about being seen because of their harsh past.
To have to sneak into Arthur’s chambers on the rare occasion when he was able to visit.
It was getting harder and harder to visit.
Merlin took a deep breath and crawled into bed next to Arthur, snuggling close as the duvet was pulled back over them both. It was warm and smelled like Arthur. Maybe that should have been off-putting. Merlin could only find it comforting though.
Slowly, he tucked himself into Arthur’s side, sighing at the warmth radiating from him.
“I missed you,” Merlin murmured. And he did, he had missed him so much. So much. Arthur hummed softly and Merlin looked up to his face. There was a longing look in his eyes that Merlin could only assume he mirrored. He wanted so much more than that they had.
“I missed you, too, Merlin,” Arthur sighed.
He wanted to say Arthur wouldn’t have to miss him if they just stopped acting like rebellious children and came clean to the court about their affair. If they commissioned rings and stood before an altar. It would be good for both of their kingdom’s, anyway, to unite through their union.
Their councils wouldn’t object, not really. They’d put on a show, a big deal about how the kings hated each other, but they’d not really object.
It would be a good political move.
Yet still they hid.
Stolen kisses in dark alcoves, illicit cuddling in the dead of night…
It was getting tiring.
Merlin was getting tired.
It had been going on far too long.
They were kings, dammit! They shouldn’t have to hide! They were the ones in control! They made the laws and commanded knights and lead their peoples! They deserved the freedom their respective denizens had…
Yet, of course, they were the only ones standing in their own way. Their own anxiety, their own fear. However irrational—however unwarranted—it was real, and it was shattering.
It was suffocating.
They couldn’t live like this, though. They had so much potential. They were made for one another—gods, Merlin would dare to call them soulmates on a good day, despite the rocky start they got off on that harboured the core of their anxieties.
They deserved to be free of their own fear.
Merlin buried his face in Arthur’s neck and placed soft, placating kisses along the soft skin, decision made. When he heard Arthur let out a soft, calm sigh, he struck.
“We can't keep sneaking around like this,” Merlin murmured against the other King’s skin, his face still pressed into his neck. Arthur stiffened before he let out another sigh [albeit this one more tired], his arms tightening around Merlin.
“I don't want to, but you know that if they find out—”
Merlin pulled back from his neck and cut him off with a sweet kiss. Arthur let out a small hum as Merlin's pressed their lips together, slowly closing his eyes. It was a weak distraction, but worked, nonetheless. When he pulled back, Merlin ran his fingers through Arthur's hair, distantly and silently delighted by how soft it was.
“Maybe it's time they found out,” he whispered, cautious and slow.
Arthur's eyes went wide at the suggestion, but Merlin wasn't done. "I can only make the excuse of coming to Camelot for diplomatic meetings so many times before my own council gets suspicious and starts asking questions... Maybe it's time we make this public.”
“Merlin, I… You know we—the councils—”
“I’m tired of hiding, Arthur,” Merlin murmured, voice pleading, “we deserve to be… We shouldn’t have to hide. We don’t have to hide. Not anymore, not now that we’re kings…”
Arthur fell silent.
Deafeningly silent.
Merlin’s heart pounded in his chest so loud he swore the next kingdom over could hear it. He was risking so much. If Arthur didn’t want to step into the light with him…
“I want to marry you,” he choked out before he realised what he was saying, desperate for Arthur to understand how much he meant to him. Arthur inhaled sharply and his eyes widened impossibly further.
“Merlin,” he breathed, staring at him like he was something of a wonder. Then, there were lips on his once more—burning but soft, not hurried or rushed. It was full of so much and Merlin was overwhelmed by the emotion. When he pulled away, it was Merlin’s turn to be breathless, speechless. “Let’s do it.”
Merlin blinked once, twice, three times. His tongue darted out to wet his lips before he quietly—dumbly—asked, “what?”
Arthur laughed a fond laugh and ghosted his lips over Merlin’s.
“Get married, you dense fool,” he mumbled.
“Oh,” Merlin sighed, lips pulling into a dopey grin. “And our councils…?”
“Oh, bloody—fuck the councils,” Arthur huffed, tugging Merlin impossibly closer, “you’re right, it’s…time we say damn it all and stop being such blubbering cowards. We’re kings! And you should relish this moment, because that’s not something I’ll say very often once we’re married.”
Merlin snorted softly and shook his head just barely. “Prat.”
A moment of silence passed between them, calm but delicate, and Merlin closed his eyes.
“We’re going to get married,” he hummed, a slight sing-song tone to his voice.
Arthur hummed in response, mirroring his tone. “We’re going to get married.”
Anxiety still buzzed beneath Merlin’s skin, and his heart raced in his chest, but neither overpowered the joy that sang in his veins. They were ready. They were done hiding.
They were getting married. |
ASGARD
“Locks?”
“Hmm?”
“Other than sadism, is there a particular reason you dragged us out here obscenely early?” Tony cracked a very wide yawn, sunglasses that he didn’t need yet resting on his nose. The sun hadn’t even crested the horizon so his reaction made sense.
Abyss was draped lazily over both of Loki’s shoulders, sleeping. Willow was scowling into her mug of tea. She was not a morning person.
Bragi was bright and perky. Not surprising if you thought about it. “Is it early, fader?” Before becoming Loki’s son, he was a page and he had dreams of being a warrior. Warrior training started before dawn. He’d also gone to bed when he was supposed to.
Loki grinned softly in amusement, sitting at one of small tables in the empty market, the boy balanced on his knee. “I do not think so.”
Tony was sitting across from them and shook his head. “The pair of you are weird.”
Bragi blinked and turned. “Am I weird?”
Loki shook his head. “No. You are not.” Giving the other man a warning look. “Tony is just grumpy and pouting because he did not go to bed when he should have.”
“Ooooh.”
Tony sighed and slouched his head into his arms on the table surface. “You didn’t sleep, again, did you?”
Loki’s amusement grew. “Hence why you are tired and I am not.” Thor appeared with a large smile and sunny disposition. Since the elder prince didn’t have magic on his side to allow him to be awake indefinitely Loki pointed a finger in his direction. “Now he, is weird.”
Bragi giggled and Natasha snorted. Clint bit his bottom lip and studied his feet.
Thor just smiled. “Who is weird?”
Loki crossed his arms loosely. “You attended the revelry, drank too much, yet here you are as--…” The darker prince squinted before he sighed. “You are still drunk.”
“No I am not.” Thor shook his head a bit too aggressively and almost sat on the ground instead of the chair he’d pulled out.
The mage paused and gave his brother a doubting look of silence before drawling, “Uh huh. And if General Tyr challenges you to hit anything smaller that the broadside of a mountain you would hit the target?”
“…uh…” After a pause that Thor took too long to consider his options, he decided upon quiet was the safest choice.
Loki rolled his eyes with a sigh. “Ignoring your existence, now.”
Willow softly snorted and mumbled, “…how?”
Bruce asked curiously, “Is there a particular reason we are here?”
Turning his attention to someone who wasn’t irritating first thing in the morning. “No doubt after the rampant bouts of nakedness running through the halls SHIELD will find themselves escorted to BiFrost.” Fury stiffened and Loki noticed. “They will not be harmed, Nicholas, relax. Doing so would make father look bad.” He shrugged and moved on. “I thought to spare you all from being in the middle of that confusion.”
Tony stiffened. “Uh--…”
Loki waved a hand. “Anya agreed to wake your Pepper at a decent hour and ensure she is tucked in with either something that Sigyn or Veilya are doing.” He wasn’t sure what the two ladies would get up to, but unless they requested his input for ideas he was going to keep his mouth shut. “This is also an excellent spot to start our tour, for you to be able to see the market come to life.”
Tony pressed, “And after?”
The mage had a suspicion where the inventor’s thoughts were but he ignored it. “General Tyr has agreed to allow your observation of our different cohorts going through their morning training exercises.”
Bragi bounced on his knee. “Neat!”
Impulsively Loki leaned forward enough to wrap the boy in a hug. “I thought you would like that.”
“Uh huh. And after?” Loki narrowed his eyes a fraction at Tony.
Probably a quick swing by the palace to drop Bragi off for lunch. “We might end our tour where it begins. You might find some trinkets you wish to purchase before your return to Midgard.”
Not hearing what he wanted to hear, Tony pouted. “No infrastructure?”
Loki sighed. Just as he had suspected. “You will just have to wait and see.”
“Pranks?”
A deadpan response followed, “The point of plausible deniability is to not discuss such things out loud.”
Fury grimaced and swore, “Dammit, Loki. What did you do?”
“Nothing that will involve you, so fear not.” The response was light, before it turned as he sneered, “But if you continue to talk about it so that I am dragged before the throne you will regret it.”
Bruce sounded concerned. “Would that happen?” Thor made a belated grimace of a face.
Loki just smirked and sipped his tea…Bragi of course doing his best to copy him.
The trickster paused for just a moment, his wards alerting him of a presence in his rooms. Then a secondary alert. His smirk turned private but he didn’t mention anything as the first of the AEsir started to arrive to open their businesses.
***
Martina awoke with a gasp. She glanced around rapidly to confirm she was in her new rooms in Asgard, still in bed. Throwing on a dressing gown and stuffing her feet in slippers, she stumbled out of her room in a panic and knocked rapidly on Veilya’s door. From within the seer called out, “Enter.”
She pushed open the door to see Veilya going through a few warm up exercises, as she did every morning. Blurting out with anxiety. “I had a vision!”
The priestess smiled and lowered her staff since that was normally a topic of excitement, not anxiety. Though the smile slipped to see Martina’s expression. Letting the stick drop where it wished and crossing the distance, taking her hands in concern, “What is wrong?”
Martina almost stuttered in a rush to get the words out. “I saw them! They were in a strange place they didn’t mean to be. I felt it. They were worried—afraid.”
Blinking. “Who?”
She panted and gestured with her elbow since her hands weren’t free. “The others. El and Melody, and Talia.”
Veilya pulled in a breath and moved an arm around Martina’s shoulders, closing the door and tugging her over to the small kitchenette that came with all the suites on this floor. Sitting her down, she started to make a special tea she had discovered worked well with the girl’s biological issues.
Martina started to rock in place in the chair, wrapping her arms around her body. She zoned out but popped back to awareness when Veilya carefully put the tea in her hands. “Blow and drink slowly.”
The teen did as instructed and sipped carefully, feeling herself slowly calm. “We have to find them.”
Veilya glanced over at the two house fairies hovering lazily. She pointed. “I do not think anything is amiss just yet. I think you saw something to come.”
The girl stood up. “Then we should stop them--…”
A knock cut off their conversation before Veilya could reply. Calling out, “Enter.” It was Sigyn that appeared this time. The priestess sighed in relief. “You read my mind.”
Sigyn was already fully dressed and ready for a normal day. She lifted an eyebrow and teased. “Not one of my talents I am afraid.” Then she caught Martina’s expression. “Is something amiss?” She frowned at the house fairies who weren’t reacting as if anything was wrong.
Veilya explained. “Martina saw a vision of the girls in a bit of trouble. Somewhere that was not Asgard.”
The elven queen blinked. “Ah. Yes.” She crossed to pour herself a cup of tea. “Not to worry, we knew it would happen sooner or later.”
Martina and Veilya glanced at one another and asked in unison, “Huh?”
***
Talia looked from observing the etching that was magically made by Freyja of the locked door of her former room to the key now on the bed. There was a resemblance between the two in terms of the swirling patterns and designs.
El was biting her lower lip and looking very guilty. All the kids knew about the key but not where it was stored. This was the perfect time to go on an adventure with the adults distracted. She’d snuck into Loki’s rooms and swiped the key from the secret compartment in his potion table.
Melody was an excited bundle of nerves, her head peeking out the door to play lookout.
“What d’ya think?” El asked curiously. Even though Talia was physically younger she was the most experienced when it came to the rest of the Nine.
The little elf pointed out the similar patterns. “They both appear Vanir.”
El pressed, “But will it open the door?”
Talia shrugged and folded away the etching. “Only one way to find out.” El sighed but didn’t disagree. Now Talia was the one to pause. “Should we be doing this? Mother will not be pleased.” She didn’t normally do things she wasn’t supposed to do. She was the quiet one. The good one. So why didn’t the thought of doing something naughty worry her more?
“Neither will dad.” El winced. She wasn’t used to feeling worried about being punished for doing something wrong. Not that he scared her. But what kid looked forward to getting grounded? Then she firmed her jaw. “He wanted to know about the door and the key. Maybe he’ll thank us?”
Talia gave her a doubting look.
Melody spun around and reported, “Nobody is coming.”
The elf bit her lower lip. “Are we really doing this?” Different words, same question.
El firmed her jaw. She’d taken the key, she was already in trouble. “We’re in too deep to back out now.” She decided they just needed to go for it. “Where are the fairies?”
Melody pointed down the corridor where a cloud of them were congregating. El pulled her sister back so the door shut. She glanced at Talia. “Balcony?”
Talia pulled in a slow breath and offered hesitantly, “I could…we could pass through that wall.” She’d done it on herself with no problems. Once. Under Sigyn’s supervision. How hard could it be for more people to go with her?
The youngest of them bounced since she loved magic and couldn’t do any of the spells herself, “Can we??”
El was slightly more cautious since the lessons she’d had didn’t even approach this concept yet. “Is it dangerous?”
A shrug. “Not anymore than teleporting and he does that all the time.”
Melody looked so excited she was vibrating in place. “LET’S DO IT!!”
El hissed, “Will you shut up?” If the house fairies heard them it would ruin everything. Genius or not, her sister was such a goober sometimes. Melody slapped both hands over her mouth. But her enthusiasm was completely undampened, still rapidly bouncing. El nodded once. “Okay, let’s do it.”
Talia consulted her grimoire and they cleared everything away from the wall. “Close your eyes and take a deep breath in.”
“Why?” The elf just looked at El. “Okay, okay.”
They inhaled in unison and took a step forward, through the wall and safely appeared on the other side. Talia grinned brightly and Melody’s feet left the floor as she silently started leaping in place. El felt the air rush out of her lungs in relief. She promised herself she was never going to look up the spell to find out what could have gone wrong.
They were in the small room adjacent to Sigyn’s quarters with the locked door. Talia held up the key. “You want to?”
The three girls shared excited looks before El carefully fit the key into the lock. She turned it and with a click the door opened on its own. It worked. Only, it didn’t open to the palace corridor or even a secret passageway within the wall. There was sunlight and birds in the distance. A soft breeze carrying a sweet smelling flower. With nervous bounce they stepped through the door and looked around at what awaited them on the other side.
A long corridor as wide as a palace corridor but this one was much longer. There was a lot more dark wood and less stone in the architecture, many of the window either full glass or stained glass. Potted plants were also strategically placed along the walkway. There were other doors that were much simpler in design all along one side with shallow balconies on the other to allow for someone to see outside without stepping out. Talia peeked out an opening and gasped. “Vanaheim.”
El blinked. “Huh?”
Talia repeated, “This is Vanaheim. The University, I think.” She pointed down at the Quad where an assortment of young adults in robes were congregating around a fountain.
Someone down the corridor started talking and they backed up…and ran into the closed door.
Talia quietly shrieked in panic, “Open it!”
El felt her stomach drop. “I--…I left the key in the door.” They all studied the closed door that didn’t have a key in it, because the key was still in the lock on the opposite side. The two girls looked to El who finished very slowly, “…in Asgard.”
Talia winced. Melody cringed.
El groaned, “We are so grounded.” Assuming Loki and Sigyn ever found out where they were.
***
After dropping Bragi off at the palace, who skipped inside to find Anya, Loki took the main path back down towards the market with the Avengers still following. Thor had hedged for a bit but when informed the return to the market would be so the humans would have a chance to shop before leaving he’d politely bowed out after saying his goodbyes.
…his hangover was starting to kick in, anyway.
Almost halfway there and Loki paused to see a familiar face. “Sorcerer Birger Tadson. A pleasant surprise.” It truly was. He knew lots of people in the magical community, but with Birger he’d just felt this click with him, as he had with the man’s brothers.
The eldest Tadson turned and bowed in return. “Prince Loki.”
“Vanaheim is that boring?” It was a tease and they both knew it.
Birger shook his head. “Not at all, prince. I have been asked to assess that upgrades that are needed.”
Three Aesir seidkona were standing nearby, buzzing with excitement. Loki smiled, not sure what this building was being set aside for. He knew it had been vacant for a very long time. So long, he couldn’t even remember what it was last used for. He bared his teeth to convey that excitement, even though he was thoroughly clueless. “A lot of updating needed, do you think?”
Birger shrugged slightly to himself. His preliminary exam was just to get a feel for how much space there was to work with. From the outside and his cursory exam he was optimistic. “It is not that bad, honestly. Once we have an in-depth layout of the entire structure I will be able to make suggestions.”
Refusing to look like an ignorant fool, he nodded. “Then I shall continue my tour with our human guests and leave you to your project.”
The sorcerer bowed in return. “Prince.”
Loki continued forward, silently wondering what was going on in that building. Willow sighed in boredom and Loki glanced at her. “You could have returned to the palace.”
She snorted. “Every time I do you get into trouble. No thank you.”
A runner, one who forwarded quick messages from the BiFrost, appeared and bowed. “Prince Loki?”
“Speaking of trouble.” Loki turned and accepted the hastily written note. Reading it, he nodded slightly and the servant left. He didn’t look surprised in the least. Glancing down at the cat sauntering at his side. “Abyss, can you retrieve Sigyn?”
The familiar blinked upward. ‘Of course.’ A second later he disappeared in a flash.
Bruce gave Loki a concerned look. “Bad news?”
Loki shook his head with a small smirk. “No. The girls are returning from their misadventure.”
Tony blinked in confusion. “Huh?”
Waving a dismissive hand, “As none of you have children of your own, the explanation is pointless.”
Barton started to raise his hand, before remembering himself. Natasha murmured to him. “That was careless.”
Hissing back at her. “My guard was down.” She just raised an eyebrow. He grumbled something under his breath and kicked a couple of small rocks on the path.
Loki had a genuine smile when Sigyn appeared with Abyss in her arms. “Ah. Sigyn, my love.” Three of her elven escorts including Basil were with her. The other two had remained behind with Veilya, Martina, and Pepper.
She gave him a heated smile before allowing it to morph to polite as she inclined her head towards the Avengers. “Shall I take over your escort duties or meet the girls at the BiFrost?”
The mage had already pondered how this needed to be handled. “Considering there is only one person who knows where I put the key, I shall deal with them this time.”
She winked slyly and he disappeared in a flash of green. Willow huffed in annoyance. Sigyn gave her arm a consoling pat. “He should be going from here directly to the BiFrost.”
The Blade crossed her arms. “Should does not mean he will.”
After a moment Sigyn gave a conceding nod.
Bruce looked slightly amused. “Then they are in a bit of trouble.”
“Just a little bit.” Moving the conversation along as she turned. “Come, I believe your tour was to end where it began in the market.”
***
Loki appeared in the observatory, Heimdall not even blinking in surprise. He reported, “The children are not quite at the appointed place.”
The prince maintained a blank expression and a bland tone. “No matter. Half the punishment will be the anticipation. Let them wait for a few minutes and fret about it.”
Heimdall turned his golden gaze enough to study him for a moment. “You seem unsurprised.”
The corner of Loki’s mouth moved in amusement. “I knew exactly where they would end up.” He sensed the surprise and explained. “I tested the key on myself first, after Freyja confirmed the Vanir doorway.”
The Gatekeeper nodded. “A controlled misadventure.”
“Just so. The Nine realms are now their home. I wish to place guardrails of caution, not clip their wings.”
After a few moments of silence Heimdall stated, “I hear you are appointed as second chair.”
“You heard correctly.” Then he turned to face the other man with an evil little smile. “Worried?”
Heimdall barely reacted. “No. Your judgement is the least we deserve.” He hesitated. “When you see the reports--…”
Loki gave him a look. “You think I have not already put the pieces together?” The mage snorted a second later. “Father found out after all these centuries of the lies you and the rest of your ilk have been placing at his feet.”
“Yes. I told him--…”
“I know. Tyr forced your hand.” Heimdall looked confused but Loki stated with confidence, even though no one told him a thing, “He is the only honorable one among you. It was only a matter of time before he discovered the truth and forced it from the rest of you.”
Heimdall swallowed, feeling exposed. “How long have you known?”
Slowly Loki crossed his arms. “Do you not know, Gatekeeper? It was father’s favorite game. I would argue my perspective and then he would bring forth the report that of course must be the truth since I was just an adolescent son trying to avoid punishment. Point by point he would read out the discrepancies. That report of false truth would be a hammer against my pitiful nail of reality. I would still face punishment, only because I had lied now it would be worse.” There was no point in telling the truth or trying to defend himself. A system devised so that he couldn’t emerge triumphant. “It was a game I could not win. So from then on I would do as I wished, since I was going to be punished anyway. But by then my reputation as a liar had been cemented so I embraced that as well.”
“Even--…” Heimdall trailed off, the question incomplete.
Loki raised an eyebrow. “Thor? His strategy was different. He would not lie regarding what he had done. But he would stress what I did was worse and put the focus of any misdeed on me so he could skirt around a reprimand.” His expression turned thoughtful. “It usually worked, too.”
“You never lie to General Tyr?” Heimdall wasn’t quite certain if he believed that was true but he’d heard a rumor.
Loki shrugged. “I never needed to.” The Gatekeeper’s brow furrowed. “You wonder why I consider Tyr the most honorable? Any mission that he headed I knew fact would prevail. I had no need to worry about false reports concerning my actions to make someone else look better.” He moved back out of the observatory until he was standing at the entrance. “They have waited long enough.”
***
It hadn’t been strangers that had found them. Both a good thing, but also a very bad thing. Freyja escorted the three children to their doom. But first, she took them by a small café to ensure they had something to drink and nibble on. While they sat and waited, she’d sent a request to alert Asgard of a BiFrost transport.
Their pleading looks didn’t do a thing. When it was time, she shooed them to the appropriate spot and stepped back. She was still there, her arms crossed and her face carefully neutral. The girls fidgeted but didn’t dare move. There was silence for several minutes. Only once the BiFrost had whisked them away did she allow the smile to form that had been aching to appear.
When they arrived Heimdall was at the controls, looking as grim as ever. The person who had their entire focus was Loki whose face was blank and arms were crossed. Not good. Almost clinically he checked each of them over to ensure there were no injuries, even minor ones. With a firm look he spun on his heels to walk on the BiFrost in the direction of the palace and the girls followed with heads down.
Because they were studying their shoes as they walked they were unaware Loki was suddenly behind them and in a flash they were teleported to Sigyn’s quarters, to the scene of the crime. They all looked around in surprise while Loki purposefully crossed to the door and took out the key, putting it in his pocket before lifting an eyebrow. El went back to studying her shoes.
He paused to stare at the wall that the three of them had walked through. None of them had the skill or the knowledge yet to hide a previous spell. Then he raised an eyebrow at Talia and the little elf’s gaze fell to the floor.
Loki sat on the edge of Talia’s former bed so he wasn’t towering over them. The girls glanced at one another before hesitantly stepping closer. “I was not much older than Talia when I went on my first adventure. My mother never tried to control where I went. What she did require was that I was prepared.”
Melody frowned. “We were prepared.”
He gave her a mild look, certain of the three of them she wasn’t the ring leader. “Were you?”
Talia glanced up. “I know Vanaheim. The key indicates the Vanir.”
Loki slowly nodded and played along. “I see. And what did you anticipate?”
The young elf shrugged. “It would open to a room, or a structure. It did.”
“Mhmm, and you of course brought supplies in case the unthinkable happened.” He lifted an eyebrow when she grimaced. “If you had appeared in a farm house in the middle of the Utangard providence, who would you seek out for aid?” Silence followed as eyes went back to studying the floor. “As I thought.”
That small jab was enough to wake El’s rebellious streak. “But it didn’t.”
He corrected, “But it could have. Manufactured passages are not like walking between rooms. You are traveling through folds of space. If the connection had been damaged you could have ended up anywhere. And I do mean literally anywhere, even the depths of space.” El paled. “There is also the fact that I am Asgardian, a mage, and I had been in training with young warriors my age for many years. I knew how to defend myself and get out of sticky situations. And I was learning seidr for many more years than either of you.”
Melody volunteered, trying to be helpful. “I could sing if there was danger.”
El jumped on that thought and pointed between herself and Talia. “And we know some magic.”
Loki shook his head, not because he disagreed, but because he didn’t want them to have to make that choice. “Until you are older I do not wish you to put yourself in situations where the possibility of using it is even a consideration. Be a child while you can, little raven.” Then his statement was meant for the pair, but encompassed all of them. “You have some knowledge, but you are both too young to successfully protect others in addition to yourself with your craft.”
El protested, “What about Sleipnir?”
He knew at this point his mother would be giggling behind her hand if she heard any of this. “I had a century over all of you when I met Sleipnir and had already obtained adequate skills with throwing knives.”
Talia drooped. “Are we grounded?” She’d never experienced a grounding since that was a human phrase. But El and Melody had explained enough about it that she understood.
He tapped a finger against his lips for a moment as he pondered what would be appropriate. “You will write an essay, three pages long. In it, you will explain all of the dangers that could have awaited you had the door not opened to the University on Vanaheim.”
There were groans and pouts, although neither hesitated to give him a hug when he opened his arms in invitation. He smirked and lightly tapped each chin before the younger set left quietly. El lingered and he turned his attention to her, “Yes?”
She glanced down and twisted her fingers with her hand. “I’m sorry.”
He tilted his head. “Am I truly so difficult to talk to?”
El was quick to shake her head. Talking to him was easy. But there were times when he was less a teacher and more a father and she offered the reason none of them had said anything. “You would’ve said no.”
He conceded, “Probably. But I would have explained why.”
She gave a pouty huff. “Waste of time anyway.”
He smirked and stood up, tugging her along. “Not necessarily. Right now this key only acts as a gateway between here and Vanaheim. I doubt so much trouble went into making it for something so basic.” Not when there was already a dark passage that would take a person from Asgard to the same general area. “Particularly as this key has been held by a Midgardian all these years and the little insignia in the corner here, is from an artist that lived in an entirely different area of Vanaheim.” El’s eyes brightened with excitement but Loki was quick to nip the thought of a further expedition in the bud. “No, I am not telling you.”
Undeterred. “So who do we ask?”
Loki shook his head and emphasized. “We are not going to do the asking. I am. Once I have more answers this might be something I will pursue in the future. If it is reasonably safe, you can be included.” El sighed. “Besides, you have many other things to occupy your time.” Then he paused and gave her a curious look. “Or shall I start creating a few tasks for your idle time? I feel certain the stable hands would love an additional helper in mucking out the stalls.” He wasn’t serious…but there was always the possibility.
She yelped and shook her head rapidly as she leapt away from him. “I’m not bored!” No horse poop for her, thank you very much.
He chuckled in amusement. “No, but you are dangerously curious.”
“So are you.”
There was the sass he’d been expecting. “True. I want all of you to grow used to one realm, before you start stretching out to exploring the rest of them.” He tapped her lightly under the chin before offering, “There are techniques I have been teaching Bragi to assist him in his ability to defend himself. Willow has also indicated she would be willing to teach a few things. Would you like to be included in those lessons?”
She made a small face. She wasn’t an athletic kind of girl. In school she took gym because it had been required, not because she enjoyed it. “Couldn’t I learn magicky stuff for that?”
He shook his head. “You do not have enough of the basics yet for that. But I will keep a mental note of this desire to be revisited.”
El puffed in a breath. But then thought about it. Did she really want a little kid like Bragi to kick butt better than her? “Okay, I want to learn what Bragi learns.” Then making her voice firm. “But I don’t want to be a warrior.”
He grinned and finished escorting her to her rooms with a nod. “Which is fine. These lessons are more about personal safety.”
She sighed before she suddenly blurted, “Can’t you move to this wing?”
He paused to give her a serious look. “It is important to you?” He knew she didn’t say things like that lightly.
She scuffed her shoe on the ground. But then she seemed to gather her courage and nodded as she looked back up. “I like Sigyn. But if I get scared in the middle of the night…you make me feel safe.” Impulsively she hugged him tightly.
He rubbed her back and nodded. “Then a compromise. The rooms next to yours I will sleep in but my belongings shall remain where they are, for appearance sake. We shall save final room revisions for later.”
El pulled back and gave him a funny look. “You guys are weird prudes. You know that, right?”
Loki sniffed. “I am not a prude.”
Snarky. “Uh huh. So how come you and Sigyn can’t move in together without a wedding ring? Even we primitive mortals did away with that crap ages ago.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Ages ago?”
She shrugged. “Dunno. At least…20 years or something.”
He snickered at the thought of that being a long time ago. The house fairies congregated in front of them in a cloud and made a curious sound, saving him from having to defend something he didn’t agree with. Loki nodded. “Yes, the children have returned from their adventure, you may resume watching over them if you like.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “How can you understand them?”
He grinned. “It is just one of my many, many talents.”
A tinkling sound and the pairs flew their separate ways to find their self-appointed child. El glanced up at the fairies that were now following her before giving him a look. “I can feel the smug.”
Loki quickly wiped the look off his face. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”
***
Tony was pondering getting something for Pepper. Not just some pretty thing that he could have picked up from anywhere on Earth. Something special. The others had spread out to other shops in the market, Sigyn and Willow accompanying them. The cat had elected to come with him. He didn’t mind. He wasn’t the biggest fan of cats but this one acted a lot like Loki so it wasn’t so bad.
He smelled her before she was at his side, the perfume more than a bit much. By the way she paused, he knew he was her target. In the reflection of the case he could see she looked like any typical AEsir beauty. He just waited and pretended to mind his own business.
Her voice was honeyed and casual. “I hear you are a comrade of Prince Loki.”
He didn’t turn his head as he nodded and let his eyes move over the case of jewelry. “Mmm, I know him, sure.”
He could feel her stare boring into the side of his head. “You more than know him, sir.”
Abyss hissed at her. A mean look crossed her face before she kicked at the familiar. “Away, foul beast.” The cat’s eyes narrowed as he growled before he teleported.
Tony whipped around. “That was uncool.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly in thoughtful consideration. “I have heard humans are fragile in comparison to us.” Then she stepped forward, her hand flat on his chest and almost effortlessly pushing him along. He didn’t expect that and suddenly he wasn’t feeling confident being alone with her. The excuse slipped out but was cut short. “I should head back to the palace--…” She gripped his arm and he was shocked to discover how strong she was. AEsir, hello? But male ego refused to let him call for help like a damsel in distress, even if he felt like one. “Hey, let--…”
She almost yanked his arm out of its socket as she tugged him down an alleyway next to the stall. Her expression coy, but her eyes cold, “Come now. You are a man, surely you have 5 minutes.” She ran her hands down his body.
She was beautiful and normally it didn’t take much to get him primed and ready to go. But no matter how hot she was or what his body wanted, his mind was repulsed by her. He shook his head and tried to pull back. “Not interested.”
He grunted as she cupped him and she grinned in victory. “Your body says differently.” No longer being polite about it, he tried to jerk away from her but she grasped the back of his neck to kiss him--…
She shrieked as she flew away from Tony and landed in a mud puddle. Tony panted and stumbled to the side, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand.
Loki slowly came up the alleyway, his hand extended, Abyss on his shoulder. “Whether the word comes from a male or a female…no means no.”
Abyss hissed and spat, ‘She kicked at me!’
Loki made a tisking sound and slowly shook his head from side to side. “You never learn, Linnea. A pity. I would have thought your current disgrace a sufficient lesson to stay away from what is mine. I was wrong.” Linnea shrieked at him wordlessly, not trying to get out of the mud just yet.
Tony pointed a finger at her. “You know this psycho hose-beast?”
Loki shrugged dismissively. “At one time she and I had a formal courtship.”
The inventor’s eyes widened in horror and he grimaced. “Yikes. What happened?”
“I do not marry unfaithful whores,” was the cold reply.
Tony nodded. “Your new girl is class. That…is…”
“I know.” She targeted Tony because of their friendship. As the children grew he knew it would be no different. Sighing slowly. “You are nothing more than a bitch in heat.” Loki suddenly made an intricate gesture and Linnea disappeared with a shriek. In her place was a common mongrel of a dog. Loki bared his teeth, refusing to kneel down to be at her level. “Enjoy.”
A mournful howl.
Loki understood her just fine. “Your family will never know so there will be no proof to present before the throne.” He gave a mocking wave. “Bye bye.” Not that he had the ability to transform her indefinitely. Such spells were finite, a few days at most. Hopefully she learned by then because if she came after anyone in his family again at best he’d deliver her to Freyja who knew exactly what to do with bitches like this that didn’t know respect.
…if not she just might end up in Helheim.
A flash and Loki reappeared in the market with Tony and Abyss before he asked the inventor curiously, “Why were you out here alone?”
Tony held up a hand. “First, mouthwash.”
Loki blinked a few times. He didn’t have anything of the sort on hand but after a considering moment from dimensional storage he produced a glass. “Elven berry juice. Will cleanse the pallet.”
Stark took a cautious sip, found it a delightful drink, and knocked it back. “Didn’t think that would happen here.”
The mage sighed. “Every society has their unsavory elements.”
“The others are around here somewhere. I was just looking…”
“What are you searching for?” Loki’s interest was definitely peaked.
Tony was suddenly not looking at the trickster. “I wanted to get Pep something.”
Loki let the satisfied smirk hover for a moment before hiding it, keeping his tone mild. “Mmm. I suppose the question is are you searching for something to the right, or to the left.”
“Huh?” Tony blinked in confusion.
The trickster explained. “She does not remind me of a woman who wears lots of adornments.”
“No, I guess not.”
The prince nodded and pointed lazily. “If you choose the left, those would be functional rings. You know what I mean by that, yes?” Tony nodded. The kind of ring that went on a girl’s finger to be someone’s wife. “The right have necklaces, which I could see her wearing if it was for someone special.”
Tony cringed and shook his head. “We just started dating--…”
A dismissive hand accompanied the response. “You have known her for decades.”
“I’m not ready--…”
Loki put a light hand on Tony’s chest to calm the panic that was trying to cloud his thoughts. “You are ready enough to choose something, even if you are not ready to gift it to her.”
That thought planted, Loki backed off to let Tony browse. A few seconds later Tony winced. “Oh, hey, wait. You don’t take credit cards--…”
The prince turned his attention to the proprietor. “Whether he makes one purchase or two, I will settle the bill.” Just as he knew Sigyn and Willow had made similar declarations for the other Avengers.
The proprietor bowed. “Prince.”
Tony grimaced a bit. Friend or not, he hated not paying his own way. It left a feeling that now he owed someone a favor later. “Why would you do that? Window?”
Loki shrugged. “Perhaps. But moreso because you played host for my brother and I, as well as the Einherjar and expected nothing in return. I am returning the favor.”
Stark went back to browsing, pointing at a few things to look at. Over his shoulder he asked, “Shouldn’t you save your money for your kids?”
Loki bared his teeth and laughed. “Tony, I can purchase everything in this establishment and their futures will not suffer a moment for it.”
That paused him. “You’re that loaded?”
“I use the majority of my funds for potion supplies and books which are not financially draining…I have also accompanied Thor on adventures for years and we have all amassed a respectable amount of treasure. A warrior is also compensated for the wars we have fought on Asgard’s behalf. My solvency will not be an issue in my lifetime.”
***
Odin wasn’t having a good day. At all.
It had started first thing, when it had been reported of the naked humans running through the wings during the revelry. After Frigga had peeled him off the ceiling, she’d had to convey orders of their immediate return to Midgard…because he couldn’t unclench his teeth enough to be understandable.
When the morning’s court had commenced, the whining had started. Someone…who couldn’t be directly accused before the throne because there were no witnesses…had put itching powder in the communal laundry. Those in the royal wings were washed separately so while their clothes had been spared, everyone else were trying and failing to scratch discretely while they complained.
It might not even be itching powder, or even intentional. Poison ivy from the unwashed hands of one of the servants?
…everyone knew what it was, just as everyone knew who orchestrated it.
It had gotten to the point that after an hour Odin had called for a break of protocol and an early dismissal of court, to be reconvened after midday only for pressing business.
The Avengers just returned to Earth, Tony with two purchases in his pocket. Loki had chosen to walk back with Sigyn, Willow a few steps behind with Abyss on her shoulder.
The courtiers had been at loose ends for hours, wandering through the palace corridors. One of them froze, recognizing Anya. Pointing with a shriek, hoping by the distress in her voice and the volume it would send someone of importance running, “It was her! I witnessed it! She deserves to be punished!!”
The Einherjar at the end of the hallway turned their heads with raised eyebrows at the ruckus being made.
Anya wasn’t alone, having decided to take two of the children outside for a bit of a walk and some fresh air. Currently Talia holding one of her hands. The little girl narrowed her eyes and said quietly, “Liar…”
A sniff of disdain. “Who are you? Not AEsir, obviously.”
Talia blinked in surprise, never having anyone talk to her like that. Anya had stiffened next to her but it didn’t change her response. “I am Et’ana Sigyn’s daughter.”
A sneer now as apparent on the courtier’s face as in her voice. “A visiting elf with no court standing. Perhaps your mother should have told you that children are seen, not heard.”
Bragi protectively stepped in front of her, having been hugging the shadows and listening. “Our fader will get you for being mean.”
Anya tensed further, blue eyes narrowing. “Leave them alone; they are just children.”
The Einherjar at either end of the corridor nodded to one another and moved to intercept. There wasn’t a warrior in the palace that didn’t recognize Loki’s personal servant or his son. The trickster would have their heads if they remained impassive.
…and now every AEsir knew with certainty he had the strength to back up that threat.
That, however, didn’t mean that every AEsir was smart enough to think before they crossed that line. “You dare to talk back to me?”
Steel strapped to her spine, Anya sniffed and tartly said, “I hold my tongue around ladies…that would not be you.” The slap that followed echoed down the corridor and everything that followed happened in rapid succession.
The Einherjar broke into a run.
Anya stumbled back a step in stunned shock, Bragi following her.
The four hovering House Fairies turned black and swirled around each other. They flew so fast it was almost as if they were one being before ramming into the courtier and causing her to fall on her ass.
Talia’s eyes flashed a silver color before she growled, bared her teeth to expose the small pointed canines still growing in, and leapt at the courtier with fingers hooked like claws.
Loki caught her in midair having appeared out of nowhere, taking a step to one side to separate the pair. Anya never took off the bracelet he’d given her. He’d known the instant she’d been struck.
As mild tempered as Talia was, it was shocking to see her struggle and snarl to be free so she could tear the AEsir female apart, the other woman her only focus.
The Einherjar arrived, forming a perimeter to ensure no one walked away or caused further harm.
From a side corridor Odin strode with Frigga at his side. It was pure coincidence. A corridor they often used to slip into one of the back gardens to step away from the role and King and Queen and be out of the public eye for a time.
Talia slowly calmed in Loki’s arms, recognizing him to be the greater predator that was capable of dealing with the situation. Loki’s face was blank as he gently examined the evidence of the slap on Anya’s face, cold fury in his eyes.
Odin assessed the situation with a glance, noted Loki’s expression, and asked, “What has occurred?
The courtier, still on the floor, scrambled to her feet and pointed. “She is the one who put something in our clothes, sire! I witnessed it!”
Frigga fought not to roll her eyes. Odin looked grim as he turned his attention to Anya. “Is this true?”
Before Anya could respond, Bragi pushed himself forward and pointed a damning finger back at the courtier. “She struck Anya!” Frigga’s face remained controlled but there was cold disapproval in her eyes.
Talia growled wordlessly, too far removed from civility to find words. Odin blinked in surprise at the girl.
The courtier protested, “A page--…”
Loki’s wordless snarl cut her off.
But Odin’s cool tone rumbling through the corridor paused all of them. “Are you indicating with your tone and words that a royal decision is insufficient in determining if a child is worthy as a son or daughter?” He sounded only mildly curious, but he was far from it.
Suddenly realizing who she was dealing with, she stuttered, “Uh--…no, sire. Of course not.”
Keeping that same, maddeningly calm tone. “Then are you inferring that Bragi is unworthy to be my grandson?”
Eyes wide. “No, sire!”
Odin nodded once. “Good. A foolish choice indeed for anyone to do so.” The shift in his bearing was subtle, but they all felt as if they were standing in front of the throne. “Now, let us address the accusations.”
Loki was the first to speak. “I will submit that the courtier is a liar, for no one of her station would be down in the bowels of the palace where the laundry is to witness anything.”
The courtier sneered.
Odin turned his attention to her. “What is your name?”
She performed a curtsey, tipping her torso enough to display her assets as she did so. “Courtier Gefalsy, sire.” Frigga ground her teeth silently.
The only thing that Odin thought of that little display was that it must hurt her back. “The matter of the itchy wardrobe is, at worst, an inconvenience and a best, an amusing but harmless prank. Witnessed or not, it will not be a matter brought before the throne.”
“But AllFather--…”
His mild expression shifted and she trailed off. He hated interruptions. “While I am not a parent to those of court except for my sons, within my vows as King is the understanding that I will protect my people. It is not required, as a father or as a king, that I allow spoiled children to continue to rule the attitude of court.” His eye moved over those before him. “Obviously, you did not learn from former courtier Linnea’s example.”
Loki took this as his subtle queue to announce, “She struck my personal servant, Anya.”
Odin took note of Anya’s face. “Are you willing to make a formal complaint before the throne?”
The difference being if Loki handled it on his own, there wouldn’t be an opportunity for the King’s brand of justice later. “That is the least that will occur, sire.”
Nodding. “Then we shall address it now. Courtier Gefalsy, at one time a high born was permitted to treat those of lesser standing as they wished. Do you know when that position changed?”
Loki’s eyes were unforgiving, his answer immediate. “Fifty years into your honorable reign, father, you decreed that all men and women of Asgard are free…therefore they all must be treated with respect.”
“She--…” Gefalsy started to say in objection.
But Loki cut her off, his bearing every inch the prince he was born to be. “I authorized Anya to speak as she wished in addition to some other liberties I granted. If you have an issue with her manners, you address it with me. Everyone knows that.”
If Odin chose to disagree, it would undermine Loki’s authority. Not that he even considered it because Loki was well within his right to do so. “Perhaps the rest of them will learn from your example. Sunset tomorrow, Gefalsy. You have until then to find accommodations outside of the palace.” Her eyes widened. Odin didn’t make mistakes in rank protocols when he was officially dispensing a decision. That decree, with just her name, was her expulsion from among the courtiers. “And if this must continue I am fully prepared to cast out all of you so that only the royal family and visiting dignitaries will be sleeping under my roof. Dismissed!”
Before she could object two of the Einherjar moved to escort her out of the corridor. The wailing soon started.
Bragi was looking up at him with wide eyes. Odin’s mouth quirked, mostly hidden by his beard, and he blinked. Loki suppressed a smirk, realizing that was as close to a wink as his father got.
Odin exited out the side door first, then paused without turning around. Frigga silently ran a light hand over Talia’s hair who had calmed enough to just remain quietly in Loki’s arms. She ruffled Bragi’s hair before frowning lightly at the bright mark on Anya’s face.
Without saying a word with a whisp of golden power she healed the mark. Only when she was satisfied did she smile. A light hand rested on Loki’s cheek before she followed her husband out the door.
------------------
Up Next: Amora faces the throne |
It only took a few days for Namjoon to realize that Taehyung was unhappy with him. That was the only conclusion he could draw when he stopped getting messages from him. The first day he didn't think anything of it, the second day he wondered if perhaps Taehyung was exhausted from work again, but by the third day, especially after he had messaged twice to ask if things were all right and still got silence, it was pretty clear.
Now an entire week had gone by and the only thing that kept Namjoon from wondering if Taehyung was okay was the fact that he ran into Hoseok the other day who showed him a cute video Taehyung had sent him and that had driven through the painful truth that Taehyung really was ignoring him.
It was quickly the only thing he could think about and he hadn't realized how much it was affecting his ability to operate until his boss stopped by to say multiple people had come to him concerned that Namjoon was acting out of sorts. He'd been told to take the rest of the day off, which he felt too guilty to actually do, so he wasn't surprised to find Yoongi knocking on his door in the early afternoon, sent to kick him out.
"What's going on with you?" said Yoongi, standing guard while Namjoon gathered his things. "Did something happen with Sojin?"
"No," Namjoon said, distracted as he tried to figure out what he could bring home and to avoid revealing what was actually on his mind. "No, just an off week, I guess."
"Lying works better with people who haven't known you for nearly two decades."
"It's nothing serious, okay? Really." Namjoon grabbed his laptop, but Yoongi swiped it and put it back on his desk. "Seriously?"
"Take it up with your boss."
Namjoon didn't feel like making it an issue, so he sighed and gestured for Yoongi to lead the way.
"We haven't hung out just the two of us in a while," said Yoongi in the elevator. "Let's go out Saturday. Brunch, late lunch, whichever. I wanted to look at getting some new speakers."
"I — sure." No was probably not an answer and Yoongi wasn't wrong. It had been a while since he'd spent time with just Yoongi outside of work. Usually Seokjin was there too, which was fine, but having time alone with his best friend would be welcome. "Yeah. That'd be nice."
"Cool. There's actually a new cafe that just opened near Namsan that's supposed to be really good. Hyung's been trying to set something up with them for his channel."
They parted ways in the lobby. Namjoon was glad for it, feeling like it would have been embarrassing if he couldn't even be trusted to leave the building on his own. The sun felt nice on his face when he stepped out and suddenly he couldn't wait to get home and do nothing for the rest of the day.
Maybe he would even stop wondering when Taehyung would talk to him again.
+
The first hints of fall were finally starting to appear. It was his favorite season just for the fact that he could make use of all the nice sweaters and coats he owned. If Yoongi wanted to go shopping later, maybe he could see if they could look at clothes too.
The cafe was a ten minute walk from the station up a semi-steep hill. There was a small line waiting outside and Namjoon spotted Yoongi's familiar black beanie toward the front.
"Hey."
"Oh, you made it." Yoongi sighed at his phone and pocketed it, a sour expression twisting up his face. "Hyung found out where we were going and he's trying to get me to suck up to the manager so they'll say yes to him filming here."
"The benefits of true love."
"Shut up." Yoongi peered into the cafe. "Which one do you think looks like the manager?"
Namjoon laughed softly. This was how Yoongi had always been, acting like things were a huge burden but going out of his way to do them anyway.
It didn't take too long for them to make it inside. Their table was toward the back where it was a bit quieter, away from the grinding of the espresso machine, right in between a group of four friends and a couple on a date. Namjoon and Yoongi had minimal things to say while deciding what to eat, though Yoongi did go off on a tangent about the superior plumpness of tomatoes grown in Korea versus abroad.
After their food arrived, Yoongi turned the conversation to Namjoon, which was expected but still made Namjoon squirm a little.
"There's no personal problems, it's not Sojin, nothing's going on." If nothing going on was precisely the problem, that could stay Namjoon's secret.
"Does that mean there's something that's not happening that you wish would?" Yoongi said, his question belying the exaggerated face he was making as he tried to figure out how to cut through the towering eggs benedict he ordered. Their long-standing friendship was really biting Namjoon in the ass. Yoongi took a large bite and the staring and chewing together was really unnerving somehow.
"No."
Yoongi pointed his fork at Namjoon. "That's the tone you use when you lie."
Namjoon regretted passing on the jug-sized mimosa that was on the menu. "It's not a big deal."
"It sort of is if people at work notice you're acting strange. Did anyone even say anything when you and Sojin started having issues? Or when you officially decided to divorce?"
They didn't. At the time the most Namjoon had gotten were a couple of comments about looking tired and suggestions to go home early, but not an actual order. The realization made this whole thing make even less sense. He was more bothered by Taehyung's radio silence than the end of his marriage? It was ridiculous. He was being ridiculous. "It's definitely not as serious as my marriage ending. I just need to figure out my priorities."
Yoongi sighed, but didn't push further. Namjoon knew that if he needed a sounding board, he could always go to Yoongi. They had gone through a lot together over the years and no one knew him as well as Yoongi did. It didn't feel great to keep this from him, though, and Namjoon didn't know why he'd gone on this long keeping Taehyung as this secret in general. He wasn't ashamed, so it shouldn't matter. Yet when he thought about saying it outloud, to just tell Yoongi that Taehyung was still a presence in his life, all these guards went up. He wanted to keep Taehyung to himself. Because if others knew, then they would — what, exactly?
Those thoughts faded to the back of his mind once Yoongi started talking about the speakers he wanted to buy and other music equipment he wanted to check out. No matter what sort of crisis, big or small, he was having, Namjoon was always happy to set it aside and talk hardware. Halfway through the conversation, he realized that Yoongi, of course, knew that too and was using it as an excuse to take Namjoon's mind off things.
After they finished, Yoongi insisted on paying as the hyung and the one on a dual income and Namjoon couldn't argue with that. He sent Yoongi ahead while he used the restroom and headed out a few minutes later only to find Yoongi talking to someone largely through waving his arms around.
"Namjoon!" Yoongi looked relieved when Namjoon walked up, grabbing him once he was within arm's reach. "This is the owner. She's from Australia and owns the cafe with her husband, but he's the one who's bilingual and I've lied every time I said I was brushing up on my English. Help."
The owner was a very sweet lady and Namjoon discovered that she could speak some Korean, but understandably didn't cover vocabulary around filming permission. Namjoon's English was decent, a mix of self-taught and lessons once he needed it for business. He explained Yoongi's request with less arm waving and got a promising, bright response.
"She said her husband is great in the kitchen, but less great at replying to emails, but it should be fine for hyung to film here. She can tell him to reach out later if you want to leave your number."
Yoongi left his information with her along with a brief note that it was for Seokjin's channel. They thanked her and complimented the food, turning to leave.
Namjoon didn't even make it one step. A familiar face was seated by the door, staring right at him. "Taehyung."
"Hi."
Yoongi peered around Namjoon. "Who's this?"
Namjoon felt a little nauseous. He didn't know what to do. He didn't really want to introduce Taehyung to Yoongi, but it would be rude not to, and of course there was the extra layer of awkwardness considering Taehyung wasn't currently speaking to him. "Sorry. Yeah. Hyung, this is Taehyung. Taehyung, this is Yoongi."
Recognition flickered across Taehyung's face and he stood briefly to shake Yoongi's hand, even though Yoongi insisted he didn't need to.
"Nice to meet you," said Yoongi, then glanced at Namjoon. "Should we head out? Sorry for interrupting."
Namjoon had been so focused on Taehyung that he only just realized that Taehyung wasn't alone. Of course he was there with someone. Across the table was a young man who seemed the same age as Taehyung, but not any of Taehyung's friends that he'd met before. When Taehyung didn't introduce his companion, it struck Namjoon that this was a date. It was suddenly apparent in the way the man looked a bit lost at what was happening and the nice clothes both of them were wearing. The way Taehyung wouldn't quite meet his eyes now and didn't make any attempt to introduce his companion the way Namjoon had.
"Right," said Namjoon, now desperately wanting to be anywhere but there. He smiled at Yoongi, too stiff and too wide. "Yeah. We should go."
"It was nice running into you, hyung," said Taehyung, drawing Namjoon's attention once more. It was awful to see him sitting across from a man that was younger than Namjoon and so much better-looking. Someone who was so clearly a perfect match for Taehyung.
It hurt to realize in that moment that Namjoon wanted to be the one sitting there instead.
"Yeah. You too." Though Yoongi was closer, Namjoon stepped around him to slip out the door, likely failing to pretend that he wasn't trying to get out of there as fast as possible.
"Namjoon — hey!" Yoongi grabbed Namjoon's elbow and jerked him back. "Where are you — you're going to fucking to get run over!"
Namjoon hated this. He hated being caught off-guard, hated that Yoongi and Taehyung had now met — no matter how briefly — but mostly he hated that feeling he'd had in there. That flash of relief when he first saw Taehyung, grateful that he was all right, and a second later it was as if the floor had dropped from underneath him.
"Are you okay?"
Namjoon nodded as he dragged his hands over his face. "I'm fine."
"Bullshit. You look two seconds away from puking."
Namjoon did feel like he was two seconds away from puking. He sat down on a nearby stoop and dropped his head in his hands. Yoongi joined him and patted his back awkwardly.
"That's the guy you almost slept with, right?"
"Yeah. We've been keeping in touch." Even though Namjoon couldn't see, he could sense the surprise from Yoongi.
"That wasn't just an awkward run-in months after the fact?"
"No." Namjoon finally raised his head, but he kept his eyes forward. "We've been hanging out. We're friends."
"I don't think friends behave the way you two just did in there. You acted like, hm, exes." If Yoongi had a drink in hand, he would probably be taking a long sip while staring knowingly at Namjoon. The stare was still pretty effective without it.
"Can we not have this humiliating conversation in public?"
"You don't like the gawking?" Yoongi stood up with a groan befitting an old man. "Come on, my place isn't that far. I'm getting my coffee first though. Venturing outside my apartment needs a reward."
Namjoon didn't know how to take Yoongi's reaction. Despite having no details, he knew Yoongi probably had a good guess about what was going on. Yoongi had always been perceptive and after knowing each other for so long, there wasn't much where Yoongi wouldn't be able to fill in the blanks.
The first thing they heard when they entered Yoongi's apartment was the distinct sound of Seokjin yelling. Yoongi didn't even react and Namjoon ventured inside curiously to find Seokjin in the living room throwing his arms around and a VR set strapped to his head.
"Can he hear us?" Namjoon said, stepping back just in time as Seokjin bent his body to the left.
"Who knows?" Yoongi sat down at the dining table and Namjoon joined him, doing his best to ignore Seokjin's random exclamations. "So."
Namjoon took a long sip of his coffee, staring at the table.
"I'm a little curious about how you've been hanging out with this guy and never said anything, but I guess more importantly — so you like him?"
Namjoon wanted to say no. He sat up as if he was going to object, but he knew it would be a lie and Yoongi would call him out on it anyway. He did the next best thing and dropped his head onto the table, the heavy thunk loud even over Seokjin's panicked yelp.
"Namjoon. You know it's okay to like someone again."
"That's not. I know that."
"Then why are you angsting? He only sees you as some boring old man?"
Namjoon raised his head and rubbed his face with a sigh. "No, he. Well, I'm pretty sure he implied he's interested."
"How sure?"
"He took me out on a date," said Namjoon, choosing to ignore the way Yoongi's eyes widened. "It was really nice, actually. I ruined it at the end by saying it was nice of him to take me out on a platonic date."
"What?"
"I thought he was just cheering me up! Why would he want to date me for real?"
The TV shut off and Seokjin tugged the headset off, revealing red lines imprinted around his eyes. His hair was sticking up in places like he'd just rolled out of bed, an image helped along by the fact that he was still in his pajamas. Seokjin slipped into the chair next to Yoongi. "Namjoon. As someone who has a perfect face, I am qualified to say that you are, in fact, very good-looking. Add on top of that the fact that you can read? Complete package."
"Thanks? Still doesn't prove anything."
Seokjin looked at Yoongi. "I feel like I'm missing context."
Yoongi shot Namjoon a judgmental look as he explained to Seokjin their little run-in earlier and how Namjoon's communication with Taehyung had continued far past their failed hookup.
"I still don't understand." Seokjin crossed his arms. "You've been getting to know each other for months and you like each other. Why are you moping in my house?"
"He doesn't like me."
The frustrated noise Yoongi made was quite aggressive. "You just said he took you on a perfect date! Maybe you were thinking too much about other things, but the way that kid's face lit up when he realized it was you standing there? Even though he was on a date with someone else? He likes you. It's not platonic."
"There's no way — I'm old!"
Seokjin rolled his eyes. "My parents are old. You're just older than him."
"By almost twenty years."
"So? It's not like he's barely legal. He's finished university. He's working, I assume."
"Yeah, an office job," Namjoon mumbled.
"So then what is it? Why are you so resistant to the idea that he's interested in you?"
"He's still young! He has no idea what he wants and when he does figure it out, it's not going to be someone like me. And what would other people say? His parents would murder me!"
Yoongi leaned forward. "You know who could tell you whether or not his parents would kill you? Him, if you let him make his own damn decisions."
"Why are you getting on my case like this?"
"Do you know how worried we were when you filed for divorce? Do you remember how long you moped around after moving out of the apartment you and Sojin bought? That day you got the signed papers, I thought you were going to wallow all over again and you did for a bit, but then you were okay. More than okay. And now I'm learning that maybe it was because you found someone worth spending time with only for you to be this self-absorbed and stubborn about it."
Namjoon looked at both Yoongi and Seokjin as if they were the ones who were completely irrational. "I'm self-absorbed? I'm— okay, I'm going home." He stood up and dragged his hands through his hair. "I'm the only one being reasonable."
"You're being cowardly and dishonest."
"This isn't a—" Namjoon took a deep breath. "I'm leaving now."
"Fine."
"Great. Goodbye!" Namjoon wished it was cooler outside so he could have angrily pulled on his coat. As it was, he could only grab his coffee, condensation dripping onto the floor, and stalk his way to the foyer.
"We'll see you for your birthday next week!" Yoongi yelled.
Namjoon had forgotten about that. Both his birthday and the fact that he was going to spend it by having a quiet dinner with his friends. Who were currently being completely unreasonable by suggesting he was unreasonable. "Fine. Great!"
That was still next week. Until then, he could act extremely mature and give them the cold shoulder.
Somehow it was September already. As if the age thing didn't bother him enough, in a week would be the reminder that he was, in fact, still getting older. Namjoon grabbed a taxi home, too annoyed to deal with the metro. Yoongi's words came back to him, about how Taehyung had been happy to see him even if he'd hidden it by the time Namjoon noticed him, how it was evidently so clear that Taehyung had some sort of feelings for him.
Namjoon took out his phone, but still, there were no messages from the person he wanted to hear from the most.
+
A week later, Namjoon found himself back at Yoongi's doorstep, feeling a little like he was the one who surrendered in their fake stalemate by being here. It had been futile anyway. A couple days after he'd walked out, Yoongi had dropped into his office with lunch and a couple more tracks he'd added to the list of contenders for his mixtape, a combination that they had both known Namjoon wouldn't have resisted.
Namjoon rang the doorbell before punching in the passcode to let himself in. The moment he stepped inside, something popped over his head and he yelped as a cloud of confetti burst on top of him while Seokjin and Yoongi dashed around the corner, blowing their noisemakers repeatedly.
Seokjin strapped a party hat onto Namjoon's head and hung a sash over his chest that read 'I'm the Birthday Boy!' Yoongi popped another confetti cannon into the air, making it rain pastel.
"Happy birthday, old man," Seokjin said, squeezing Namjoon's cheeks like an aunt who didn't know her own strength.
At least this wasn't Namjoon's apartment and he didn't have to clean any of this up.
"Come on, we made your favorites," said Yoongi, brushing off some stray bits from Namjoon's shoulders. "Are you still mad at us?"
"Extremely," Namjoon said, earning a smile from Yoongi.
Birthday celebrations between the two of them had always been a more subdued affair. They had other friends who would throw parties or rent a noraebang for the entire night, but neither of them had ever wanted that kind of attention.
"I know you don't like lavish gifts, but I have to insist you accept these," Seokjin said, placing two bags full of canned ham by Namjoon's feet once they made their way to the dining room.
"Wow, hyung," Namjoon said dryly. "How thoughtful."
Seokjin winked at him. "Those babies don't expire for another five years."
The table was already set except for an empty spot in the center, filled in when Yoongi brought over the pot of braised chicken that had been simmering away. There were enough side dishes to feed double the amount of people and if Namjoon had been angry for real, that all would have disappeared when he saw how much effort his friends had put in just for him. They had to have been cooking for the entire day, perhaps even starting the night before. It was difficult to believe they didn't have his best interests at heart when their love for him was on such clear display.
No one brought up Taehyung while they sat down to eat. Seokjin tried to elicit Namjoon's help in convincing Yoongi to let him feature on the mixtape, spending a solid ten minutes performing every rap song he knew. His diction was pretty good and it was nice to see Seokjin's face turn bright red when Namjoon genuinely complimented him.
They were slowing down, stomachs full, when Namjoon's phone rang and he stared at it, not quite believing the name displayed when it had been so long since he'd seen it.
"Are you going to answer that?" Yoongi said, proving that Namjoon wasn't hallucinating.
Taehyung was calling him. Namjoon picked up his phone and answered it, opening his mouth but unable to say anything.
"Hyung?"
"Oh. Taehyung. Hi."
"Am I interrupting anything?"
"No, no." Namjoon realized Yoongi and Seokjin were staring at him, completely silent, and could probably hear Taehyung's voice. He got up right as Seokjin whispered for him to put it on speaker and escaped to the guest bedroom. "How are you?"
"I'm good. I'm okay." Taehyung paused and Namjoon could sense his nervousness even in that little bit of silence. "Hyung. I'm sorry for how I've been acting."
"It's — thanks. But I feel like I owe you an apology too. I think I ended up hurting your feelings a lot, so I'm sorry too."
Taehyung laughed softly, but sounded a little sad. "Ah, I'm so embarrassed." This was the first time Namjoon had ever heard him so spiritless and it made Namjoon's guilt worse. "Hyung, Hoseok-hyung said it's your birthday today."
"Yeah. I'm at Yoongi's. They attacked me with confetti."
Taehyung's laugh was brighter this time and Namjoon felt relieved. "I wish I had been able to see it."
"Please, I'm embarrassed enough. I'll send you a photo later, maybe."
"I'd like that." Taehyung cleared his throat gently. "Hyung. Do you want to hang out soon? It would be good to see you again."
"Yeah, yes. Of course. Come by whenever you'd like."
"Okay. I'll, um, I'll message you."
"Okay."
"Hyung, happy birthday."
"Thanks, Taehyung."
After they hung up, Namjoon sat there for a moment in a daze, as if he couldn't quite believe that call just happened. It had only been a couple weeks since they last really spoke, but felt like so much longer. A stray piece of confetti dislodged and fluttered to the floor. It broke Namjoon's stupor and he reached for the door, but remembered his semi-promise to Taehyung. He went over to the window to use it as a backdrop and took a selfie, holding the phone higher to get both the hat and sash in view. The first one didn't come out to his liking, so he took another, but that one was subpar too.
"Are you having a photoshoot in there? We thought you were on the phone."
Namjoon swung open the door to find Yoongi and Seokjin bracketing the other side. He didn't have it in him to be annoyed with much higher priorities at hand. He shoved his phone into Seokjin's hand. "Take a photo of me."
"What?" Yoongi said, but Seokjin didn't ask any frivolous questions.
"This won't do," said Seokjin, pulling Namjoon with him to the living room. The larger space was nicer and Seokjin arranged him like a mannequin until he got a pose he was satisfied with.
Namjoon stood with one hand on his waist and the other behind his head. He looked ridiculous, but he kind of enjoyed it. Seokjin took a slew of photos from all sorts of angles and some dramatic closeups.
"We have one more confetti thing," said Yoongi and was promptly and aggressively ordered to get it.
"I don't think we have to go this far," said Namjoon, but found himself shut down by Seokjin's hand against his mouth.
"You think I don't know who this is for?" Seokjin directed Yoongi to stand off to the side when he returned, confetti cannon pointed over Namjoon's head. "Okay, this one will be a video. Yoongi, don't screw this up for us."
"This is an extremely hostile work environment," said Yoongi.
"We're trying to make art!" Seokjin started recording and pointed at Yoongi. "Okay, cue!"
The cannon burst open without a hitch and for the third time that night Namjoon found himself doused in confetti. But since this was being recorded he put a smile on and hammed it up a little for the camera. The moment Seokjin called 'cut' though, he fell into a crouch, covering his head in embarrassment.
"Wow. Oh, man. This is my best work. I may have peaked." Seokjin handed the phone back to Namjoon. "Here, send it to your lover now that you've made up."
Namjoon frowned at Seokjin, who held his hands up and walked back to the table.
"Food's getting cold. There's cake we have to eat in the fridge too."
Namjoon sat back down, not wanting to restart that argument with them either. He opened his chat with Taehyung, his own messages from over two weeks ago staring at him. He went through all the photos Seokjin had taken and just picked one, sending that through along with the video.
The response didn't come through until Seokjin had brought the cake out and lit the candles.
'Hyung, I really missed you.'
"Yah, Namjoon, the wax is going to melt into the cake!"
Namjoon read Taehyung's message again, then closed his eyes and blew out the candles. |
September 10
Do you think McGonnagal wears plaid knickers?
September 11
I do. They're made out of scratchy black wool crosshatched with fat, hideous red and yellow stripes. I bet she has a nasty rash on her arse from January 1 through December 31. Not that I needed that mental image while eating my kippers.
September 12
Good morning, Potter. Did you have a good summer? If you spent it with those horror stories you call relatives, I rather doubt it. You look like shit, to be honest. Tired. Sad.
I saw them once, picking you up at the station. Your fat cousin with the piggy eyes; he's so large I imagine he and Hagrid could swap clothes. Your aunt, a shriveled piece of work, her mouth all puckered up in disgust at the sight of you. And your even more enormous uncle. Did he ever have a neck? Do you know I got the feeling he wanted to hit you. That your merely standing there made him want to backhand you. Am I right?
September 15
My summer was fair to middling. A lot of time spent by myself. A lot of wanking off.
September 16
I see you looking around, wondering who is owling you these letters. I have no intention of revealing myself. Call it a random whim. I've often gotten into trouble with my whims, but live by the sword, die by the sword; or, in this case, the quill. I like how a quill feels cupped in my hand, how the feather kisses my chin every now and then.
September 17
Merlin, Granger can be shrill, can't she? I never gave a thought to how your friends might interpret these silly little letters of mine. To put the record straight: I am not Voldemort. I am not an agent of Voldemort. If you want me to continue writing to you, nod your head.
September 21
Good. Instead of the owl business, I'll leave your letters in the visor of the armor on the third floor near the Charms classroom.
September 22
I never intended for you to respond. It might be wiser if you don't. I'll answer a couple of your questions. I am a seventh-year male. I am not a Gryffindor. I will not tell you which house I am in. I will not tell you whether we are friends or not. It doesn't matter.
I smelled the weather change today. Of all the seasons, I like autumn best, although I am rather passionate about flowers. I think this is a sign I'm courting schizophrenia. My soul revels in the fading of the year, while my senses search for the scent and sight of the new.
Why am I corresponding with you? Because this is our last year, our last opportunity to "speak" to each other. Put it down to my being unbearably shy. And exceptionally curious.
I love to write letters. If you continue to ignore my remonstrations and write to me, you'll find that each time you pick up a quill you'll discover something in yourself. That the quill almost casts a spell. I am so much more honest and creative on paper than in person. Of course, it's also easy to lie on paper. Creativity and lying go hand in hand.
It's a cheap addiction. Parchment and ink cost much less than cigarettes, that's for sure. Financial considerations aside, I'm much less angry on parchment. I think before I write. Unlike my public persona. I frequently say things I later wish I hadn't; more often than not it's displaced anger searching for a target. And there are number of convenient targets.
Have you ever been angry and then hated yourself for it? Or, conversely, been angry and thought, "I had every right to be angry. Fuck off."
September 28
I haven't written in a few days because I wondered if perhaps this whole exercise was foolhardy. What could two people possibly say to each other in a year that they haven't already said in six? Then, happily, I got your hysterical letter about blowing up your Aunt Marge. I swear; I could almost see her floating over the Forbidden Forest. Where's a gun when you need it?
October 1
What do I get angry about? Far too many things to list. There isn't enough parchment in the whole of Hogsmeade. Primarily it's my family's expectations of me. I imagine you're somewhat in the same position. The wizarding world expects you to save them, more than willing to sacrifice the body and soul of a seventeen-year old boy to Voldemort. Assuming you're successful at it. But these aren't people who love you. They're faceless nobodies. My parents are never satisfied with my achievements. It's never enough. They hold their love hostage.
I don't know what is worse: to mourn for a love that is only the most ephemeral memory or to mourn for a love that is only too real but always out of reach.
October 5
For god's sake, Potter, did you write this while flying on your broom? I actually used a translation charm to decipher it. No excuses. Do not scrawl again. It is rude to expect your correspondents to cast spells on a piece of parchment that looks like it lined the nest of a hippogriff. I am not joking. My letters to you take time. Look at them as a gift. If you can't spend the time it takes to write a decent letter, don't write at all. Do not feel obligated to write. I am not interested in appearances. We must be honest with each other or this whole thing is off.
No, I've never been in love, nor do I wish to be. Love in my world is synonymous with obligation, demands, duty. Yes, I can imagine in your case it's slightly different; you feel a weightlessness, a lack of center. Well, you can have some of my center. Have you read about the Salem witch trials (why is truth so much scarier than fiction?) where they killed wizards and witches by placing a board on their bodies and then piled rocks on top of the board, one by one, eventually crushing them to death? Some days I can barely put one foot in front of the other, the stones are that heavy.
October 15
Dating? I suppose you could call it that. Catting around is more like it. I've got a reputation, somewhat deserved, but, fucking hell, I'm a seventeen-year old boy. I think about sex all the time. The ache is so intense, I started smoking last year just so I could put something in my mouth. I spend hours imagining what someone looks like under their robes. What they might feel like under my hands, my mouth. And no, I am not lusting after McGonnagal and her woolen knickers. No matter how many times I wank off, which I do at least twice a day, I'm always thinking about sex. Don't you?
October 18
Three times a day on average. I'm impressed, Potter. Who'd have thought that behind that shuffle and blush lurked a perverted wanker?
October 22
My sexual experience? I debated whether to tell you this, because on the one hand, it might be a little bit of a relief if you turned out to be a righteous homophobic bigot, but if you aren't, then you've gone up several notches in my estimation of you. Which could be problematic.
I am gay.
I've had sex with several girls, and every time it felt good but wrong. A nice way of saying I got off, but what kind of endorsement is that? I'm a teenage boy. I could probably have an orgasm fucking a milk bottle. Anyway, every sexual experience with a girl left me angry and somehow empty and hungry. Not much better than a wank I could have given myself with a broken finger. Why wasn't there more? Was something the matter with me? I'd spend hours with a girl, I'd bring her to orgasm several times, and my orgasm was always ho hum. It was enough to stop me from propositioning McGonnagal, but not much more than that. A hand job, a blow job, even a fuck. It didn't matter. I'd still be horny enough to hump a banister, yet my dick was soft. Horrible.
Salvation came on a Hogsmeade weekend in our sixth year, I was standing outside of Honeydukes waiting for some friends when I saw a young wizard walking down the street. He was about twenty and dressed in the tightest black leather pants you've ever seen. I could tell where the crack of his arse started. Merlin's balls, I wanted him. I wanted to run my hands over that arse, pinch his nipples, lave my tongue over every part of his body. I desired him like I've never desired any girl and I knew. That if he gave me a hand job, a blow job, or let me fuck him that my hunger would be sated. For once. Okay, for a couple of hours, maybe, but I wouldn't feel that white hunger for just a little while.
Can you imagine not wanting?
October 26
So you're not a homophobic bigot.
And you think you might be gay, too.
I'm a little shocked, but you always surprise me. Which is a nice way of saying I'm constantly underestimating you.
Kissing that Chang bint was mortifying? You mustn't look at it like that. Utter cow. How dare she use you as some pathetic Diggory substitute. Good riddance to bad rubbish.
Do not make any decisions vis a vis your sexual preference. Being a Gryffindor, you are, no doubt, looking for true love. Harry, sometimes you just need a good fuck. I suggest you try both girls and boys to determine exactly what way you swing. You might be a switch hitter. When Zabini graduates he'll probably head a new Ministry: Head of Bisexual Relations.
October 30
No, I was not being nice about Chang. I am not a nice person. You would do well to remember that. First of all, that Diggory was such a total bore. Not that he deserved to be AK'd--but really. A grindylow has more personality than he did. For her to assume you'd willy-nilly step into his mundane shoes and be her boyfriend... You, who are anything but mundane. I cannot write another sentence about this. It's just too ridiculous. She could have asked for comfort, and since "noble" is your middle name, you'd have donated a shoulder for her to cry on for the next ten years and not expect a single snog in return. But no. She expected you to exorcise Diggory's ghost. How cowardly. How stupid of her. Even in death we should have our dignity. She did both of you a disservice.
See you at the party.
PS. I hope my ghost has dignity, otherwise, what's the point?
November 3
Yes, I was there. I go to school here. Remember? I had a good laugh when Lavender Brown's costume was hexed off. And it wasn't Parkinson who uncharmed her costume, it was Granger. I saw her do it. Brown was chatting up Weasley over in a corner of the room, and Granger, in a jealous hissy fit (how very Slytherin of her), zapped her one. Of course, it sort of backfired because then Weasley got an eye full of Brown's luscious tits... Oh well, the course of true love never ran smooth.
November 7
Yes, I still fuck girls. For appearance's sake. And no, I'm not officially "out." My father would kill me.
November 9
The stones are heavy today, Harry. One more and I think I will die. I can barely breathe.
November 12
Snape was dreadfully unfair to you today? Snape is dreadfully unfair to you every day. Stop whining. You'll get your N.E.W.T.S in potions, Granger will take top marks. As usual. Weasley will be in the rear. Somewhere. As usual. I refuse to discuss classroom politics with you. Too boring. Do you really want me to start cataloguing all the rules you've broken for which you never once got reprimanded? Indeed, if I remember correctly, you received extra house points for various and sundry high jinx. A discussion better left unwritten.
Let's talk about sex. Whom do you fancy? I think that Finch-Fletchley has lovely legs, Finnigan looks like he's hung (do tell do tell!), and I could never, in a million years, imagine shagging Weasley. The thought of red pubic hair! No fucking way. Oh, you possess a rather nice arse. Quite nice. Your shoulders filled out over the summer. Are you brown all over? You also have sexy hands.
November 15
Do I have a nice arse? I haven't had any complaints.
Yes, I've fucked quite a few boys. Blaise is an excellent fuck; his cock is the size of Wales. No, I'm not exaggerating. Extremely enthusiastic (if a bit loud) and always willing. Do not let him top you or you won't be able to ride your broom for a week. I might as well confess; we had a brief but torrid affair. He's the best of both worlds: an aggressive bottom. Which is the way I like them. Sometimes I wonder if I ever fucked a truly aggressive girl that I'd play both sides of the fence. Strike that. I'm an unrepentant shirt-lifter. I forgot about Pansy. A male top with a female body.
Stay away from Terry Boot; he's twisted. Likes it rough and like to give it rough.
If you follow my advice and experiment with the fairer sex, Lavender Brown really does have nice tits (if you like that sort of thing), and she'll pretty much fuck anything with two legs and no spots. You don't have any spots that I can see so you'd be in like, well, Harry.
I'm going to start charging you for advice, Potter.
November 20
Finnigan has a dick the size of a gherkin! What a fucking shame. I was under the sad delusion that all Irish were hung like horses. Is he any good at giving blow jobs? Nature abhors a vacuum.
November 26
You know, Harry, if you ask Finnigan to give you a blow job, we'd both benefit from your experience: (1) you'd get your dick in someone's mouth--I firmly believe that blow jobs are impossible to screw up, even Longbottom could give a decent head; and (2) I'd get to read about it in detail. Lick. By. Lick.
December 1
You have no need to be embarrassed. Your innocence is actually quite charming and not just a little sexy. When men fuck men, one person is dominant. The top. The person who puts his dick up your arse. This is the person in power. The person getting the dick up his arse is subservient. Or, in sex slang, the dom and sub. Why? Because nature really didn't really intend for dicks to be thrust up arseholes. This sounds like buggering someone is painful, and that the person on the bottom is screaming for mercy. Not true. All I can say is that if I knew I'd never have sex with a man again, I'd kill myself. It's all about trust. The bottom trusting the top not to ram his dick into you. Timing, a decent rim job, and generous helpings of lube also have a lot to do with it. I'm not sure what you'd be: a top or a bottom. You are a very trusting person, too trusting, actually, but you do have an edge to you. No one watching you on your broom would ever take you for a bottom.
Interesting.
December 2
A rim job? When someone sticks their tongue up your arse. Basically, you snog someone's rectum. And before you shriek and drop this parchment in utter disgust, I will tell you that when someone does it to you, you'll be shrieking and it won't be in disgust. It will be more like, "Oh fuck, don't stop! Don't stop!" Trust me on this one.
Lube? Something to ease the way. There are a couple of charms one can use to prepare another person's arse for an eager dick, but I like the Muggle way best. Call me old-fashioned. Rim job first, then the person doing the fucking usually coats their fingers and dick in lube (any substance that is oily) and then sticks first one, then two, then three fingers up the fuckee's arse--or four fingers if you're stupid enough to bottom for Zabini--to ease open the muscles for the fucker. Once the fuckee is loose enough, or frankly begging hard enough, fucker eases dick into fuckee. Then the fun really starts.
Why does one person have to be the top and the other the bottom? Why can't they just fuck? Be equals? I don't know, I think it has to do with us essentially being pack animals; someone is always the top dog, so to speak. You might actually be the one person who upends that whole notion.
For your wanking pleasure. Suck on one of your own fingers, stick it gently, and I mean gently, up your arse, and bring it in and out while you jerk off.
December 3
You used two fingers? Perverted wanker. I knew you'd like it. What self-respecting faggot wouldn't?
December 5
Am I good in bed? I don't know how to answer that question. I've fucked Zabini, and he was in hog heaven the whole time. Boot fucked me, and he would probably say I was hung up and a lousy lay.
Am I a top? Yes. I'm a definite top; however, recent events have led me to wonder if that's always the case. I'm beginning to wonder if I just haven't found my top. I do know that it isn't Boot!
Let me tell you what I'd do to you if you were my partner. Hypothetically, of course, and I am only using your name as an example.
Assume we're lying down on someone's bed. Yours or mine. I like creature comforts. The shag against a door is all fine and good every now and then, but for our first encounter, I prefer that we focus on each other, not on the splinters digging into our arses.
We are clothed and nervous. Even me. Our hands are shaking. Merlin's balls, we want each other that much. First, I run my hands over your face, tracing the line of your jaw and cheek bone, the curve of your mouth with a gentle forefinger. I remove your glasses. You shake your head because you feel too vulnerable when you can't see. I understand this. I place them on the bedside table. I take your hand in mine and let you feel where they are. I whisper, "They're right next to you on the nightstand. It's okay." Your shoulders relax and you whisper "okay" back to me.
Propped up on one elbow, I look at you for a minute. You really are quite beautiful, Harry. When I feel your shoulders tensing up again, wondering what I am doing (have you thought of charming your eyes so that you can see all the time, you silly git), I lean down and kiss the side of your mouth. Not as a tease, but as a question. "Do you want me to kiss you again?" You respond favorably (i.e., moaning, hissing, something along those lines). I lick your bottom lip with my tongue. Again, another question. Do you want my tongue in your mouth? Let's assume you agree to this, manifested by some tangible physical reaction (like grinding your groin into mine). Then we explore each other's mouths with our tongues. It starts off slowly, perhaps a little tentatively, because you're shy and unsure, and I don't want to scare you off; however, because you're a randy bugger, you ramp up the intensity of the kiss fairly quickly, and I follow suit. All hell breaks loose. We begin to bruise each other's mouths in a futile attempt to get "more." More remains elusive even as we lick, suck, and inhale each other.
We break away because both of us are panting so heavily, and we are frightened (yes, me, too) about just how intense that kiss was.
I must taste behind your ear. I move on top of you and lave, kiss, and suck your ear, your neck, your collarbone, all the while grinding my erection against yours in lovely little circular motions. I run my hands under your ratty tee shirt (will you buy yourself some decent clothes?) to pinch your nipples while I eat your neck. I saw you in the shower once. Your nipples are gorgeous. Are they sensitive? I hope so. Let's assume yes. You begin to moan into my kiss because my fingers are doing very wicked things to your nipples. I bend down and begin to do even more wicked things to your nipples with my mouth. While caressing one nipple with a thumb, I caress the other with my tongue. I bite down gently and pull. You arch up into me, oh, Harry, your dick is so hard against mine; I can't stand it. I move back up to your mouth to kiss you again. I didn't think it was possible to kiss someone like this, but we tear at each other's mouths. You grab my arse with both hands and pull me against you. Hard. Christ. I roll us on our sides and gently cup your erection with my palm and close my hand around it. I can feel the heat of you through your trousers. I begin to massage your dick. You're so excited a wet spot seeps through the fabric. You call my name and whisper, "Please, oh please." Are you aware you're saying these things? I unbutton and unzip your trousers. You bat my hands away, and with your own hands you scramble to pull down your trousers and pants. I wrap my hand around your dick. I whimper. You feel like no one else, Harry. You feel so fucking good. With one hand massaging your balls, my other begins pumping you in a slow steady motion, with a nice little twist at the end. I watch your face. You begin to fuck my hand, up the pace. Now I know what you'll look like when you fuck someone, because you are a top, Harry, no doubt in my mind. Another time we'll take it slow, but not this first time. You're desperate. You begin to pump faster. I cannot take my eyes off of your face. When you come, I've never seen anything so beautiful in my life. Your joy, the fact that it was me, my hand, my mouth, that brought you to this place. Me.
I think it a colossal mistake to send this letter. I know I will rue it.
December 9
I should trust my instincts. I apologize. I'm not trying to seduce you. In fact, let me reiterate: it would be a fatal mistake if we met. It would not be like the previous letter at all, I can assure you. I'd prefer it if we do not discuss our sex lives again. Since you do not yet have a sex life, we shall stop discussing mine.
Yes, I do pick up and drop off letters when I know you're busy. Why are you so insistent that we meet? Expose ourselves. Isn't this enough? To have no expectations, no pre-conceived notion of the writer, the writer only defined by what he writes on the page. I find this enormously liberating. Aren't you enjoying this? I am.
December 10
Yes, I'm selfish. Yes, I know who you are, but you do not know who I am. In rebuttal, however, I say to you that we are equal. I have no expectations of you beyond your written page. I'm more honest with you than I've been with anyone in my entire life. This isn't a stretch for you, as you are, by nature, an honest person. Perhaps the reality is that I need this cloak of secrecy and you don't. Can you accept that?
I am not a little surprised that you have yet to figure out my identity. It seems fairly obvious to me. After giving it some thought, I've concluded that either (a) you're an utter moron, or (b) your perception of the letter writer is completely antithetical to your perception of the real person. The latter I suspect.
In light of this spectacular disconnect, I doubt I'll ever reveal my identity. Probably a blessing for both of us. If my insistence at anonymity becomes onerous and you wish to stop writing, just say so. It isn't fair. I agree. I am not a fair person. All I can say in my own defense is that the person on this page is someone no one else has had the privilege to meet.
December 15
Thank you.
What do I want to do after school? That is as much out of my hands as it is yours. All I want to do is survive this war, although I am not convinced that the survivors will be the lucky ones. Aren't you ever furious that you never were allowed to be a boy? If I were you, I'd probably be institutionalized in St. Mungo's by now. First, parked at those nasty relatives of yours after your parents were murdered, then saddling you with saving the wizarding world single-handedly when you were just a child. A CHILD!
While you are the ultimate poster boy for sacrifice, we've all dedicated most of our souls to this impending battle. There isn't a child here at Hogwarts that doesn't talk about "Before the war," "During the war," "After the war." The war is our yardstick, our measure. For everything.
You and I have morphed into men over the summer. Our bodies have betrayed us. But I don't feel like a man, nor did I ever feel like a child. Ever. I don't think you did either.
Not that I realized this until recently.
While walking through Muggle London this summer, I fell in behind the most annoying Muggle brood. There must have been twenty in this family. Oh all right, five of them. The parents were being extraordinarily silly, making faces, sticking out their tongues, and telling jokes where the beginning of every joke began with "Knock, knock." I kid you not. It was completely inexplicable. Amazingly, the children were amused by all this, giggling for what seems like hours after every joke. My first thought was if either of my parents were to ever display such lack of gravitas, I'd owl St. Mungo's immediately and confine them to a padded room without a second thought. My second, however, was how much I hated those Muggle children for having the nerve to be so carefree. Have you ever felt carefree? I almost hexed them I was so jealous.
I stood outside of the Leaky Cauldron, watching this family walk away from me, the sound of their laughter fainter with each step they took, and I wondered if I was the only seventeen-year old who woke up in the morning chronologically seventeen but who felt like seventy. And then I realized you might know what it was like.
Our generation's childhoods were considered a given gift to Dumbledore and Voldemort. They killed off one generation and then had to wait for their offspring to grow up. How impatient they must have been! But they couldn't even see fit to let us be children. Our allegiance was demanded at our first breath. They feasted on our youth to keep the war alive. And now we are men. Ripe for killing. Are you holding on to a sliver of your soul just for yourself, Harry? Something to have after this is over? Something to share? With someone?
December 18
I am not wise. I am bitter.
December 20
Yes, I'm going home for Christmas. You are going to the Weasleys, I assume. I love Christmas. And not for what you think. Although I do admit that I am something of a present whore. But that's not all. My parents, whose relationship is probably worthy of study at St. Mungo's, really try during the holidays. They throw an enormous New Year's Eve party, the details of which are only thing in the entire fucking universe they don't fight about. They actually act like they love each other, chatting about what to serve, what party favors to hand out, what color scheme they should have this year. These discussions are endless and go on far into the night for a solid week. And it's really quite funny, because the party is the same every year. No detail changes. Not one thing. But it's like discussing the details ad nauseam makes them remember a time when they didn't fight, when they actually talked to each other instead of at each other, and we all get to pretend for a week or two that this is the way it is, instead of the way it was.
I always get a ton of very cool clothes. Which I love. Which I look very good in. In fact, I look like a fucking stud.
Happy Christmas, Harry. I hope you have a nice holiday.
January 4
I am glad you liked the gloves. Your hands looked cold the other day.
Happy New Year, Harry.
I missed you.
January 6
What a horrible way to start the New Year. Do not even consider shagging Finch-Fletchley. Possibly the worst lay I've ever had. What was I thinking? A Hufflepuff!
January 7
Yes, I slipped up there. Twice. (a) Discussing my sex life; and (b) the Hufflepuff thing. But honestly, do you think the writer of these letters is a Hufflepuff? Possibly the most insulting thing you could ever write to me.
So we've whittled down my identity to two houses: Ravenclaw or Slytherin. I'm certainly intelligent enough to be a Ravenclaw--and certainly devious enough to be a Slytherin.
Malfoy was chatting up Brown so you couldn't move in? This is the infamous Harry Potter, youngest seeker in a century, ceding to Draco Malfoy? Although I must admit, he's formidable competition in the fucking department.
Be honest. Who would you want to fuck? A Ravenclaw (a) who will make sure that there is at least a couch to bend over; (b) who will have two tubes of lube in the case of any eventuality; and (c) post-coitus will explain in excruciating detail why you had such a good time. Or. Or. The Slytherin (a) who could care less where you fuck as long as it's right now; (b) who if no lube is available will rim you until you beg; and (c) whose only comment will be, "If we don't shag right now, I'll rip your balls off."
I rest my case.
Don't be so hard on Mr. Malfoy. He wouldn't make you search for a couch while you were suffering from a crippling case of blue balls.
January 10
I can't seem to get away from discussing my sex life. Or should I say, you can't. No, he's not the world's most perfect bastard in bed as he is in every other aspect of his life. In fact, I think I can honestly say that you would be most surprised should you ever, horror of horrors, find yourself in his (or him in your) bed. He is an extremely considerate lover and, although I think he would vehemently deny this, rather playful. You would have a good time. Trust me. And he has an incredible body. Don't take my word for it; ask Zabini or Brown.
January 14
Color me surprised. You hate Malfoy. Yes, I agree he's a—what did you write—"A fucking nasty git who should have been drowned at birth." Yes, he is often nasty, and most of his fury is directed at you and your friends. It would be impossible to deny that. Although I would point out that based on the fact that Dumbledore made him Head Boy, he's not as horrible or as limited as you are determined to believe. Perhaps you are a convenient target.
January 16
Why are you a target? I don't know. Ask him. He might be more sympathetic to you than you would think. His birthright has left him with no more choice than yours did.
January 20
Malfoy was actually nice to you in Potions today? For all of thirty seconds? Let me guess. He said something polite. Being completely overwhelmed by Malfoy appearing to be remotely human, you knocked over the potion that the two of you had been working on. He responded by calling you an oaf, the two of you got into a fist-fight, and Snape ended up giving both of you detention.
January 21
Okay, so he called you a lummox not an oaf. Detention as horrible as usual? How's the eye?
January 22
You're afraid? We're all afraid. You must never think that you're alone. I am here.
January 23
The side of right? Console yourself with that notion when you are standing next Granger's grave or Weasley's grave. Or both their graves. Do you honestly believe that Death Eaters don't love their children? They believe that their cause is as "right" as you do. It's not all about power. Come on, you're not that stupid.
Why do I believe there is no "right"? Because each "side" will be digging graves. Each "side" will be burying their children, their husbands, their wives, their friends. I hope to christ your notion that it was *right* comforts you when you smell freshly turned earth from newly dug graves.
January 26
Yes, I am upset. We've never known what life is like without Dumbledore and Voldemort pitted against each other for hegemony of the wizarding world. It is almost impossible to imagine my future without this conflict defining the perimeter of my entire experience.
My birthday is soon. I've read over my letters to you. I sound so old.
When the stones are just too fucking heavy, when I feel I only have one breath left in me, I picture myself in Rome, sitting on the edge of the Trevi Fountain. It is a beastly hot day, and I have one foot in the water. I am reading a novel, an iced espresso is sitting on the stone ledge next to my leg. My knee is resting against another. A hand absentmindedly caresses my thigh.
And I can breathe again.
January 28
I will say this. I do believe that you will win. Not because you are right or that Dumbledore is right, but because you are more powerful than you know. Than Voldemort. Dumbledore knows this. I know it. I know it because I, too, am a very powerful wizard, much more so than anyone gives me credit for. I pick up your letters, and your magic caresses my fingers. It answers my own. It calls to me. Every time I get a letter from you, I press it to my face and it's like you're kissing me.
January 29
Please ignore previous letter.
February 5
Am I going to the Valentine's Day Ball? Yes, I will be there. Who are you going with?
February 7
I do not want to hear that "too shy" bullshit. Ask someone, you twit.
February 8
No, we cannot meet. You would regret it. You must trust me on this. I cannot believe you still don't know who I am.
February 9
So Zabini propositioned you? Before or after you accused him being the letter writer? Are you sure it was a real proposition? You're rather naive about these matters. But in a good way.
February 10
Good one, Potter. Yes, a hand to the crotch qualifies as a proposition. I can't believe you turned him down.
February 11
I told you to ignore that letter
February 15
I want to apologize profusely for last night. It was unforgivable of me. Not embracing you. Hexing you.
I was having a cigarette in the shadow of the tower, and I saw you sitting there in the dark. The gay tinkle of the music from the Great Hall seemed almost obscene against the dejected sloop of your shoulders. I could tell something was terribly wrong and then as I neared you, I heard you crying. I regret doing the immobility hex on you, but how else was I to comfort you? I do not regret holding you. My mother used to hum that exact lullaby in my ear when I was small. It always made me feel safe and loved. Did you feel safe and loved?
February 16
Good.
February 20
You played a brilliant game. Congratulations! You always do. No, I didn't see Malfoy's face when you got the snitch on the last second, but I can imagine the rage, the frustration. I don't think he will ever beat you, but you do have to admire him for never giving up. Don't feel very well, must sign off.
February 24
Yes, I feel better. Marginally.
February 26
My mother and I visited London last summer for our yearly mother/son shopping binge. Since we have virtually nothing to say to each other these days, all discussion revolves around whether this year's fashions are more hideous than last year's. Inevitably they are, but it doesn't stop us from spending a goblin's weight in galleons. Clothes are one of the few safe topics left. Other commentary, say, "Merlin's balls, that arse is begging to be shagged," wouldn't go over well.
While my mother was getting fitted, I walked into a Muggle shop to buy a pair of black leather pants. A mystery: Why are Italian Muggles the only tailors on this entire planet who can sew a decent pair of leather pants? Another aside: I look utterly shaggable in these pants. A wet dream walking.
Anyway, while debating over the color of one pair of black pants versus another pair of black pants--yes, there are various shades of black, so stop rolling your eyes, Potter--the background music changed. I stood transfixed for the entire duration of the song. When it ended, I buttonholed a salesman, unshaggable with a capital "U," and asked him if he knew the name of the band. "The Beatles," he sneered. "What planet did you grow up on?" Pat me on the back, Harry. I did not hex his dick to the size of a nicoise olive. Although I was sorely tempted. The one line that has haunted me ever since is, "And in the end, the love you take, is equal to the love you make."
Doesn't that capture perfectly a Gryffindor/Slytherin romance? Stop frowning, Harry. Light and dark. Give and take. You're frowning again. Think about it. The Gryffindor teaches the Slytherin about love, and the Slytherin teaches the Gryffindor about passion.
February 27
That's the first nice thing you've said about him. I was beginning to think you were harboring a very unhealthy obsession about Malfoy. Elegance on a broom. He would like to be described that way.
March 1
Because you write about him all the fucking time. That or my sex life. No, I haven't been with anyone for weeks. Well, that's not true. Zabini and I had a one-off, and it was fucking awful. All my fault. I'm jerking off all the time. It stops me from going mad, but only just.
Stop badgering me about meeting.
March 8
Fuck you, Potter. You and that fucking invisibility cloak. I WARNED YOU! In almost every letter. How meeting me would be an enormous mistake. How you would regret it. Yet, being the nosy, insufferable, never let anything lie, Gryffindor GIT that you are, you had to push it. Had to find out.
Don't you dare say that I deceived you. That I duped you. Everything I've written to you in the past few months has been true and honest. Everything. I've been more honest with you than I've EVER been with ANYONE in my entire life, and you've reduce it to some pathetic payback. Like I'm going to announce to the Great Hall that Harry Potter is a fucking faggot. That he likes to put his fingers up his arse when he wanks off. If you think I'd do that after all these months, fuck you!
How could you not know it was me? Are you fucking clueless? Practically every single letter screams "DRACO MALFOY WROTE THIS!"
I know why you're so furious. You've discovered I'm not the person you thought I was. I'm a fairly decent human being, someone you actually like. How perfectly galling! Someone you're dying to fuck. You want to fuck me, don't you? Fuck that toerag, Malfoy. That makes you sick to your stomach, doesn't it? That's why you're furious. Not at me, but at yourself.
You can just fuck yourself, Potter. With ten fingers for all I care.
April 1
No, I do not want to meet with you. This is done.
April 4
I am owling you this letter because you MUST read it. If you don't read it to the very end, I will send you a Howler next time, and the entire school will hear what I have to say. You know me. I will do it.
Are you trying to wind me up on purpose? I told you to leave Boot alone for a very good reason. The third time we fucked he essentially raped me. He'd been a little rough the first two times in a skating-close-to-the-edge but still exciting and not yet freaky sort of way. The third time he completely lost it. He likes to humiliate his partners, hurt them. I think it's because he hates himself for being gay, hates his partners for making him desire them. Stay away from him. He'll hurt you.
Do you want the gory details? He threw me on the ground, pushed me onto my stomach, and shoved into me without any lube or anything. Tore into me. Called me a bunch of names, horrible names, while he battered my arse and kidneys. Do you know why? To punish me. Because my arse was so sweet that he got off. And he hated me for it. More? Want to hear about how I bled for days afterwards, pissed blood for a week. More?
I have no right to ask this, but I am begging you. Please stay away from him.
April 7
Yes, I pushed him off his broom. I saw him copping a feel off of you under the table at the Three Broomsticks. He's lucky he only broke his arm. He so much as looks in your direction again and I'll break the bastard's other arm. With my bare hands.
April 9
Stop owling me, you annoying twit! You want to apologize in person. Right. I'll give you three minutes. Astronomy Tower, 11:00 pm.
April 10
How did I know? I didn't. I just hoped it would be like that.
May 10
Yes, I do. No, I can't say it, I cannot even write it. Just know that I do.
June 3
You saw the owl from my father. The summons. Yes, I am called to take my Dark Mark. He writes in glowing terms about the glory of serving the Dark Lord. You can fill in the blanks. Basically it's time for me to show the world that Lucius Malfoy has raised his son to be the penultimate little Death Eater.
I must now make a choice. Several months ago I wrote to you that I felt unbearably trapped, that I didn't have a choice. Now you offer me a choice, and I hate you for it. I must choose between you and my history, my family, even perhaps my destiny.
You are ruthless, Harry. A ruthlessness I've only seen you display on the Quidditch field. But then again, I've never seen you in love. Sending me a picture of the Trevi Fountain. Do you even know what you're asking? You think that all this "baggage," as you refer to it, is nothing. Just window dressing. It's what has defined me for nearly twenty years. It is my birthright just as much as being the son of Saint James Potter and Saint Lily Evans is yours. You are not asking me to give up much. You are asking me to give up everything.
Suppose I say yes. Do you think that Granger and Weasley will ever accept me in your world? Granger? Maybe in twenty years. Weasley? Never. He will hate me until the day he dies. And he will never forgive you for putting him in the position of choosing between his hatred of me and his love for you.
I'm sitting on the edge of the lake, a cigarette dangling out of my mouth. These fags are going to kill me. One finger worries the bruise you put on my neck last night, a reminder of your passion. Your passion for me. I stare at my other hand, the one that wears my family's signet ring.
I do not know what I am going to do. Know that I love you. Very much.
I feel like a snitch. There's you and my father, both seekers. On my father's side is six hundred years of power and tradition and history. On your side, there is the promise of iced espresso and passion and love. You are both reaching for the snitch simultaneously, it's only a question of who is faster. But then you rarely lose, do you, Harry?
It does beg the question. Does the man choose his lover or does the boy choose his father?
The day is warm, and my fingers are swollen from the heat. I take off my shoes and wade into the lake up to my ankles. A shiver snakes up my spine, the cool water licks at my toes. I think of Rome, you at my side, our feet in the water, and all of a sudden I am there. We are there. Together. I close my eyes and imagine the smell of history that is peculiar to Rome. I slide my hand into the water in the hope that the chill will ease the pressure on my fingers. Loosen the ring.
Do you know that "ciao" is both hello and goodbye in Italian?
Sequel to this is Lush Life |
Gold woke up and groggily rubbed his face. The sun was already out and shining through a crack in the drawn curtains. Wait, curtains? Wasn’t he supposed to be in his tent in the Azalea outskirts? Also why did his throat hurt so bad? He rolled over, stretching, and suddenly found his face buried in long, tangled hair. It starkly smelled of smoke and something metallic.
His eyes flew wide open as yesterday’s events crashed his mind all at once - the explosions, his rival drenched in blood, desperate dash through the woods and the run-down inn. He sat up and spun his head. They were in a huge suite, the only apartment available in the entire motel at the time, sharing a massive king bed.
He looked at it in dismay. This was not the situation he’d expected to share a bed with someone, let alone another guy. He cautiously peered at Silver over the covers and flinched, instantly forgetting his childish concerns over their sleeping arrangement. The redhead was breathing heavily, cheeks hot, dried blood stains speckling his pillow and sheets.
Trying to not make any noise, Gold tiptoed to the kitchen and grabbed a fresh towel and some water. He delicately lowered the damp cloth onto the other’s forehead and placed the glass on the nightstand.
What he really had to do was get some painkillers and fever reducers in addition to the essentials in the medkit. Even he understood that the stuff from first aid was largely inadequate for any further treatment. He swung by the bathroom and dumped their wet clothing into a plastic laundry bag. About to leave, he caught his reflection in the mirror. A dark handprint shaped bruise enveloped the entire frontal part of his neck. He traced his fingers over it, transfixed. Silver certainly overdid it in his self defense and was now in for a real earful.
Wavering, the brunette covered the raw mark with his own hand. But could he really condemn the other for acting the way he did? He was hurt, driven into a corner and probably more terrified than Gold himself.
He hung his head and leaned on the sink, acutely remembering the interaction - the blood, the panic, the look in the other boy’s eyes. His hands clutched at the white ceramic.
-He thought I was going to attack him. He thought that I was going to hurt him more…
No, there was no way he’d be able to blame him. Moreover, it was his own fault for jumping him so suddenly.
He straightened and zipped his hoodie all the way up. For now, this and his old bandana would be enough to conceal it. Sparing one last glance at Silver, he snuck out of the room.
Gold flung the double reception doors open, hoping for a lungful of the crisp morning air after the stuffy suite. He took a wide step forward but halted right before he could take a breath. The entire area surrounding Ilex Forest was covered with a thick layer of smog. It partially blocked out the sun’s rays and spread the pungent smell of burnt plastic all the way up the intercity route. He moped and pulled up the bandana over his nose in an attempt to save his already burning throat from any more irritation.
Not only had his rival managed to almost die last night, but also caused a local environmental catastrophe. He promised Silver that he wouldn’t ask about what happened, but, honestly, was skeptical that the other would’ve told him even if he did.
Gazing ahead, he followed the main road with his gaze. It stretched all the way from the Daycare, and probably further, to the entrance of the Ilex Forest. A couple of police cars were parked just outside it, blocking the path. Perhaps he could make a quick detour to investigate a little himself just before he hit the shops.
Casually approaching the patrol vehicles, the brunette gave the policemen a friendly wave.
-Good morning, officers!
The two men at the site turned to their visitor, expressions weary, and lazily waved back. Soot streaks on their uniform, eyes bloodshot - they obviously looked like they were on patrol all night.
-Morning. Passage through Ilex Forest is closed, if you’re travelling to Azalea, please use alternate route via south of Goldenrod and Violet Town.
The older man recited with a dull voice, probably his hundredth time this morning. Gold rolled his shoulders.
-Aw, shucks. I was planning to do some training, do you know what happened?
-Yeah kid, sorry.
The other cop chimed in and lit up a cigarette. The already inferior air quality did not seem to faze him in the least.
-Can’t let you through, a campfire got out of hand, burnt the entire campground, set off a few propane tanks - nasty stuff. We’re currently clearing the path.
Campfire, propane tanks? He seriously doubted that, but didn’t let it show nonetheless. Whatever those explosions were that he heard yesterday, that were no propane tanks, he’d seen enough videos on the Internet to know that much. The police must have been working hard to cover something up. He briefly exposed his mouth and smiled.
-Thanks, officers, have a good day. And hang in there!
The older patrolman just lifted his hand in recognition, his partner let out a cloud of smoke.
-You too, kid.
Gold turned around and started walking the direction he came from. He saw a bright yellow “CAUTION” tape and wire fencing stretch from the toll hub and all around the observable perimeter of the forest. Ah well,, he really wouldn’t be able to sneak in later then, not unless he was ready to put in some serious work.
Digging his hands in his pocket he kept going, not intending to loiter around the fence longer than necessary and raise suspicion. He tried to imagine his grouchy rival battling campers and exploding gas tanks in the middle of the night. The very thought made him giggle. Jokes aside, though, what did the redhead blow up to burn a good part of the forest, and, as a result, what were the police so adamantly trying to hide? He made a couple more steps on the pavement and absently kicked a random stray rock ahead of him. What were you doing? What was sheltered in the shadows of Ilex?
Suddenly, it struck him. Just after their last confrontation in Azalea, Silver dropped something about Team Rocket before disappearing into the forest. Gold begrudgingly recalled their most recent encounter - the redhead ran into him just as he was heading for the gate. He questioned him about the Rockets, outright refusing the believe that he had, indeed, driven them out of Azalea Town. He ridiculed and taunted him and then challenged to a Pokémon battle. “Then let’s see how good you are”, were the words, spoken by his rival, a different kind of flare in his eyes, an opposite emotion to the mostly indifferent exchange at Cherrygrove.
The outcome of that fight still weighed heavily on Gold’s mind. With minimal effort, Silver completely annihilated his team.
“Weak trainers, weak Pokémon - it doesn’t matter who or what. This goes for Team Rocket too. You said you beat them, yet truthfully you never stood a chance. Keep out of my way”. The words stung, this was the first time on his journey he lost to anyone - trainers, gym leaders or even Rocket goons alike. Liberating the Slowpoke Well sure boosted his ego, while the devastating loss to his rival sent him crashing right back to the ground.
Gold dragged his palm over his face. Now wasn’t the time to revel in self-pity, this was not about him, this was about Silver. Promptly after their fight his rival departed, and the next time they met was at the disastrous fire last night. He walked a couple more meters, Silver’s words circling around in his head - ‘Team Rocket’, ‘never stood a chance’, ‘keep out of my way’, ‘Team Rocket’, ‘beat them’, ‘Team’... Well of course, how could he be so blind?! The redhead was taking on the criminal team and, from the looks of it, all on his own. He tracked down some secret base in that forest and probably felt confident enough to engage. Although, something went terribly wrong and he ended up getting hurt. “Reckless and fearless, aren’t you, Silver?”, he caught himself thinking as he punted the unfortunate pebble once more. What about the explosions then, were they intentional or an accident as well? Given the enhanced security at the forest, the only way to find out would be to ask him directly.
Most of the puzzle pieced together, the brunette finally reached the Daycare and the miniature shopping center behind it. He got several brands of painkillers, unsure which one would work best at the local pharmacy along with a few Potions for his Pokémon. He later swung by a sandwich shop and grabbed two deal-of-the-day footlongs.
Wondering if he’d forgotten anything, he turned back once again. Him and his rival were on the same side after all. No matter what his objectives were, Silver was selflessly fighting Team Rocket to the point of grisly wounds and broken bones. There was no way Gold could leave him alone in this. He despised the criminal team just as much, probably never willing to forgive their cruel exploitation of Pokémon. And what they did to Silver just added fuel to fire. It would only be natural to join forces and confront the enemy together. Their Pokémon would balance each other’s typing and abilities, while they could have one another’s back, able to avoid any disastrous outcomes in the future battles. He nodded to himself. This was positively the best course of action and quite the perfect plan.
Gold found Silver sitting upright in the bed, leaning on a pile of pillows, right knee under his elbow. A pair of headphones were plugged into his Pokégear and a tablet-like device rested in his hands.
-Morning, Silver! How’re you feeling?
The teen briefly looked up from his work with a twinge of resentment at the other’s cheerful tone.
-Like a truck ran over me.
The brunette grimaced. He couldn’t even start to imagine the torment the other must be going through. He noticed a folded towel with a bloody bandage lying on the other’s nightstand, an empty syringe sat right next to them.
-Um yeah... you were having a fever earlier. I really didn’t want to wake you up, so, sorry, that was the best I could do.
The other paused whatever he was listening to and followed Gold’s gaze to the items on the bedside table.
-I know. This type of painkiller is most effective, though it also includes a dose of Modafinil in it, among other things.
-Modafinil?
-Drug to keep one alert, so wouldn’t have worked for a pleasant nap.
-Never heard of it… Is it even legal?
-I’ve no obligation to answer that.
Silver stared at him blankly, while Gold resisted the urge to roll his eyes, Why did he even bother to ask. Judging from his previous actions at Prof. Elm’s lab and in the Ilex Forest - given these were the only ones he knew of - the other did not exactly shun from any kind of unlawful activity.
-Well, couldn’t get any of that kind, but here are some over the counter ones.
He emptied his spoils on the unoccupied side of the bed. The redhead looked through the boxes of medication, nodding at a couple of them. He then reached for his bag and pulled out the thick bundle of cash held together by a metal clip.
-Take however much you need for these. I don’t want to owe more than I already do.
Huh? Not this again. This time Gold actually rolled his eyes.
-How many times do I have to tell you, I’m not helping you out of vanity or self-interest, I’m helping you because I want to.
Before Silver could make any objections he added.
-Besides, you paid a fortune for this place already. What are you up to anyway?
This mercenary focused discussion just felt wrong to him and, thankfully, the other chose not to press it.
-Looking into some data. It’s none to your concern.
Somehow the response did not surprise him one bit.
-Is there anything I could assist you with?
-No.
Gold shrugged, not that he expected to be welcomed with open arms either. In this case, he should exchange some information of his own to start it off.
-Okay. Well, I took a walk earlier today and it seems the whole perimeter of the Ilex Forest is shut down by the police. They’re not letting anyone in, saying there was a campfire accident, but they’re hiding what really happened, aren’t they?
He nodded at the other with a conspiratorial look as Silver’s back turned rigid.
-Poor dudes looked positively beat, probably sick of pubbies like me going around asking questions.
-What did you tell them?
The brunette just waved his hand.
-Oh, nothing really. They kept going on how the campground got on fire and propane tanks started exploding--
He felt a tight grip on his wrist.
-What. Did. You. Tell. Them.
Silver was watching him with a sinister glint in the eye.
-Ow ow, let go!
He tried to wrestle his arm out and the other applied more pressure.
-Look, I didn’t tell them anything. About you or yesterday. And wasn’t planning to, so chill out.
Finally released, he gingerly rubbed his arm. How could the redhead be so damn strong?
-Do not treat this like a game and do not tell me to ‘chill out’. I’ve been monitoring the police frequency all morning and if I’ve heard any mentions of a nosy little trainer meddling in matters that did not involve them, it would’ve ended poorly for them.
Gold reluctantly locked his gaze with his rival - Silver was dead serious.
-I thought you might benefit from some outside info, that all.
-I require no such thing and I need you to stay out of this.
-How can I stay out of this when I saw you bleeding in the forest like that?
Silver massaged the bridge of his nose, irritation building. Being reminded of his recent near-fatal failure and a pair of prying eyes were the last things he needed right now. He exhaled, keeping his voice as calm as possible.
-Gold, listen. I... appreciate what you’ve done until now, but from here on out we’re on our own. Go camp, shop at the Goldenrod mall, challenge the gym leader, I don’t care. Do not seek me out and do not try to contact me.
Not entirely beat down by Silver’s attitude, Gold still found rage building at the offhanded comment.
-Do you really think I’m an idiot, do you think I don't see what's going on? I don’t know what your whole deal is, but those explosions yesterday, the gunshots, the fire, whatever you’re working on right now. You’re trying to take on Team Rocket by yourself, aren’t you? I’m not gonna let that happen.
Silver’s expression went back from annoyed to malicious in a split second. The brunette felt his feet grow cold. This was not how he planned to propose their partnership at all.
-Hold on, I don’t mean it like that. What I’m saying is - I’m gonna help you.
-Once again, I do not need y--
-Please, just hear me out. You know I fought Rocket at Azalea town, they’re despicable people and what they did to those Pokémon is unforgivable. What they did to you is unforgivable. I want them gone as much as you do. Let’s--
The redhead sat up and smashed the headboard with the side of his fist, silencing him.
-Do not interrupt me. I couldn’t care less about the Pokémon and for the other part - it’s none of your business.
Involuntarily, Gold shrunk away.
-What is it in for you then, why are you trying to fight them so hard anyway?
-I have my reasons.
-Fine, and I have mine.
-For the last time - no.
-Why, why are you so against it? We clearly have the same final objective here, the same enemy. Despite all your snarky insults I’m not as weak as you paint me to be, I have won over you previously, if you care to recall. Let’s join our forces, we can be allies.
He looked at his rival and potential partner with hope in his eyes, just to be shut down once again.
-I advise you to drop it. This is for your own good.
The boy groaned under his breath. He was getting absolutely nowhere with this, so he would have to switch tactics.
-Why are you so confident you can handle it on your own then? Something obviously went wrong yesterday, that won’t happen if we have each other’s backs.
Silver leaned back again and lifted his arm quizzically.
-Okay, counter question then. How can you guarantee you’ll contribute?
-Huh? I’ll battle against the Rockets alongside you, of course. If anything goes south, we’ll figure a way out of it. You know, double the brawn, double the brain.
The redhead just threw him a sardonic look.
-I see you have been blinded by your minute success at the Slowpoke Well. Let me relieve you of the pink glasses clouding your vision. The scum you fought at the Well were no other than bottom ranking grunts, running a lowly side operation to acquire some cash. They had nothing to do with the main force that is the newly revived Team Rocket. Do you even know what their next target is?
“Way to diminish my achievements, Silver”, Gold bitterly thought to himself. As for the other matter, he genuinely had no clue.
-Um… no.
-Do you know the very basics of self defense, basics of combat?
-I mean I’ve been in fights before.
-Do you know how to use your Pokémon in extreme situations outside of a friendly battle?
His rival was definitely getting the upper hand here, but he was not ready to back down so easily.
-So what if I don’t know any of those things, what makes you act so superior? Just because you beat me that one time in Azalea, it doesn’t mean you’re above me now! What do you have to show for yourself, all I’ve heard is unbased claims so far.
-Very well.
Silver removed both his headphones and got off the bed. If he couldn’t talk sense into the dim-witted trainer, maybe beating some in would prove more effective. He stood in the open area in front of the window and gestured the other to move to his side. Unsure what this sudden display meant, the brunette got up and hesitantly walked around to face the taller teen.
-Now wh--
-Punch me in the face.
-What?
-Lay a single hit on me and I will consider your proposal.
Gold looked at the boy standing in front of him. Silver was barefoot, wearing a pair of plain black boxers and shirt, bruises covering his arms and legs, head heavily bandaged.
-Are… are you sure?
The redhead just nodded and gestured at his body.
-I will consider this a fair handicap. So, do we have a deal?
He blinked in confusion. Was his rival that dismissive of his abilities that he was expecting to win a fistfight even with all those injuries? If anything, he was throwing him an easy victory. Deciding to fight half power in order not to aggravate the other’s health any further, he nodded.
-Sure, deal.
He balled up his hand into a fist and swung it at Silver, aiming for his chin. The other countered effortlessly, blocking the hit with the back of his wrist then extending his own arm, palm now in the brunette’s face. Momentarily, he lowered it back to his side. The shorter teen flung a hook with his other fist, only to be dodged by a slight lean backwards.
Was he mocking him? Initial hesitation gone, Gold was not going to go easy on his opponent. He sprung forth. The redhead deflected the jab with his elbow and gave the other’s now open chest a tap with the ball of his hand. Anger still churning, Gold turned around and lifted his left leg, ready to strike Silver’s side. A quick grab on his ankle followed by a shove sent him toppling to the floor.
Silver looked positively bored.
-Are you done? I think the situation is clear.
He turned his back and stepped toward the bed. Unwilling to give up, Gold attempted another blow at the other’s ear. Surely he couldn’t avoid or deter if he wasn’t looking.
-Playing dirty, aren’t you?
Swiftly turning his torso, Silver blocked the hit, grabbing the attacker’s elbow with his other hand and twisted hard. Gold fell face forward onto the covers, arm locked behind his back. Trying to move his body in any direction and failing, he groaned a sign of surrender. Silver had effectively pinned him to the bed. The standing teen released him and stepped back, giving room for him to get back onto his feet.
Gold flexed his joint. It was the second time this particular arm was assaulted today. His shoulders slouched as he considered his performance, this was an utter and indisputable defeat.
-How did you do it? I thought I had you that last time.
-Lack of vision is not equal to lack of awareness.
-Yeah… but how could you so easily predict all of my attacks?
-I’ve trained from a young age. And you - you’re an amateur.
The brunette looked down at his feet unsure what to say. The other was, after all, stating the truth. How could he have known that his rival was some kind of ninja under his dispassionate facade? But come to think of it, under all the bruises and scars covering it, the other’s body did seem rather well toned.
Absently, he touched his neck through the colored cloth. Maybe he shouldn’t have jumped the bet, naively judging by the other’s physical appearance or state of health.
Silver’s voice rapped above him.
-Anyhow, I’ve won fair and square.
-Yes.
-You will not interfere with my work and would not make any foolish moves on Team Rocket of your own.
-Yes...
-You will vacate this room by the evening.
-Ye… what? That wasn’t the deal!
-“Not interfere with my work” evidently implies that.
-No, it does not! This giant suite has plenty space for both of us. I’m staying here until the festival, whether you like it or not. I’ll pay the extra expenses if that would be necessary.
Silver just rubbed his temples.
-If you insist. Do not pester me any further.
With that he threw the covers back and got in bed, pointedly plugging his headphones in and firing up his tablet. The device promptly sprang back to life with countless tables and diagrams filling the screen.
Feeling absolutely dejected, Gold circled around and sat on his side of the bed. What was he supposed to do now? If only the other wasn’t so exclusive to receiving any form of assistance, he would’ve trained, they would’ve worked this out, they would... The brunette shook his head. No, he could not push this any further, he has given his word. But was he truly out of options here? He needed time to think this new situation over and come up with a good reason for Silver to change his mind.
Preparing to leave once again, he picked up his backpack - it weighed down noticeably in his hand. That’s right, neither of them has eaten anything since yesterday. He dug to the bottom of the bag and retrieved two slightly battered sandwiches.
-Breakfast, if you fancy.
He gave a quick heads up and tossed the wrap in the other boy’s direction. Without looking up, Silver snatched the sandwich mid air. Gold raised his eyebrows and pulled at the paper wraps of his own sub, once more impressed by the other’s instantaneous reaction.
- Well, see you later then.
He dropped as he made his way out.
|
13: like flowers in a storm
Morning in Yokohama begins with an unusual silence. The city where the wind blows is filled with a feeling of tenseness; as though something would fall over the city in a blaze of shadows before it can react.
Dazai walks through the empty streets with light steps and jovial humming.
The air is misty. Given that it’s still early morning, the time when normal people with normal jobs are still struggling to stay awake to prepare for another day, he thinks that the light fog can be used as props for a cliché encounter from a third-rate movie.
Having the sun blocked by the mist also means that his shadow can’t be used as a weapon against him.
“It’s a fine morning,” Dazai sings to himself. The beat of his footsteps accompany as a rhythm to a song only he can hear, going tap-tap against the concrete. “The air is cool, the mist giving a feel of mystery and a sense of fate, this silence akin to the mystery of crime novels of old.
Clearly, if I were to choose a moment to die, now would be a good time.”
The communicator in his right ear frizzles with static before a voice comes out clear and crisp.
“Dazai-san, preparations are ready.”
“Alright. I’ll be there in a few.”
Everything has a beginning and an end.
This time, he’s determined to see it through one last time.
.
.
.
It all started back then…
.
.
.
When he regains consciousness, there’s the feeling of buoyancy that follows.
He’s alive.
The first stream of thought comes after the revelation.
Who am I? What am I? Where? When? How?
The answer comes to him straight and loud like a gunshot. Memories of lives lived and worlds glimpsed, the Abyss he used to stare into now nothing more than meaningful data stored in his brain, the influx of information searing itself into his brain with whispers of words incomprehensible and comprehensible.
He knows who he is. What he is.
This is Yokohama, before the point of divergence to decide the fate of all worlds.
And he…
He’s defied fate before.
He can do it again a thousand times better.
.
.
.
He drifts in those years in-between.
Before Mori, before he attempted that suicide method that would change his life forever, he drifts.
His legs would carry him wherever they could take him while his mind wandered into the deepest recesses. The Abyss of knowledge gleaned from the Book now an open space free for him to roam and take account everything he needed to digest.
It’s an odd feeling. Project Anomaly was a program created by the government to produce super soldiers that would potentially overpower the Gifted during the War; if such a research were to be successful, the future of the Yokohama that Dazai knows of in every world would have changed exponentially.
Which leads to one conclusion – Project Anomaly did not originally exist. So why is this one world different?
The Book’s fragment whisper into his mind unceasingly.
Stop, they say. Do not continue further lest you enter a hole you cannot get back from.
But the thing is, he’s supposed to be dead.
A man who threw himself from the top of his unwanted throne, bearing the hatred of the world and crafting a world where light would reign, where broken souls reside and shattered pieces stay to piece themselves back together in vain.
He threw away everything the moment he made his choice, all those years ago.
What else does he have to worry about?
The chasm opens and the flames from back then come back as if they never left.
.
.
.
Hunger means nothing to him now that he has become what he is, whatever that may be.
He does wonder sometimes; what is he? Certainly not human. No human can survive what he has lived through, can touch the realm of gods and freely defy the fate that has been preordained.
No Longer Human flows steadily throughout his body just like how the Book’s fragment now sleeps within him. It rushes along within his bloodstream. He wonders what his blood would look like, if were to cut himself open. Would it be black as others have said before? Or would it be red just like any other human?
He feels the urge to try it out before brushing the thought away. Bleeding out hurts and he has no intention of causing a messy death to himself.
Choices, choices…
Hm.
Hm…
The water looks so inviting right now.
Next time he regains consciousness, he’s in a very familiar clinic, in the company of a man he feels he is very familiar with to the point of being exhausted in his dealings.
“My name is Mori Ougai and I am a back-alley doctor. What is yours, little boy?”
His mind comes up with three different responses: Tsushima Shuuji, AG071, Dazai Osamu.
…Oh dear.
“…I don’t have one.”
“Then do you have something I can call you?”
It’s a trivial question with a meaning heavier than lead.
That’s right. As of the moment, he’s neither of the three boys. This moment right here is the beginning of the divergence point. If he were to wax poetry, he might even call it as his rebirth.
So to answer the question: who is he?
……
…
In the end, there’s only ever been one answer.
“…Dazai. Dazai Osamu.”
Tsushima Shuuji died when AG071 was born. Likewise, AG071 died the moment the Liquid Anomaly was inserted and Dazai’s own memories took over. Both are dead personalities with no groundbreaking effect to the ripples affecting Yokohama’s fate; they can be forgotten.
But Dazai Osamu?
.
.
.
“Say, Hirotsu-san. Who is that man?”
Oda Sakunosuke is still alive in this world. That is an undeniable truth. Just like how the sky is blue, the clouds are white and Chuuya will forever be a chibi, Odasaku is still alive and still without his children.
Dazai has only ever felt his chest twinge in pain twice in his life. Oddly enough, both occurred because of this same man.
His dear friend still looks rough around the edges when Dazai first approaches him. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that he’s just left the life of a killer behind, not when Odasaku still looks antsy around other people and actively struggling not to shoot in areas that could kill a person with a single bullet in every mission that involves combat.
Odasaku is trying so hard to be a good man and Dazai has had an entire lifetime where he’s had that kind gaze directed at him in hatred.
“Odasaku~”
Dazai is a selfish man.
That doesn’t mean he doesn’t know how to compromise.
.
.
.
I changed it once, I can change it again.
.
.
.
“Ready, Atsushi-kun, Akutagawa-kun?”
“Yes, Dazai-san!”
“…Awaiting your orders, sir.”
Dazai chuckles. His protégés are always so cute, especially when they try hard to please him. Like little ducklings trailing after their mother, these ones.
“I’m counting on you both to guard me,” he says and pats both their heads.
Atsushi’s face glows like the sun shining down on a flower, beaming and turning his head upwards. Akutagawa’s face is the exact opposite, face ducked down and mumbling under his breath with cheeks red to the tips of his ears.
Ah, seriously, how cute can they be?
Is this why Odasaku was so fond of his children? If so, Dazai can relate now, even if just slightly.
He looks at the notebook hidden in his coat.
Just a little more left to go until he’s done.
.
.
.
It’s only a matter of time.
.
.
.
There are several factors to consider when making the perfect story. Even a person of little in literature such as Dazai is aware of a good storytelling.
The plot, the characters, the location.
How it begins, proceeds and ends.
“Although I suppose I already know how to proceed, isn’t that so?” he hums to nobody in particular and starts writing down on a piece of paper.
The most problematic would be keeping Odasaku alive while killing Andre Gide and preventing Dostoyevsky from getting the Book without Yokohama burning to ashes despite a change in the past.
Dazai supposes that personally, keeping Mori alive would also be detrimental to the future, no matter how much he wishes to kill the man when the time comes. Mori is the only one capable of leading Port Mafia when the time comes to fight against the Rat and the Angels but how can he do that if he’s dead?
That, and Dazai has no wish to become Boss a second time.
“Is this how writers feel when making a story?” he groans out loud. “Making a happy ending is so hard. How do they do it?”
It’s not a problem of the ages but it might as well be.
Glaring at the paper once more, Dazai draws out a long sigh and deflates on the table.
“Fine. I’ll try for Odasaku’s sake.”
Dazai might be better off writing a tragedy but he will damn well make the best happy ending he can manage.
Even if it’s a third-rate story entangled in conspiracy, violence and loss, so long as there is a faint glimmer of hope, there will always be a better tomorrow.
.
.
.
Meoto Zenzai. Hurray for Marriage.
“Where did you get the idea to write such a story, Odasaku?” Dazai asks in the midst of laughing over the phone.
“I saw a married couple arguing a few weeks back and thought, ‘Ah, this is like that one RomCom in TV’. My editor thought it was a good idea too.”
A RomCom. Shaking his head, Dazai picks up the draft delivered to him via mail. It’s only at the first stages and while there is sure to be changes in the long run, the story would be a fine hit amongst the people.
How very much like Odasaku to make something ordinary as a married life into something so interesting.
“I’m looking forward to reading the entire story,” he says and freezes.
「 This is the only world where he is able to live and write his novel.
I can’t let such a world disappear . 」
“Is that so? I’ll make sure you get a copy as soon as it’s published,” Odasaku’s voice rings out clear on the other end.
“…I’ll be waiting patiently then.”
The fingers curled around the phone grip it tighter.
A few months later, a physical copy of the book is delivered to his doorstep.
Dazai reads it voraciously from start to finish and comes to a simple conclusion: Odasaku is a fine writer as expected.
.
.
.
Have I ever been wrong with my predictions?
.
.
.
“You picked the right person to target,” Dazai tells the fallen form of AG023. “Dostoyevsky had the correct form of assumption that I knew where the Book was, though I suppose you told him a bit about me.”
“Screw you.” The other hisses. Broken and bleeding, her Ability nullified by Dazai’s touch on her hair, all she can do is lie on the ground helplessly. “Screw you. Screw you! Why were you the one to get all the good things?! While we were stuck in our cells and wasting away, they gave you all their attention and made sure you were still alive. And just when I thought the damn explosion burned you, you were alive and in the lap of luxury!
Damn you, 71! Damn you to hell!!”
Her litany could never be more ridiculous, Dazai thinks as he stares at her dubiously. Laughter bubbles up in his chest and he wastes no energy in holding it in. Rather, he just lets it flow free to laugh at her expense. People may be staring at their exchange but let them. He’s feeling too much and too little to bother with appearances right now.
“Good things? Luxury?? I believe you have it all wrong, my dear sister. While you were all safe in your cages, I had to endure their experiments over and over again. Over and over until I thought of nothing other than killing myself to end it all. 69’s Meltdown? My eye?? The goddamn fire you and the others set up??? Believe me, none of it was as painful as having that drug forced into my veins.
And I was a Mafia Executive. I’ve killed and tortured more than those damn scientists ever did to us. You think I’ve been living a good life all this time? Think again.”
He presses on her pressure point and leaves her there for the vultures to take away. All the while, the stares don’t go away.
Kunikida steps forward to take the risk. “Dazai, that girl…”
“We’re not blood-related,” is what he says first. “The others in the facility decided to become each other’s family and called themselves siblings. I was included in there without my input.”
“You’re 71, right? Sorry about earlier. I’m Hoshigaki Akari but those people call me AG023. I’m your big sister from now on.”
“I never considered any of them family.” And never will, is what comes unsaid.
Kunikida takes a moment to look into his eyes, searching for something Dazai cannot comprehend, until he nods in satisfaction.
“Come on. Let’s go back to the Agency.”
Let’s go home.
.
.
.
“Do you know where the Book is, Dazai-kun?” Dostoyevsky asks him as they wait for the perfect moment to enter the Collector’s Treasury.
“Of course not,” he snorts. “Why would I be interested in something I cannot use?”
“Why indeed?” The Rat muses. “Perhaps the powers of God are nonexistent but isn’t that what makes you so unique?”
“I have no plans of world-shaking, reality-altering magnitude,” Dazai deadpans to the other, causing him to chuckle.
“Be that as it may, I would appreciate it if you were to stay out of my way for the entirety of my stay here,” he continues with a smile thinner than Mori’s scalpels. “But we both know that won’t be the case.”
Indeed. Regardless of what the world makes him out to be, no matter how much Mori and the Underworld consider him to be a heartless demon, Dazai would never allow Dostoyevsky to do as he pleased.
Because killing off all the Gifted would mean killing those he’s come to care for as well.
“We’ll see.” He says and replies with a smile from his days as Boss of Port Mafia a lifetime ago.
.
.
.
There is a party afterwards. For what reason? The answer surprises even Dazai.
“It’s your birthday, isn’t it?” Odasaku asks with a tilt of his head.
“Odasaku!” Dazai cries out with mock betrayal while his mind races. It’s today? Wow, how time flies.
“What?!” More than one voice exclaims.
Kyouka sips her soda calmly, like a clear water before the stone falls to make a ripple. “You got it right, Atsushi.”
“I-I suppose,” said boy stutters, eyes wide and mouth agape as he recalls the events from a year ago. “Wow. So June 19 is your birthday, Dazai-san?”
“So that’s why Oda-san insisted on bringing a cake,” Kunikida’s glasses glint ominously as he writes something down on his notebook. “Dazai’s birthday…is…June 19…”
Dazai huffs. He’s not angry, not really. He’s had a hunch of Odasaku’s plan since he came here and really, it’s Dazai’s own fault that he forgot about it and thus unable to produce a countermeasure for this.
But then again they already know the worst of his past. What else is there to hide?
The others are wheeling in the cake he bought; a three-tier chocolate with light caramel glaze and a mini-Dazai sitting on top, smirk and all. It’s both cute and annoying to look at.
“Dazai,” Odasaku calls.
“Dazai/Dazai-san!” the others follow, smiling at him from beneath the light.
“Happy Birthday!”
.
.
.
I’m here, holding onto the things precious to me.
.
.
.
It’s a celebration to mark the end of a life...
He writes the final sentence on paper and watches the words settle like stones after rolling on the earth.
“That’s a wrap.”
Smiling, Dazai places the pen down, the edge colored a deep red, and grabs the loose end of his bandages to wrap them back together from the arm down to the wrist.
It’s been a long day and he’s had a lot to write about but that’s okay. There are better endings than this but Dazai thinks that despite all of that, this is the best he can muster, the best he can come up with it. It’s what everyone deserves, for putting up with him throughout the whole ordeal.
Now then.
Power thrums against his fingertips and electricity crackles. The words written on the paper glow a bright blue, similar to the light of Atsushi’s Beast Beneath the Moonlight, similar to the glow of No Longer Human.
Dazai wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t know where the Book was. He really doesn’t, at least not in this world. But that doesn’t mean he has lost connection with it.
He died when he threw himself off of Port Mafia’s towers a lifetime ago. The Book gave him another chance at life and threw him to another dimension, parallel to the outside of the Book, in order to study the Anomaly that is Dazai Osamu. It merged with No Longer Human, growing weak due to the nullification, and slept.
Project Anomaly had been a scenario created by the Book so that it could forge a reconnection process with Dazai while still following the set rules. A long story written by a semi-sentient Ability for the sole purpose of forging a connection with the one person that piqued its interest.
Just because he can’t write on the Book doesn’t mean he can’t influence it to make something reality.
And since the Book functions on the laws of Karma and storytelling…
It’s a third-rate story written by a third-rate author. A failure of a human being desperately trying to create a world that would pass for a first-rate.
How can something like him exist?
He cannot understand it.
Abilities exist to defy the laws of reality, the metaphysical realm. Anything they do is to act in accordance to the defiance of the natural law.
No Longer Human is an Ability yet it nullifies other Abilities.
Confusing, right? How can something be an Ability and yet exist to nullify them? It makes no sense.
It is a contradiction that spurs the mind and scorns the soul.
Abilities create and destroy. It is both Alpha and Omega, beginning and end. A line without a break.
Dazai is the sole exception.
The contradiction that exists to cease the madness.
What does that make him?
He supposes he is “Nothing”.
“Nothing” touches “Everything” and the line between dream and reality begins to blur.
.
.
.
It’s a celebration to mark the end of a life.
The life of a jester known by the name of Dazai Osamu.
.
.
.
Good-bye.
|
River Rouge tries to ward them off with weather. Less than half an hour from downtown, and the water dies along the way, unglinting; the grey only gets greyer as they head southwest, overcast to a flatness that robs the shadows from the street. When Nines pulls into a parking lot off the stretch of West Jefferson, the cadaver of the steel mill graces the rear window with its spectral silhouette. Beyond it, a lopsided smudge, the ruin of the unfinished Gordie Howe Bridge.
“Kamski giveth and he taketh away,” says Gavin.
“U.S. Steel was already on its way out,” says Nines.
“Sure,” says Gavin, “but how am I supposed to throw darts at a picture of a trade war? Even if retaliatory tariffs had a face, it still wouldn’t be as punchable as Kamski’s.”
Nines sweeps a careful eye over the empty parking lot, the nighttime neon drained from the Frankie’s signage above the door. Customary dead hours for a dockworkers’ bar, a hair before noon, between the last call and the liquid lunch. Theirs is the only car in sight.
“Our boy’s in there?” asks Gavin. “Pete?”
“Should be,” says Nines.
Pete Nemeth, proud union rep for Local 422, drops by Frankie’s every Monday just before opening. The eponymous Frankie is more than happy to pour an early pint for his regular, but — as it turns out — happier still to supplement his income with a courtesy fee from the Federal Bureau of Investigation, in exchange for making himself scarce in the back for half an hour or so. That’s half an hour for Nines to accost Pete, to scrape together what a union man knows about the latest red ice waterways out of Detroit.
Gavin swings the passenger door open. He gets one foot on the ground, before Nines turns and sees him.
“Gavin,” says Nines, “stop.”
“Relax, Jesus,” says Gavin. “You’ve made it very clear that I should wait outside the bar.”
“So where are you headed?” asks Nines.
“Let me get some fresh air,” says Gavin, “before I go for a joyride in your precious Malibu and do donuts on the graveyard of the domestic steel industry.”
Nines doesn’t let him get away with it. “Really,” he says, “headed where?”
“Come on, I can’t sit in this car the whole fucking time,” Gavin tells him, and shuts the door in his face. Then, when Nines follows him out of the driver’s seat: “Can I stand outside, by the front door? At least?”
“By the front door?” repeats Nines.
“Yeah,” says Gavin. “You know, like security detail.”
“You’re not—” begins Nines, then purses his lips closed, shaking his head. Gavin takes it as permission denied and is mustering up a last objection, except that Nines says, “Outside the door is fine,” and locks the car behind him.
So what was he shaking his head about? There’s a whiff of stale ash as Nines steps inside Frankie’s, a whorl that dissipates in his wake, the entrance creaking closed. Gavin takes a seat on the doorstep, scraping his soles against the pavement. Part of him had hoped that he’d overhear a snatch of something, hanging around like this, but the door’s too heavy for him to pick up anything from the inside. Just the flurried beating of a seagull’s wings next to him as it descends on a wayward french fry.
Well, Nines will apprise him of the conversation later. Despite what Nines may think, Gavin isn’t unreasonable; he understands why this is as far as he can tag along, that his go-ahead to ride shotgun on the case doesn’t mean he gets to work it like an agent. If Pete’s likely to spook, better for Gavin to stay out of the way and let Nines handle it. Sure.
“I’m just consulting,” Gavin tells the seagull. “All this is above my pay grade.”
It’s been more than half a century since organized crime had its claws in the unions like they used to, but that doesn’t mean a little extra lining for the pockets doesn’t go a long way, still. Gavin never spared much thought for the brass tacks of Landau’s empire — it was just a postscript appended to the thing he cared about, like boilerplate copy or state income tax — but he learned bits and pieces along the way. The long chain of who gets paid off on the docks to sneak a shipment of ice onboard, the contractors, the USDA officials, the circuit court judges, the union reps.
Maybe Pete’s on the take, maybe he isn’t, but they’re not here to shake him down for petty cash favors; besides, it’s not protocol anymore to antagonize unions, said Nines. Whatever his level of involvement is, Pete’s position means he’s kept abreast of any recent disturbances in the port ecosystem. They’re here for what he knows.
“Or that’s what Nines is here for,” says Gavin. “I’m mostly here to get out of the house.”
A second seagull alights next to the first, challenging its sovereignty over the french fry. The french fry in question is big enough to satisfy both birds, but a squawking scuffle ensues anyway, which is a metaphor for something or other. Even with absolutely nothing else to do, Gavin isn’t given to exegetics.
It’s not so bad, this absolutely nothing else to do. He’s used to being the contingency plan, the let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, only standing close enough to step in when he’s needed. Here, he isn’t even that — why would he be, when Nines is more than capable of looking after himself — but it’s become a kind of familiarity nonetheless, the rhythm of their routine. Nines pulling up at his place. Gavin slipping into the passenger seat like a sword into its sheath, the angle of the chair just the way he left it.
Nines waits, and drives him home. Nines waits for him. The warble of the car alarm when he sees that Gavin is ready to leave, a songbird greeting: I’m still here. Something about idling outside a decrepit bar while Nines does his job feels like paying back a debt, even if it doesn’t do a thing to help the case. I’ll be here when he’s ready to leave, thinks Gavin. That, at least, I can do just as well as he does.
“I don’t like owing people things,” Gavin says to the otherwise preoccupied seagulls. “And it sure beats sitting around at home, you know. It gets really—”
Something shifts.
Gavin’s on his feet before he knows it, danger, all his sensors cranked up to high alert, the clacking of the seagull beaks like dry thunderclaps. For a hot, dizzying moment, he can’t pin a reason to his panic, every inch of his skin prickling with a tension unasked for; it’s so sudden that he wonders — is it a glitch? — the road as empty and still as when they came, no hint of trouble from inside the bar. Am I losing it? He presses his palm to the door, out of breath.
Nines. No, why would it be Nines? Gavin would have heard him reach out over the comm line, there’s no way anything in this run-down hovel could incapacitate Nines quickly enough to shut him down before— or shut him down at all, for that matter, Gavin thinks, measuredly, but he doesn’t trust the measured part of his brain half so much as his gut — he wasn’t made to reason things out, he was made to react quicker than he can explain himself — so by the time he gets to surely it can’t be Nines, he’s already throwing the door open and charging in.
It’s so dark inside that it blinds him. Like waking up at CyberLife, his eyes wide, nothing to see. Not even the telltale glow of Nines’s LED, ditched in the cupholder in the car — ah, shit, Gavin remembers, I’ve still got mine on — but quicker than his sight returns to him, he hears Nines, piercing through his head like a bolt of light.
What comes through isn’t English; it’s not exactly language of any kind, not even machine code, lacking the precision that touch-based interfacing would allow. More a jumble of affect than anything else, a projection of an attitude, broad and gestural. Untangled, it turns out to be something like:
why are you here
The question is so unmistakably Nines-as-usual that it saps all the dread clean from Gavin. He’s okay. Far from polite, but in the relief that floods in to fill the empty spaces, even the brusqueness feels like— warmth, after a fashion. Clutching to it like a strand of yarn in a maze, Gavin lets Nines’s terse demand guide him back into the bar.
“—What the fuck,” says the man at the bar that isn’t Nines. Pete Nemeth. As soon as Gavin sees him, one thing becomes patently obvious; this bastard’s going to bolt, thinks Gavin. It doesn’t take his knack for snap judgment to figure as much, Pete’s stool already angled away from Nines, his heel braced against the foot ring, shoulders drawn up to his ears.
Nines’s second attempt at communication comes through instantly: he doesn’t know who i am
And if that isn’t interesting. Nines, half-heartedly covert. “Is this going to be much longer?” asks Gavin, making a show of louche impatience. “I gotta be back in the city by noon.”
“Unfortunately,” says Nines, “Mr. Nemeth has been less than forthcoming.”
“That’s what I get for sending in a bookkeep to do grown-up work,” says Gavin. Behind Pete, Nines raises an eyebrow at bookkeep, so Gavin appends an explanatory note: you have cpa face
Things are starting to fit together. Nines is, apparently, undercover; that is, if desperately trying to come off as anything but an FBI agent even qualifies as a cover identity. Pete must have started off on a skittish foot. The sideways tilt of dread that brought Gavin to his feet — not Nines in danger, per se, but — it was linked somehow to Nines’s own spike of panic, watching Pete inch closer to the breaking point of his suspicion.
“Bookkeep for who, for you?” Pete asks Gavin, looking him up and down.
“Oh, not me,” says Gavin. He leans against the bar on Pete’s other side, hemming him in. “Pete, listen, I don’t know if our accountant made it clear, but this isn’t about you. We don’t care whose grease gets on your palms on your own time. Couldn’t give less of a shit about you. Does that hurt your feelings?”
“Fuck off,” says Pete. There’s sweat beaded on his hairline.
“We know how it is here, okay?” says Gavin. “So we don’t like it any more than you do, when someone you’ve never even seen starts nosing around the docks, throwing money around, trying to weasel their way into shit that’s no business of theirs. It disturbs a— certain fine balance, I think you’ll agree. One that people like you and me have put some very fucking hard work into.”
Despite all odds, Pete’s pulse begins to slow. Jumpy with cops, then, but immediately at ease with anyone who appears to have their hands in questionable economies. Gavin might not know all the ins and outs of Nines’s case, but he knows the cadence of this side of the tracks, the physical vernacular of misconduct. Pete recognizes Gavin as a type that fits a mold, the echo of a hundred others just like him that pass through Frankie’s, all of them up to no good. A bagman collecting his dues at the close of every week. A driver rolling his tinted windows down as he drops off a shipping pallet of crates. Scuffed, in a way that Nines can’t inhabit.
“But guys like him and me, we don’t work the docks like you do,” Gavin tells Pete. “That’s why we’re asking for your help, Pete. We just need to know who the asshole is that’s been shitting all over your well-kept house, and we’ll go have a word with them. All right? Let them know that’s not how we do things around here. Isn’t that a load off your hairy back?”
Pete stares at the LED steady blue at Gavin’s temple; then a quick dart of his eyes back towards Nines, who is idly drumming his fingertips against the condensation on the pint glass.
“You’re not a cop?” Pete asks Gavin. “He’s not a cop?”
“You think I look like a police android?” asks Gavin. “Fuck, Pete, don’t be stupid. Him, I get — just look at him — but if he ever was a cop, let me tell you, he definitely isn’t one anymore after the kind of shit he’s done for us.”
This is, as far as lies go, a plausible one. Nines may not look the part of a garden-variety hoodlum, but he makes a fairly convincing CPA with a vicious streak. When Pete glances back at him again, Nines shrugs with one shoulder, his gaze chillingly flat.
“I don’t want to make trouble,” mumbles Pete.
“Of course not,” says Gavin, soothing. Jesus, I guess some opportunistic piece of shit really has been poking around the docks. Landau must be spinning in his county morgue locker. “We’re just going to talk to them, that’s it,” he continues. “Sometimes people fuck up because they don’t know any better, that’s not their fault, but how are they going to learn if no one tells them that they’re fucking up?”
Pete blows out a lungful of breath, poised like a marble on the lip of a table. His hesitation is tantalizing, sweet as blood; Gavin feels the simmer of something a little like prey drive in his veins, the singing urge to chase this down until he has it between his teeth.
This, he thinks, I know. I can do this for you.
“Shit,” says Pete. “Who are you? Did you say?”
“Where are my manners,” says Gavin. “That sack of meat to your left, his mother calls him Richard— so we call him Rico.” Nines levels a single forceful no at him, which he ignores with great pleasure. “My name is Gavin. Take down my serial if you like, you can go look my file up at Central Station. I’ve been in and out,” a dusting of credibility that has the benefit of being the truth.
Pete shakes his head to decline Gavin’s serial number, satisfied with the offer. “And you do—” he prompts.
“We transport,” says Gavin. “I oversee some— delicate business that would prefer not to deal with disruptions to the status quo.”
“Delicate business, huh?” asks Pete.
Gavin doesn’t know what it could be — what’s become trendy to smuggle over the last three years, I’ve really lost touch with my disreputable roots — but before he can stumble, Nines shows him an image. Evidence photograph. A shipping container pried open, vacuum-sealed bags of disassembled android parts, each hermetic packet bulging with a head, a torso, two arms, two legs.
“Here’s the thing about androids,” says Gavin, holding back the bile. “We’re built to be resilient. Things that would irreversibly damage humans — a long sea journey in a cargo hold, for example — no problem for an android. Take them apart before the outbound, put them back together at the destination, and they’re — well, let’s say they’re — good to go, if you catch my drift.”
Pete, to his nominal credit, also looks like he finds the whole idea rather unpalatable. “That stuff, yeah,” he mutters. “I get it, fucking Christ. Don’t you— aren’t you an android?”
“What gave it away,” says Gavin.
“I don’t— how can you do that to your own—” Pete trails off, unaccustomed to the moral high ground.
“How any of us does any of it,” says Gavin. “Got a taste for the easy life, I guess.”
Pete heaves a huge sigh, so unhappy that Gavin feels bad for him. Nines was right to pull android sex trafficking out of the hat. Unsavory enough to discourage any questions from Pete, a looming suggestion that they — or whoever they work for — would have no qualms about getting what they wanted out of him.
“We need to leave soon,” Nines says to Gavin, “if you want to make your twelve o’clock.”
“Well, Pete?” asks Gavin. “Am I going to make my twelve o’clock?”
“—Fuck,” says Pete, the word drawn out into multiple harrowing syllables. He gnaws on the inside of his cheek, picks at the seam of the beermat with his thumbnail. At last, he takes a deep breath and says: “Look, I don’t want— you gotta promise you won’t make this a whole thing.”
The rush of excitement is so immense that it hits Gavin like a physical force, a blow to the pit of his stomach. I did it. God, the pounding, screaming, delicious wide-eyed firework thrill of the hunt. He’s buzzing with the victory high, ringing in his ears. I did something that only I could do. Thrashing between his teeth, a kill.
“We won’t,” he says, fist clenched tight in the pocket of his jacket, just to keep his tone level.
“Come down on Thursday night,” says Pete. “I can introduce you to some of my guys, they’re the ones I’ve been hearing about this from.”
“I’ll be there,” says Gavin.
Behind Pete’s back, Nines’s hand comes shooting into Gavin’s pocket. Gavin only has a fraction of a second to register the contact — the brush of Nines’s fingers against his palm as the grip closes — cool to the touch, like I imagined he would be — then Nines overrides his security protocols like they’re fences built from toothpicks, peels back his liquid skin, an unceremonious husking.
Gavin is so startled that he lets it happen without a fight, suddenly wrenched open to the connection. —Nines? he ventures, uncertain.
Please listen, says Nines. His voice is almost too stark to bear, unhindered by the two-bit wireless link between them or the machine constraints of their parts. Speared like a fish, it takes Gavin a moment to parse the words he hears next — Gavin, you can’t go — but when he does, the betrayal stings that much sharper for how fast he’s flying. Can’t go? After all this?
“Why not?” he demands out loud, forgetting himself.
“What?” Pete asks in confusion.
He swivels around. What he sees when he turns only compounds the confusion; Nines with his arm thrust into Gavin’s pocket, the outline of their clasped hands a bumpy protrusion through the fabric. Brows furrowed, Pete looks at Gavin, then at Nines, then back to their hands.
I can do this. “—What,” Gavin counters, “you never seen anyone mix business and pleasure before?”
“That’s not what I—” starts Pete. “Didn’t you say something?”
“Yeah, because Rico here said — you didn’t hear? — he doesn’t want me coming back here on Thursday,” says Gavin. “Won’t tell me why, either.”
“You know why,” says Nines.
He sounds as frosty as ever, but then again, no amount of forewarning could prepare Gavin for what Nines does. Nines — without batting an eye — draws his hand out of Gavin’s pocket, curls it around the back of his head, and tilts him close to press a kiss to the cherry-hot sear of his LED. Straight-faced, the whole way through.
Nines’s hand in his hair. Gavin tugs up the corners of his mouth into something he can only hope resembles a smile.
“I do know why,” he tells Pete. “I don’t behave myself in bars. This one gets a little territorial about it, but I can’t say I blame him.”
“We’ll send some other people over,” says Nines.
“Yeah,” says Pete, “that’s fine.” The hiccup falter between the two halves of the sentence is a minuscule thing, only apparent to someone like Gavin, used to a tell being a matter of life and death.
Fun, he thinks. Here’s an angle of approach. “Why?” he asks, leaning heavy into Pete’s space, crowding him. “Disappointed?”
Pete scoffs and says, “The fuck are you talking about,” but the way he shifts in his chair is tinged with culpability.
“Hands off,” says Nines.
“Hands aren’t on,” says Pete. “For god’s sake.”
“Anyway,” says Gavin, tapping the back of his empty wrist, “I’m running late.”
He pushes off the bar; Nines pulls a fold of bills from his wallet and tosses it down next to Pete’s pint glass. Pete looks at it for a moment, Benjamin Franklin’s smug fucking face beaming back at him, and sweeps it into his pocket.
“We’ll be in touch,” says Nines.
“See you around, Pete,” says Gavin. “Don’t let the stiff competition scare you.”
Stepping backwards, Gavin winks at him, and ostentatiously palms the crotch of Nines’s slacks. It’s a loose curve of hand that makes less contact than it seems to, but Nines chokes out a strangled noise in his throat. Pete, for his part, rolls his eyes and turns back to the bar.
All in all, not a bad exit; give him something to think about, Gavin figures. Saddle Pete with this to keep him from dwelling on any loose ends, whatever their hasty cover might have left unknotted. He ate it up, though, thinks Gavin, the elation of accomplishment surging into him again with the open air.
“Hey,” says Gavin, breathlessly. “We sure fucking did it, didn’t we?”
“Let’s go,” mutters Nines.
Overcast as it is, the abrupt change in light gives Gavin the customary trouble. He trails Nines to the car mostly by the sound of his feet, quick clipped strides, faster still than usual. The seagull and the french fry have left the scene, he notices that much with his eyes on the pavement. The leather bright on the back stay of Nines’s shoes.
By the time he slides into the passenger seat, the angle of the chair just the way he left it, his optical units have adjusted and the whole world is picture perfect. The pillars of the steel mill stretch proud and tall, keen to pierce through the low roof of the sky. Gavin fumbles for the seat belt with adrenaline-jitter fingers, but Nines shifts the gear into drive and peels out of the parking lot without waiting for the telltale click.
“Pete’s got his hands in something for sure,” says Gavin, the words rattling out of him, breakneck. “No one who’s just doing favors for loose change is that jumpy from the get-go. Lucky I got in there when I did, right?”
It’s not gratitude that Gavin wants from Nines. Like a cattle dog put to work on the first day of spring, Gavin is flush with purpose, too eager to come to rest; the incomparable fulfillment of being useful, at last. At Nines’s heels, begging to be told that he’s good for something.
I could be your falcon. The want coils in the hollow of his chest, an ember. Let me loose and I’ll bring you back what’s yours.
Nines jerks the Malibu into an alleyway, out of the crow’s-path between the waterfront and the bar. Both hands on the steering wheel, he inhales, and keeps his eyes fixed on the dead-end brick wall ahead.
“Sorry for making you interface,” he says, eventually. “I determined it was the optimal course of action under the circumstances, but— I know you don’t like it.”
“Connor tell you that?” Gavin waves it aside, uninterested in litigating what seems to him a vastly less important concern. “I’m sorry for, you know. Grabbing you.”
“That’s fine,” says Nines. “I know why you did it. What I suppose I don’t fully understand is, what made you— why did you come into the bar in the first place? Were you bored outside?”
“Come on, I’m not a child,” says Gavin. “I just— I don’t know, I can’t really explain it, but— it doesn’t matter, does it? You needed me in there. So I went.”
This is, Gavin thinks, the most obvious explanation in the world. Too self-evident to even serve as an answer. Surely it can’t merit the reaction that it draws from Nines; he turns towards Gavin, knuckles tight around the wheel, the look on his face a terrible fracture. Like a man ambushed by a secret he wishes he’d left unheard.
Is it so unimaginably humiliating, to need someone else’s help? Gavin can’t tell if Nines is angry, or embarrassed, or angry at being embarrassed, or what, but it sure fucking takes the fervid wind out of his sails. It was only a little thing, what he was asking for. A couldn’t have done it without you, even a curt good work, just a nod to acknowledge that he had been of use. Nines gives him nothing.
The taste of disappointment lingers like grime. Their drive back into Detroit is quiet, Nines about as communicative as a granite wall, Gavin too bruised to pursue it any further. It’s only when they’re halfway up I-75 that Nines speaks again.
“Did you enjoy it?” he asks. “Doing cover work?”
Gavin is expecting a reprimand, so the question takes him by surprise. “—Yeah,” he mumbles. “I thought it went well. I— liked it.”
“I didn’t figure you as much for the law,” says Nines.
I’m not, thinks Gavin. The law can go fuck itself. It’s not about that; not about keeping the peace, upholding justice, whatever it is that Nines is beholden to. It’s about — and when the answer takes shape, the clarity of it is a shock to Gavin, too — it’s about doing what I can for someone I trust to handle me. For you, who waited.
“Some things come easy,” he says, instead.
Nines waits until he pulls up in front of Gavin’s place to hammer the worst point home. “I meant it, earlier,” he says. “You can’t go back there on Thursday. It’s a federal case. I’m putting agents on it.”
Gavin would try to argue the point, but the letdown has tired him out. Not the first time I’ve been on this end of it. Fowler turned him away from the DPD with much the same song and dance. They’d humor him as long as he didn’t get in their way, let him catch a glimpse of what it could be like, if this were the place for him— but push always came to shove, sooner or later. The guest pass had an expiration date.
Before he lets the passenger side door swing closed, Gavin says, “Maybe I’ll happen to be in River Rouge on Thursday,” just to be contrary. “Maybe I won’t have anything better to do.”
He never planned on going; there’s no appeal in skulking around where he isn’t invited, only to be caught at it by Nines and hauled outside by the scruff of his neck. As if he could possibly care so much about interstate red ice movement that he’d welcome an evening getting chewed out in the middle of a post-industrial wasteland.
So when 21USC848 books him for a private block on Thursday night, Gavin confirms it without a second thought. It’s a couple hundred bucks while he does something to take his mind off what he’s missing out on. What, exactly, do I think I’m missing out on? he wonders as he gets himself set up for the session. The camera angled just so, the remote on his bedside table, the lighting gold. Like he’d be impressed, if only I had another chance? Like I could change his mind?
Tangled up as he is in this mental loop, he jumps when his client’s camera flickers on and Nines materializes onscreen, like Gavin has personally summoned him there by sheer force of preoccupation.
“For fuck’s sake,” groans Gavin. “What are you doing here?”
“It would be a waste of federal funds to pay upfront for something and not collect,” says Nines. “And rude to stand up an appointment, besides.”
“You booked me to stop me from going down to Frankie’s?” asks Gavin. “Did you really think I— this isn’t how you’re supposed to use the scheduling system, you do know that? Or federal investigative funds. Is your SAC aware that your budget’s going towards live sex shows? My god, the misuse of my tax dollars.”
“You said you might not have anything better to do tonight,” says Nines. “I thought I’d give you something better to do.”
He’s so intensely deadpan about all of it, which Gavin — by now — is able to recognize as Nines’s brand of humor. Glad someone’s having a good time, he thinks, a bit salty. It strikes him that Nines looks more off-duty today than his usual prissy self, or at least as off-duty as someone like Nines can possibly get; he’s ditched his dress shirt for a turtleneck, black up to the knot of his Adam’s apple.
“Don’t you have something better to do?” asks Gavin. “Who’s at the docks?”
“We have a few agents already embedded in local networks,” says Nines. Then, a somewhat reluctant confession: “Perhaps you’ve noticed, but that’s not really my thing. The kind of work that has an audience.”
“Well,” says Gavin, and gestures generally at himself to indicate here we are, you having booked me for a show. “You know it’s mine.”
“It’s hardly the same,” says Nines. “Still— you did well, with Pete Nemeth. We would have lost him otherwise.”
You did well. Gavin wishes he could tell himself, that’s too little, too late, and believe it. Instead, everything in him strains towards that meager hint of approval, like a parched land graced with a single drop of rain. Annoyed at himself for being so easy, Gavin forcibly changes the subject.
“What’s the username?” he asks. “Some godawful law enforcement joke, I bet.”
“Title 21, U.S. Code, section 848,” says Nines. “The Continuing Criminal Enterprise Act, or the kingpin statute, in the vernacular.” He pauses, then asks: “Is that funny?”
“No,” says Gavin. “Better than the alternative, though. I thought it was some USC grad that couldn’t shut the fuck up about the fact they went to USC. Can you imagine? Having such a hard-on for your college that you have to use its name for your account on a camming website? That’s funny.”
“I’ll take notes,” says Nines.
That’s that, then. Gavin checks the tablet propped up at one end of the desk, its screen ticking down the hour. There’s a lot of it left.
“So, what, you’re going to run out the clock?” he asks. “Keep me here until you’re sure it’s too late in the night for me to fuck up your case?”
“Fuck up my case?” repeats Nines, frowning. “You?”
“Yeah, me, with my fuck-up routine,” says Gavin. “Whatever it is, the kind of wreckage that you and Fowler think I’m capable of.”
“Fowler? Jeffrey Fowler, from the DPD?” Nines seems genuinely confused. “What does he have to do with this?”
“He was like this too,” says Gavin. “Makes sense, you’ve got shit to do. I can tag along for take your local charity case to work day, but you don’t want me to accidentally knock anything off the table, that sort of thing. I get it.”
“Do you get it?” asks Nines. “What’s your understanding of why I asked you not to go to the docks today?”
Asked, says Nines. Asked you not to go. In truth, that’s been on Gavin’s mind since Monday; Nines’s voice in his head, please listen, Gavin, you can’t go. That’s not how you order someone around. Coming from anyone else, it would have sounded like the plea it was.
An order would put Gavin on surer ground. Something he can chafe against, there you go again, seeing nothing in me but a liability, but Nines’s question is a challenge to the hard comfort of bitterness. What would you do, if you didn’t have to lash out? Gavin likes to forget it, but that’s not why Fowler sent him away, either.
“That’s your business, not mine,” Gavin tells Nines. “All I know is that I’ve been hired for an hour, and if you insist on taking up my time, I’m going to have to do the job I was paid for.”
What’s most infuriating about Nines — six feet of probable cause for aggravation — is that with all of Gavin’s talent for reading people, he rarely knows where he stands with Nines. A brushed-metal surface, too sleek to gain a foothold on. Gavin gathers bits and bobs like a magpie, acquisitive for revelation, every morsel a treasure.
When Nines rests his chin in one hand and says, “Go ahead,” Gavin has no idea how that fits into the larger picture of Nines.
“What’s that?” stammers Gavin.
“Do what the United States government paid you for,” says Nines.
“The fuck,” says Gavin, dumbfounded. “Are you shitting me? Is this how you’re asking for a refund?”
“I just think,” says Nines, “that I shouldn’t stop you again from doing something that you mean to do. Surely you don’t enjoy being denied at every turn.”
This motherfucker is a real piece of work. Gavin gapes wordlessly at the casual audacity of it, that Nines would be so loath to cede the upper hand that he’d call the bluff on an empty threat. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. Gavin is aware that social niceties aren’t his strong suit either, but at least he isn’t in the habit of taking a joke and turning it into an arms race.
Nines just tilts his head the slightest bit, a provocation: Well?
Gavin is incandescent with fury. “You know what?” he snaps. “Fine.”
He doesn’t need hindsight to conclude the obvious; he knows full well in the moment that this is where he lets things spiral out of control. When he sets his jaw and yanks his tee up over his head, left in his undershirt like he’s about to start a fight, it’s crystal-clear to him that he’s stepping past a point of no return. But—
—there is no but. What threadbare excuse does he have? He made me do it, Your Honor. I was so irritated that I had no choice but to take my clothes off. Gavin leaves his desk and throws himself onto the nest of pillows at the head of his bed, zooms in with the webcam until the focus returns to the lens, and parts his knees.
“Write this up on your FD-302 form,” he says, sliding his palm down over the front of his boxer briefs. The secondary mic on the bedside table, listening for the rustle of skin against fabric. “GV500 expressed his sincerest sympathies that Agent ‘Nines’ RK900 was in possession of a love life so disastrous that he had to resort to getting his rocks off by misappropriating federal funds.”
“I don’t know,” says Nines. “I think I’m doing pretty well for myself.”
“Sure,” says Gavin, “I’m fucking hot.”
It’s not that he expects Nines to respond to that in any way — and certainly not with encouragement — but he’s not used to being met with silence, either. The clinking of tokens into his tip jar, the frantic cascade of the chat, his one-on-one regulars whispering damply into their headsets, god, you’re gorgeous; he’s too suspicious by nature to put much faith in it, but still, it’s something to feed off of. It’s what keeps the performance going.
“Tough crowd,” says Gavin. “Come on, give me something to work with here. I can’t use any of the patter I meant to, since it was all about the USC Trojans. Do you want me to talk about the USC Trojans as I get myself off?”
“Please don’t,” says Nines, conceding that much.
“I wrote a Post-it note to remind myself not to bring up O.J. Simpson,” says Gavin. “Seriously, do you not know how this— are you going to tell me what you want to see, or do I have to figure it out? I have to do everything around here?”
Nines evinces absolutely no chagrin at having his etiquette critiqued. “I thought I’d leave that up to the professional,” he says. “Don’t you have a list of offerings or something?”
“No, Agent Nines, I don’t have a menu for you to browse.” Gavin rolls his eyes, but keeps steadily kneading between his legs. “Is this what you’re into? Giving me career advice as you try to ignore what my hands are doing?”
“Can’t grow a business without a strategic plan,” says Nines, blandly.
“Grow a business, he says.” Gavin is so incredulous that he’s concerned he might lose his erection altogether if he’s not careful. “I know what my niche is, it’s deadbeat android refuses to be polite to the clients that pay his bills. Does that sound like a market with a lot of growth potential to you?”
“Then why do this?” asks Nines. “Why spend your time on something that can only get you so far?”
“I don’t want to go anywhere far,” says Gavin. “I like doing this. Pretty sure I explained it to you already.”
“What do you like about it?” asks Nines.
This is, at least, a more promising avenue for discussion. “I’m— good at it,” says Gavin. His cock is starting to take on weight, stirring against cotton. “Making people feel like they’re getting something out of this. They always come back, after the first time.”
“So,” says Nines, “what’s the secret?”
“Looking for a side hustle?” Gavin laughs a little at the thought of how terrible Nines would be at this. “God, what if, though. You could never do it. You’d be the worst bait-and-switch in the history of sex work.”
Nines considers whether this is grounds for offense or not. “Not a type that’s in demand?” he guesses.
“Are you kidding? Fucking look at yourself,” Gavin tells him. “You’re not a type, you son of a bitch. There’s not a single living thing with a pulse that would be upset to see you show up. Too bad you ruin it for yourself the moment you open your mouth.”
“Well, that’s discouraging,” says Nines.
“The secret is,” says Gavin, “you have to make people feel wanted. Like they’re important.” His fingers brush against a wet patch at the head of his cock, and his breath hitches, unbidden. “Like I would— do things just for them.”
When Nines speaks again, it’s with such painstaking indifference that Gavin can’t help but notice the deliberation that goes into it.
“Maybe,” says Nines, “take a bullet for them.”
“Not what I meant,” says Gavin. He would be more peeved about the turn in the conversation, except he’s thinking about that meticulous veneer of disinterest in Nines’s voice. Is this the way your detachment has always sounded? wonders Gavin. You run as fast as you can to keep your distance— for what?
“From these clients,” says Nines, “do you field a lot of— unorthodox requests?”
“Now you’re getting it,” says Gavin. “That’s where the big bucks are. Dismemberment, evisceration, there’s some grisly stuff that only androids can even get close to providing. I don’t do that shit, though. Had to ban some people that wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
“Not worth the money?” asks Nines.
“No,” says Gavin. He’s hard enough that he’s riding the edge of discomfort, straining to a sweet ache against his underwear. “I like— knowing that I only have to give what I want to,” he continues, freer with his disclosure than he would be otherwise, now that the shiver is building in him. “No one gets to decide for me. No one even— gets to touch me. All they can do is watch. I like that.”
“Must be different,” says Nines, “from the way it was before.”
There it is again, his scrupulous reserve. “Stop profiling me,” Gavin snaps. “Jesus Christ, it’s like you’re trying to kill the mood on purpose. Are you going to let me do the show, or are you going to interview me about Landau? We can’t do both.”
Nines, wisely, shuts up. The trouble is that he’s not wrong. There was always something a little desperate and overdetermined in Gavin’s enthusiasm for this work, the way that running away from something still meant you were letting it chart your course. This has nothing to do with him, the echo, him, and him, Desmond Landau’s ghost, still there in the rafters. I can’t forget you if I’m spending all my time trying to forget you.
Anxious to shake himself out of it, Gavin hooks his thumbs in his waistband. Hips lifted halfway to enough, he pauses; on his laptop display, Nines is so motionless that he may as well be a screenshot of himself.
“This is where you’re supposed to stop me,” says Gavin.
Resting easy in the crook of his palm, Nines’s head inclines in question.
“Why would I do that?” he asks.
Gavin swallows, and tugs his underwear down before he can second-guess himself. Here you go, then. His cock, filled to half-hard, flushed and beading wet, knocks against the inside of his thigh. A smear of precome against skin, drying cool in the air. Bare to the waist, Gavin stares back at Nines, unwilling to back down.
Modesty doesn’t come into it. Every inch of his body, someone soldered and snapped together on the production line. He’s been taken apart and twisted open, scooped out hollow and wrenched back together; even long before he became used to the heat of hundreds of nameless eyes on him, the form of his hull had never seemed a private thing.
So it can’t be shyness that prickles at him, under Nines’s impassive gaze. That’s laughable — what a luxury, to be born to a body that you could withhold — but the silence unnerves him nonetheless. And: some of the indignation, if Gavin is honest, is also a matter of pride. People pay for this, he thinks, wounded despite himself. If you let yourself, you would like it.
—me. You would like—
The thought too raw to dwell on, Gavin trails his fingers across the span of his stomach, hiking his undershirt up an inch. “What do you think?” he murmurs, a bid at some kind of seduction. “Worth your money?”
“Too early to tell,” says Nines.
“God,” says Gavin, “you motherfucker. You cold fucking fish.”
He rolls onto his side to clatter around in the bedside drawer, fishing out what he needs — a sleek, dark vibrator, low-tech but invariably effective — a tube of lubricant — a faded t-shirt in tatters from the wash, because something about the messy delinquency of a shirt standing in for a towel really seemed to do it for his clientele. Not that Nines would go for what they went for, if he’d go for any of it.
Everything gets tossed on the bed next to him. “It’s a miracle,” Gavin continues to complain as he squeezes gel out onto his cupped hand, “that you even had anyone to break up with you in the first place. What were you doing dating, anyway? You? Dating?”
“I wasn’t aware I was banned from it,” says Nines.
“Just doesn’t suit you,” says Gavin. “You, being in a situation to— I mean, it’s ridiculous. Who dumps you? In favor of what?”
“Which part are you objecting to,” says Nines, “the dating or the breaking up?”
“Both,” says Gavin. He can’t fathom either end of the equation; what kind of a person did it take to turn Nines so— pedestrian, like cutting down a redwood, or naming a hurricane? And on the other side of it, to have that in your hands and still to think, somehow, I want something else.
“My apologies,” says Nines. “I’ll bring you a permission slip to sign, next time around.”
Gavin flips him off with a gel-drenched middle finger, before he reaches down between his legs and presses it inside himself. One knuckle, a second. He exhales slowly.
It seems pointless — or dishonest, perhaps — to play it up the way he would for his sessions. Falling apart at the barest touch. But underneath all his crossed wires, there’s a simple, animal quality to his taste for this work: a guileless vanity, the thrill of showing himself off. That part of him lights up, alive and well, no matter how dour the reception from Nines.
When Gavin asks, “What were you looking to get out of it?” the tamped-down tremor in his voice is real.
Nines takes his time with the answer. “Most actions we take,” he says, finally, “are structured by parameters that govern behavior. Android or human, what one does is delimited by what one considers doable. I suppose what I’m trying to say is that— dating seemed like the sort of thing that one does.”
Parameters. Gavin bites at his lip as he adds a second finger, working himself open bit by bit. Stroking inside himself, coaxing his library of subroutines into quickness. The tenor of Nines’s explanation was one that Gavin recognized; it boiled down to an uncertainty about boundaries, searching for rules that could give shape to the unmanageable possibility of the world. Left to your own devices, no longer told what to do.
“How did you deviate?” asks Gavin. “What happened?”
“Nothing happened,” says Nines. “Or, rather, the Revolution happened. Jericho lobbied hard to make deviancy a precondition of activation for all androids, and the resulting federal mandate specified that this also applied retroactively to all units currently in operation. Critical firmware upgrade, CyberLife called it.”
“A downloadable free will patch.” Gavin laughs, the sound shaky around the edges. The crook of his fingertips catches against his entrance as he draws them free, and he shudders at the feeling, the room blinking in and out with the flutter of his eyelids. Still, he can’t resist a taunt where it’s due: “Too bad they couldn’t bundle a personality into the package for you.”
“—Do I have to keep talking about myself?” asks Nines.
“What else would you do,” Gavin scoffs. “Just sit there and stare at me?”
“Yes,” says Nines.
Clean and candid as a knife. Just that: yes. Gavin falters in place, instantly feverish under his skin. Almost afraid of what he might find, he glances up at his monitor, where Nines is looking back at him; where Nines hasn’t stopped looking at him, not for a second, since the moment he arrived. Nines, steady and ruthless in his attention, all of him missile-keen, honed in on Gavin. His eyes—
At the sudden unbearable force of the want Gavin recognizes there, something like lightning crashes through him. He clenches around his own fingers without meaning to, pulsing with need, a surprised little noise spilling out of him. Nines doesn’t react, but— that’s not your tell, thinks Gavin. You don’t move much, and you say less. It’s only the weight in your eyes that gives you away.
That lets me know you want—
“Okay,” mutters Gavin, “fuck,” fumbling as he slicks up the vibrator with another palmful of gel. He could, on the one hand, do what he always does. Tease himself until he can barely see straight, the tightrope buzz of the not-quite-enough that sways him on the delicious brink. But on the other hand— god, if he doesn’t ache for something to fill him up, frantically kindled at the sight of Nines, watching and waiting like a jungle cat.
He’s gotten too used to the slack rest of his body after hours on the edge. It’s not often that he guides a toy inside himself and feels the throb of it stretching him open; either he’s missed it — or he’s eager enough now that everything is a species of pleasure to him — but he’s rock-hard by the time it’s fully seated in him, the head of his cock twitching against his abdomen.
He has to grit his teeth and ride it out for a bit, until the immediate threat of the crest passes. When he breathes out at last, a long unsteady sigh, he’s more parched than he expects to be. It’s possible that he might not have been entirely quiet, perhaps.
“You seem to be enjoying yourself,” says Nines.
“Just wait,” says Gavin. “I’m only getting started.”
Gripping the end of the vibrator, he draws it halfway out before he sinks it back inside himself, relishing the tight slide of its length against his walls. Every inch of it, parting the silk clutch of muscle. His toes curl against the mattress as he fucks himself in long, even thrusts, panting shallowly, grinding his ass back into the strokes.
A wild thought occurs to him. The impulse to cross a line. It’s absurd that there would be any more lines left to cross, when he’s already stripped up to the waist and spread open in front of the camera, each bead of sweat sharply distinct in 4K UHD. But what if I dragged you into it, thinks Gavin, and can’t get it out of his head. What would you do then?
He angles the vibrator up a touch, shifting its blunt tip towards the electric spot inside him. That’s courtesy of the humanization department at CyberLife, doubtless a battalion of perverts, with their lovingly crafted arsenal of artificial sex organs. Gavin is intimately acquainted with himself, to say the least — when he means to hit his prostate, he’ll hit his fucking prostate, thank you — and if he wants to take the moment to try to catch Nines off-balance, he’ll very well do that, too.
With a twist of the wrist, Gavin grazes the head of the toy against his cluster of nerves. In the hot wash of sensation that it spreads through him, full as a drop of ink in water, he curves his back off the bed and digs his nails into the sheets.
“—Nines,” he gasps, softly.
The jolt of arousal that accompanies it, however, isn’t part of Gavin’s plan. Something about this is more reckless than he’d been prepared for; it was only meant to prod at Nines’s reticence, see if he could be goaded into any reaction at all, but Gavin’s own stubborn knots come unraveled at the sound of Nines’s name in his mouth. Too intimate by half.
At least it does what it’s meant to. Nines’s throat bobs in a dry swallow, and he doesn’t manage to wholly mask the strain in his voice when he asks, “Is that really necessary?”
I’ve got you, thinks Gavin. All this push-and-pull with Nines, nipping at his heels, testing his patience— it’s worth it for these rare moments when his shell cracks loose. Under pressure, Nines’s edges bend and turn him to a shape more interesting, organic, like a can crumpled in a fist. Not that he isn’t beautiful at his unforgiving worst — that’s how they made you, to look good with blood on your hands — but these stutters are precious for being so fleeting, prized glimpses into what Nines keeps guarded away. You’re not so bad. Maybe if I reached out and touched you, I could come away without cutting myself.
“Did you think,” says Gavin, “this was going to be impersonal?” He circles his thumb around the rim of the vibrator, until he finds the bump of its button underneath the silicone. Bracing himself, he switches it on, and still has to bite down on a startled moan— the mechanical whirr of its hardness inside him sets him alight, crackles into fireworks up his spine, sparks shooting into his limbs, down to his fingertips. “Did you, ah,” he continues, over the background hum, “assume this was— going to, ah, going to be—”
“You don’t have to keep roasting me if it’s too much,” says Nines.
He sounds so fucking fond that Gavin spasms inside with want, the vibrator jerking and skimming the swell of his prostate again, tearing another gasp from him. “Then stop pretending you — ah, god — don’t know what—,” though he gives up on the rest of the sentence as the toy writhes deeper into him, wiping his head blank. He tries one more time when he can, mustering all the focus he’s able to scrape up. “I know you— come watch, sometimes,” he says.
“Official business,” murmurs Nines. “Just keeping an eye on you.”
All the air in Gavin’s lungs burns so hot, he half expects smoke to drift from his parted lips. Pinned in place like a butterfly by the hold of Nines’s gaze, he can’t seem to look away— dazedly, Gavin traces the outline of Nines’s shoulders with his eyes, the broad span of his body in black. Out of his customary button-downs, he cuts a figure that’s no less intimidating for leaning casual. The only difference is the unspoken intent behind the intimidation, the inkling of what he might do to the obstacles in his path. His pedantry, outsized as it is, never really hid the physical ferocity he’s capable of; but like this, solid in the cling of his turtleneck, he’s an ode to brutality.
Less like he would sue you, thinks Gavin. More like he would crush you.
“Nines,” he calls, breathy and sweet, bolder now that he knows he’s getting through. “God— ah, Nines—”
He thinks he hears the catch of a jagged inhale from Nines, but he can’t be sure. Somewhere outside the frame of the camera, maybe Nines is fighting to compose himself, white-knuckled around his armrest. Did I get you harder than a W-2, like I said I would? Gavin shakily rucks up his undershirt in something like a trance, sliding his hand in underneath to palm the curves of his chest, brushing across his peaked nipples. Even the little enough of that makes him go tight around the vibrator, and dizzy with the high of Nines’s attention, Gavin pleads, Nines, ah, there, like they’re Nines’s hands on him, kneading him into shape.
Gavin thinks of Nines, hard in his neat pressed slacks. If I were there in your rented room — on his knees in front of Nines’s chair, bracketed between his legs — mouthing at the shape of his bulge through the layers of fabric, teeth closing around his zipper pull. The metal a cold and delicate pill on the tip of his tongue — the weighty heft of Nines’s cock, cradled in his hands — taking that thickness into his mouth until the heat spills down his throat, lips wrapped around him, Nines, and Nines’s hand coming to thread through his hair, voice pitched low when he says—
—Gavin, you did good.
“—Shit,” he manages, “fuck, ah—,” open-mouthed and helpless, the thought of it nearly tipping him over the edge. He only manages to pull himself back from it through sheer obstinacy, his cock jumping in anticipation, a rivulet of precome trickling into the grooves of his abdomen.
Liking what he does is one thing, but he’s never found himself wishing before that a stream could go on longer. While this febrile spell still hangs over them, they’re both complicit in the madness of the moment; Gavin doesn’t know what they’ll be on the other side of it, only that when it’s over — like the stroke of midnight that undoes the glamor — nothing will look the way that it does now.
Slow down, hold on, he begs himself, desperate with the impending loss. Just a little longer. But Nines looks at him through the screen with a hunger that verges on something predatory, lips slightly parted like he’s about to tell Gavin something, or to open wide and swallow me whole, and either possibility only stokes the flame hotter.
“Wait,” Gavin stammers out loud, to no one in particular, “I can’t—”
He scrabbles for the switch to the vibrator to give himself a break, but his fingertips keep slipping against the silicone, slick with gel. He’s shaking too hard to get a good grip, a trembling wreck on the bedsheets — only succeeding in accidentally nudging the toy further into himself and yelping at the core-deep rumble of it — and then, just to put something in between him and Nines, unable to tear himself away otherwise, he throws a forearm over his eyes and buries his face in the crook of his elbow.
“Gavin, stop,” says Nines, sharply. “Look at me.”
The savage urgency in his voice, a gold-tipped spear, shatters Gavin. Yes, he thinks in a hazy storm of static, before he’s drawing taut and coming with a strangled moan, his head wrenched back and his throat bare, torso jerking clean off the bed. Yes, anything. In the clench of his muscles in climax, the vibrator buzzes against his prostate until the lights in his head start to blur, his vision whiting out in patches. Whatever you want from me.
At last, with a final weak spurt, his spent cock dips its head and some of the tension seeps out of his limbs. It always takes him a while to regain system equilibrium, an attendant inefficiency of having had most of his internal organs replaced. With the ringing in his ears and the aftershocks ricocheting through him, Gavin is barely there enough to swat the vibrator off, just as its insistent throbbing starts to be too much.
All he can hear is the rush of his own blood. Shivering and struggling for breath, he doesn’t realize that Nines is speaking to him until the room returns in fragments.
“—vin,” says Nines. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m— I’m fine,” groans Gavin. “Piece of shit aftermarket parts.”
He reaches down to draw the vibrator out of himself. His sensitivity settings are, as it turns out, yet to stabilize; at the unexpected stab of pleasure the movement gives him, Gavin has to sink his teeth into the meat of his hand to stifle a whine.
“Is it still aftermarket,” he continues, sluggishly wiping his palm on the scrap of t-shirt, “if CyberLife made it? Anyway, they didn’t have any GV models in production, the second time I came in for repairs. Had to make do with what they had, so I— ended up with a lot of performance bottlenecks.”
Nines doesn’t say anything.
“My pipes don’t fit right,” Gavin explains.
“I knew what you meant,” says Nines.
Dabbing at the mess of his stomach, Gavin feels something thick and unspeakable lodged in his poorly fitted pipes. Even after he’s cleaned up and the beating of his pump is a steady swish again — only a little quicker than it ever is at rest — he carries on fiddling with the frayed hem of the shirt, nervous somehow to look back up at Nines. Why, when the dirty work is done? he chides himself. What’s there left to be nervous about?
Gavin pushes off the bed to sit up, legs crossed under him. Making any more of an effort to cover himself up seems too prudish an acknowledgement of the situation, but he doesn’t know how else to ease them back down to the ground, or what Nines expects from him. Where Nines thinks they’ll go from here.
He clears his throat. “Since you’ve already paid,” he says, “you might as well stay until the hour runs out.”
When Gavin finally forces himself to glance up at the screen, Nines is looking — for the first time — somewhere past the frame of his camera. He appears to consider Gavin’s suggestion, then makes a thoughtful sound.
“Well,” he says, “the hour did run out.”
To one side of Gavin’s desk, his tablet with its timer, 00:00:00 blinking red. Gavin stares at it in blank confusion, trying to make sense of the numbers.
“Did it?” he asks.
“It seems so,” says Nines.
His eyes flicker back to Gavin. There’s a delicate tug of something around the corners of his mouth, like a pause of breath before a word takes shape. Even without his preconstruction to paint the picture for him, Gavin’s hunch for these things is rarely wrong; he knows that Nines isn’t going to say anything, in the end.
Nines always gives him less than he hopes for, but this time, being left a little wanting doesn’t feel like the betrayal that it did before. You work your way towards it, and I’ll work mine, he thinks. Whoever gets there first waits in the middle.
“I’ll bill you for the overtime,” says Gavin.
|
Rick thought getting shot was enough of a shit day...that was until he felt the world spin from the blood loss. He felt the arms of his partner go around him as he fell back into the ground. You would think that two Alpha's couldn't be friends but that wasn't the case with Shane Walsh and Rick Grimes. Everyone knew them as the super-team. They were a stronger team together than when they were apart, though people said it was because Shane was always trying to one up Rick, who was recognized with his amazing level-headedness and calm demeanor which was not apparent in the other Alpha who was always yelling and egging on fights at the bar. Then all Rick knew was darkness, flashes of his life passed in the darkness. He was mated to Lori, a beautiful Beta that had gifted him with a healthy and strong Alpha son that always made Rick puff up with pride. But lately something was wrong, Lori's scent had started changing and Rick was at a loss at what to do. He found himself bored with a Beta, wanting an Omega. He thought his mating to Lori was fate...they had fallen so hard and fast in love when they were younger that it almost makes sense to Rick. He was an Alpha...Betas were nice but the true desire was an Omega. But Omegas were as rare as a unicorn. Lori knew this when she mated with the Alpha, those desires never just went away. They had settled down as Rick grew up but the mating/marriage to Lori was turning into a battleground with her yelling at him that he never spoke to her. It was kinda true. Rick found his dreams filled with finding that Omega who filled that part of himself Lori never could.
Now lying on the ground looking up at the darkening sky he could only think of finding that Omega and teaching his young Alpha son to be a good man. His eyes closed as he slipped into that darkness
~~::::~~::::~~::::~~::::~~::::
Daryl groaned as he finally stumbled out of his tent and looked to see the group that himself and his brother were now apart of. They weren't all bad people, mostly Betas but with a young Alpha that had yet to pop his knot and an older Alpha who was to busy chasing the skirt of some Beta named Lori to bother with Daryl being an unmated Omega. He felt something smack him in he face and he sputtered as he scrambled to get the offending cloth down and glare at his big brother who was smirking at him.
"Tha fuck's yer problem Merle?" Daryl snapped.
"We're goin scavenging lil brother. So slap your big girl panties on an lets go." the Beta laughed as he walked over to his bike.
Daryl glared and started walking to the jeep he had claimed when he was stopped by a hand on his wrist. He looked down to see the young Alpha, Carl, looking up at him. "What kid?" He asked gruffly.
"I know where you're going...can you...can you look for my dad? Shane says he's dead but I don't...I can't believe it." Carl looked up at him with aquamarine eyes and Daryl sighed knowing he couldn't deny the kid.
"Fine, if we got time...I'll look. Where was he?"
"The hospital. He was on the first floor...room 115 B."
"Room 115 B....got it, now get back ta what ya were doin kid, ain't gonna do ya any good ta hang round me." He muttered shoving the kid gently back to the group. He didn't know why but he had a soft spot for the young Alpha. He slid into the jeep and nodded to his brother who started up his bike with a roar. Daryl felt a small laugh at the shouted curse from the overbearing Alpha as they drove off. He wasn't sure where they were going but Daryl knew he'd follow Merle into hell. Merle was the only one in their family who didnt shun him for being an Omega....even though Merle did constantly make jokes about him being a girl. He couldn't help his biology, and the ability to have children was embarrassing as shit and caused him grief his whole life, but Merle was always there to protect him. He offten wondered if he'd find that Alpha that was supposed to complete him, he knew that there was always an Alpha for an Omega. His mother, when she was around would often come into his room at night and tell him stories of how each Omega was the soulmate to an Alpha, the other half. He would always ask her how he would know and she would just smile at him telling him that he would know.
Lost in thought Daryl nearly ran into Merle as the man stopped his bike and they looked out over the small town. He shut off the jeep and leaned out. "Whatcha thinkin Mer?" Daryl asked.
"Thinkin that we're gonna take yer jeep an head right for the hospital. Should be some good shit there still...looks like this town was hit with the dead first. An looks like there was some military shit goin on here too...could be some awesome shit." Merle said as he made Daryl shove over and get into the drivers side. "What that lil Alpha boy want?" He asked.
"Wanted me ta see if his dad was still alive." Daryl shrugged. "Figured i'd look for him, said his dad was in the hospital...room 115 B."
Merle smirked at him. "Lil young ta be makin orders at an Omega." He teased.
Daryl rolled his eyes. "Shut the fuck up Merle. Ain't takin orders, just checkin for the kid. He ain't bad for an Alpha."
"Oh...testy. A'ight I can take a hint, lets jus go an see what we can find eh?" They drove to the hospital being as quiet as possible. They ran into a handful of Walkers on the way but once they were at the hospital the place was as silent as a graveyard. Daryl slid out of the jeep, his crossbow at the ready. "This place smells...just wrong."
Merle snorted. "This whole world smells wrong now lil bro. C'mon." He said as he lead the younger into the hospital. The place looked like it had been through hell and back. Merle had a knife in one hand and his gun in the other as he walked in front of his brother. He may have been a Beta but he was ready to protect his brother no matter what. He always did.They made a quick sweep, gathering what they could from the pharmacy area before moving onto the rooms. They paused in a hallway to see a set of chained doors with the words 'Dead Inside. Don't Open.' painted on the doors. Daryl blinked and sighed.
"I really dont wanna have ta tell that kid his daddy's dead." He muttered scrubbing a hand over his face. They heard a shuffling noise and a groan and whipped around to see someone still in a hospital gown leaning heavily against a wall. Daryl looked to Merle. "What do you think?" He asked
"Thinkin that ain't no walker. Lets check him out and see if hes infected." Merle moved closer to the man, keeping Daryl slightly behind him and his gun ready. "Oi, you bit?" He asked the person.
~~::::~~::::~~::::~~::::~~::::
Rick woke up, groggy and feeling like his limbs were lead. He looked to see wilted flowers on the bedside table and he noticed that he was in standard hospital garb. He flinched as his shoulder pulled uncomfortably and he looked to see that he was bandaged up. He remembered getting shot and being rushed to the hospital. He looked to the monitors and saw that they were all shut off and that the only light was from the sunlight outside. He slowly got up from the bed and stumbled as he pushed his way into the hall. He looked around, seeing the place had looked like it was used as a set to a horror movie or part of a video game he had caught Carl playing when he was younger. Rick shook his head as he moved down the hall slowly, avoiding fallen ceiling bits and hanging lights. He saw a set of doors and looked to see the corpse of a...woman? maybe? He groaned as the scent of death and just...wrongness hit him. The world smelled like death and there werent even the underlying scents of Alphas or Betas and the occasional and rare Omega. He felt the bile rise in his throat and he turned away when he heard voices. He tried to call out but found that his voice wasn't working and he fell against a wall as his shoulder throbbed. A scent caught his attention, it was of sizzling steaks on the grill and gun oil...all the things that screamed 'home' to Rick. "Lori?" He croaked, but his inner Alpha shook itself. That wasn't Loris scent, she always smelled of Jasmine and woman, this scent was stronger and it called out to his baser instincts. He tried to feel through his bond to Lori if it was her and her scent just changed but he was met with an emptiness. This new scent was calling out to that emptiness and he wanted to follow it, Rick growled softly as he stamped down his instincts, he was still married and had an obligation to Lori.
~~::::~~::::~~:::::~~~::::~~:::::
Daryl staggered behind Merle as he caught the scent of Alpha. It smelled like the woods, of fresh meat cooking on the fire...with an underlying tone of something that was all male and it made his body tremble as he felt the beginnings of the slick in his pants. "Shit." He muttered and gripped Merle's shirt tightly.
Merle glanced over his shoulder. "Whats the matter with ya?" He asked.
"Dunno.." Daryl grumbled. They drew closer to the person against the wall and the scent got stronger. "He's got bandages on his shoulder." Daryl whispered as he kept an eye over his shoulder on the doors behind them.
Merle nodded and kept Daryl behind him. "I asked if ya were bit. I don't like askin twice so ya better not make me ask a third time."
"Bit? N-no...shot. Juiced up Alpha shot me. What day is it? What happened here?" The man croaked.
"Dunno, been a couple of weeks since the world went to shit." Merle said. "What's your name?"
"Rick...Rick Grimes of the King's County Sheriff's Department."
Merle and Daryl looked at each other and they knew that they had found Lori's husband and Carl's father. Merle nodded and took Rick's arm. "Alright Sheriff, let's get ya outta here and find ya some clothes and weapons. We got a long story for you." He grunted as he motioned for Daryl to lead the way out. They got to the jeep, happy to see that there were no walkers around and they were guided to Rick's home. Daryl helped the man out of the jeep and into the house which was thankfully empty. He watched as Rick looked around helpless, they had explained everything on the drive over. The world going to shit, people getting eaten, the dead walking...the Alpha seemed to deflate with every word and it pained Daryl to watch it.
"They arent here." He said softly.
Daryl shook his head. "Maybe now's a good time to tell ya...they're with our group. They're the ones who sent us here...well Shane did."
Rick looked at him with wide blue eyes. "Shane's alive?"
Daryl nodded. "Yeah. So's your boy. Asked me ta look for ya."
Rick laughed softly and ran his fingers through his dishevled hair. "Carl...he's alive he's ok." He let out a long breath, only to be caught up in the scent of the other man. He looked at Daryl. "You an Omega?" He asked, and visably watched the man bristle.
"What of it?" He snapped.
Merle turned to watch his brother and the Alpha.
Rick held up his hands. "No...nothing. I just...I knew an Omega in the department before he got run off by Shane and a few other Alphas. I don't think Omegas cant handle themselves. Ive seen what one will do when threatened." He said. He watched Daryl, the man was beautiful. His short hair was a mess and he had dirt smeared on him but his eyes were the clearest blue Rick had ever seen and the scent rolling off of him in waves was amazing. He felt his heart shudder as the scent lodged itself in his brain. He took a step back and went up the stairs to try to find some clothing. He was confused by the other man, he was mated so why was his Alpha going nuts with the need to mate to the male? He growled to himself as he quickly changed into his uniform and slid his hat into place. He grabbed his weapon that he kept hidden in the closet and a bag, stuffing it with some extra clothing and what little ammunition he kept int he house. He walked down to see Merle talking with Daryl quietly and he cleared his throat. "I um...have the keys to the sheriffs depeartment. If you want we can go and check for more weapons before leaving town. I'm not sure what else will be there."
Merle's face brightened. "Well that's a mighty fine idea Sheriff."
Rick rolled his eyes at the Beta. "I'm a deputy."
"Still a cop." Merle snorted before leading the way out of the house.
Daryl watched Rick before he quickly followed his brother. The more he was around the Alpha the more his inner Omega begged to bare his neck and submit to the other man. But pride kept him from bowing down and he snarled as he got into the jeep.
They made quick work of cleaning out the Sheriff's department before finally leaving the town for their camp.
~~::::~~~::::~~::::~~::::~~::::~~::::
Carl sat by his mother's feet as she trimmed his hair and talked with the other woman, Carol. He felt an itching wrongness as she touched him, she didn't smell like his dad anymore...but she smelled like Shane and even to him he knew that wasn't right. They had no proof that his dad was dead or that their mating bond had broken. He knew Beta's didn't hold the same rules as Omegas for Alphas but a mating bond with a Beta could be broken only if the Alpha was dead or had found his or her Omega. Carl remembered that from his biology class and he had prayed and prayed that his dad was still alive. Shane said he was dead but something in his scent just made Carl weary to trust the man. He had been his dad's best friend and had picked him up from school when his mom or dad couldnt. The man had always been there for birthdays and Christmas, but lately he'd been looking at his mom as an Alpha would at a mate and that made Carl's inner Alpha growl.
"I hope Daryl and Merle get back soon, we gotta do a supply run to Atlanta." another Beta, Glenn, said as he ran his fingers through his hair before putting on his baseball cap again.
"I'm sure they'll be back." Another Beta, Dale, said. "Those Dixon boys are tough, even with Daryl being an Omega."
"Just because someone's an Omega dosent make them weak." Carl suddenly snapped, earning a sharp tug on his hair from his mother.
"Behave Carl, no one is saying anything bad about Daryl." Lori said, she knew the boy admired the Omega and she was starting to worry if he was coming into his maturity.
"Dale has a point." Shane said as he sat down with the group. "Daryl shouldn't be out there with just his brother. Merle's a Beta and we don't have surpressants. With Daryl being unmated that could spell trouble for us if his heat kicks in."
Carl cut a glare at Shane and folded his arms over his chest. The tell-tail sound of a motorcycle roaring closer to them caused Carl to jump up and race to the edge of camp with Glenn. He saw Merle pull up and turn the bike off with the Jeep coming up behind him. Carl chewed on his lip as he watched in anticipation as Daryl got out of the jeep. It was getting dark and he couldn't tell if there was another person....then the passenger side door opened and he let out an exited cry as he ran forward, even with his mother yelling behind him to come back. "Dad!" |
Connor listened to Melissa going on about how she had got there and how she had kept it a secret for a long time. Apparently, his parents knew about it. They had some explaining to do when Connor got home, that was for sure.
“Hey Connor, you look good.”
“Thanks. You too.” He gave her a slight smile.
Melissa seemed to think that meant that leaning in and try to kiss Connor was the right thing to do. It was not. Connor turned his head to the side as Melissa’s lips got closer.
“I’m sorry… I’m a little drunk, sorry.” She giggled. Connor had seen Melissa drunk once before. He recognized her frisky ways from that time.
“It’s ok, it’s just… We’re not together anymore, it’s not… right.”
“I don’t care Connor… we don’t have to be together to fool around, I don’t mind.” Melissa smiled and once again tried to kiss Connor.
Connor stopped her by putting his hand on her shoulder, keeping her at bay.
“But I do… I’m sorry.” He gave her an awkward smile.
“Oh I’m sorry… Are you seeing someone?” Melissa looked… hurt. Connor didn’t like it.
“Yes… or no. Not really but…” Connor looked down at his lap, not really knowing what to say.
“But… you want to?” Melissa seemed to sober up quickly.
“Yeah… yeah, I do. Sorry.”
Melissa stood up and re-organized her tight dress so it at least covered up something.
“No no… it’s alright. No problem… God I’m so stupid, I shouldn’t be here. I should go.”
“No come on Melissa, stay. I mean… we were friends before. I like to be that again. Friends.”
Melissa hesitated a moment, clearly thinking something over.
“Yeah… yes of course. We had fun, right?”
Connor nodded. They did have fun together.
“Come on, there’s someone I like you to meet.” Connor stood up and headed towards the door.
“Well actually you’ve already met but I think the both of you deserve a proper introduction.” Connor chuckled as they exited the bedroom.
Connor introduced Melissa to the rest of the party. As Connor already knew, Melissa was a hit both with the girls and the guys at the party. She could charm anyone if needed, Connor knew from experience.
“Hey, have you seen Jude?” Connor asked Jacob who was standing with Mike, Daniel and Madison.
“Connor! Why are you wearing your cape like that, let us all see those divine abs!” Madison was drunk, plain and simple.
Melissa snickered, seeing her ex-boyfriend uncomfortable. He always got that way when being complimented for his looks in public.
“Umm… I don’t know. Haven’t seen him in a while. Ask Hannah.” Jacob replied.
“Ask me what?” Hannah had entered the living room without them noticing.
“Have you seen Jude?” Connor asked her.
“Hmm…” Hannah hesitated. Connor instantly knew something was up.
“Hannah? Where is he?” Connor was already worried.
“He had to go… didn’t really feel well.” Hannah avoided Connor’s eyes. She never was a good liar even though she was kind of telling the truth.
Chris came into the living room on not-so-steady legs. He had beer number... god only knows, in his hand and joined the conversation between Connor, Melissa and Hannah.
"Did Jude leave?" Chris asked.
"Yeah... didn't feel well." Hannah repeated herself.
"Hey, haven't seen you before. I'm Chris." Chris greeted Melissa.
"Hi, nice to meet you. I'm Melissa."
"And... who are you?" Chris didn't intend to sound rude but the beers seemed to edit out a bit of Chris's conversation courtesy.
"Oh I'm... with Connor." Melissa gave him a smug smile.
Connor raised his brow over Melissa's choice of words. He looked over at Chris. Chris was not looking happy. Shit, here we go...
"Excuse me?" Chris said as a response to Melissa's words but he was looking at Connor.
"Listen man..." Connor tried to cool Chris down.
"You brought a girl with you? Fuck man, you're something else." Chris took a step towards Connor, the alcohol not helping his judgment along the way.
"Chris...?" Hannah said with a cautious tone, not recognizing the way her blonde friend acted.
“Hey it’s not what you th-.” Connor tried but was cut off by Chris who took another step towards him.
“You brought a fucking girl. You piece of shit.” Chris sounded disgusted just addressing Connor. Connor was getting pretty tired of Chris, still not over his comments about Jude earlier, but since they were in public he held back.
“Whoooooa!” Hannah stepped in between them.
The shorter Hannah was the only thing separating Chris and Connor who were glaring at each other. Melissa was observing the three of them, not quite sure what was going on.
“Chris, you’re drunk. Take a walk.” Hannah tried but Chris wasn’t moving.
Jacob had noticed the commotion and came up to them. At this point Hannah was almost being crushed between the two larger boys still looking at each other like they had killed each others pets or something. Hannah tried to keep them apart by pushing her hands against their chests.
“Hey what’s going on?” Jacob said looking a bit confused.
“I’m going to kick Stevens ass, that’s what’s going on.” Chris said, not breaking eye-contact.
“You will try.” Connor said, not backing down.
“Alright alright take it easy! Come on. Chill the fuck down.” Jacob joined Hannah in standing in-between Chris and Connor.
“Whatever this is about it’s not the time and place. Alright?” Jacob continued.
Connor and Chris continued staring at each other a few moments before Chris seemed to get a hold of himself. His aggressive stance somewhat receding.
As Chris was being escorted back to the kitchen by Hannah and Jacob, Connor couldn’t help thinking that this was the second time Chris had threatened him with violence. Both times, Chris had lost his cool regarding Jude’s well-being. Just because Chris’s other friends seemed to be blind didn’t mean that Connor was.
Connor joined Melissa without discussing what just had happened. Melissa didn’t push for answers and the two of them joined Mike, Daniel and Madison who were still talking.
“Hey, you seen Jude?” Madison asked Connor.
“No… he… he left, walked home.” Connor replied, probably not able to hide his disappointment.
Hearing that, Mike made an involuntarily noise in his throat.
Connor looked over at Mike. “What?”
Mike bit his lip and said nothing.
“Mike, what?” Connor wasn’t giving up.
“It’s just… I’m sure it’s nothing but…”
Connor looked at him expectantly, urging him to go on.
“Well it’s just I think I saw John and Scott outside earlier. I’m sure it’s nothing bu-.”
Connor was already running out the door, knocking everything in his way aside.
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
As Jude had imagined all types of horrible scenarios taking place in Hannah’s parents’ bedroom he got the feeling he was being observed.
He turned around and kept walking backwards. When he didn’t see anything, he turned back and continued the walk back to his house. He started walking faster, not able to shake the feeling that he wasn’t safe out here on his own.
He took a quick glance over his shoulder and this time he saw two figures trailing him. They seemed to notice that he’d seen them as a voice shouted after him.
“Hey Jude! Wait up! We want to talk to you…” All the air in his lungs disappeared and his already pale skin went white. It was clearly John shouting after him. This wasn’t good and Jude knew it. He kept walking even faster, trying to figure out what to do but he wasn’t thinking straight as he was too scared from what was to come.
Jude started running for all he was worth.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t fast enough. He could hear the footsteps running after him getting close as he was running through the empty streets of the residential neighborhood.
Jude gave up running and leaned his back against a large tree on the sidewalk. He looked up while trying to catch his breath. As he already knew, John and Scott were approaching him. The snide smiles on their faces sent a chill through Jude’s whole body. He started to tremble.
“Wh-what do you want?” Jude’s body was shaking. There was no one around and he could clearly see that the both of them were drunk.
“Take it easy… we just want to talk…” Scott said as they took slow steps towards Jude. John was wearing a backpack that he took off his shoulder.
“Leave me alone… please…”
Scott laughed. “No… I don’t think so. Not before we’ve had some fun.”
John continued, saying while smiling. “You know the only thing I regret from the beach is that we didn’t get it on camera… man I would have loved to see that over and over again.”
“Yeah, not making that mistake again.” Scott says.
Jude is scared. He looks between the two of them, waiting for them to make their move but they just stand there, clearly enjoying the situation. Jude tries to keep it together but his body is starting to fail him. He tried to be strong for once and he had already held out longer than he’d honestly expected.
John snorted loudly as Jude no longer could control his shaking.
“Look at him!” Scott laughed.
“Not so tough without your bodyguards are ya?” John said.
Jude’s legs were giving in. He leaned back against the tree and slowly sat down, as he couldn’t stand up any longer.
“Oh my god you are so fucking pathetic, why the fuck haven’t you killed yourself already?” Scott said, his tone started to become more aggressive.
Right now, Jude wished he had gone through with what he’d already considered many many times.
Jude closed his eyes, his jaw was shaking and warm tears were running over his cheeks.
“Wow we haven’t even started yet and look at him, this is gonna be so fucking sweet.”
“Hey start filming, we should have like a before and after.” John said to which Scott laughed at. Scott started fiddling with his mobile as John opened the backpack.
Jude was preparing for… well he didn’t even know. He just knew it was going to be bad, he could tell by the way John and Scott were acting, they had planned and thought about this for a long time.
He opened his eyes, in an attempt to prepare himself for what was coming. Then he saw it, in the distance he saw… movement? Yes, there was clearly something moving towards the three of them. It was moving fast.
John and Scott didn’t hear the running footsteps through their own laughter, the last thing John heard before his body was pushed with a mighty force to the ground was Connor’s voice.
“Don’t you fucking touch him!”
Everything happened so fast, Jude didn’t quite register it all. Connor grabbed Scott by his varsity jacket with both hands and lifted him so that his feet left the ground. From where Jude was sitting he saw that Connor’s eyes were completely black as he threw Scott towards John.
Connor turned to Jude and he fell to his knees in front of him.
“Are you alright?”
Jude nodded.
“Did they touch you?”
Jude didn’t say anything. Connor was so… angry. Jude didn’t like it.
“Did they touch you!?” Connor raised his voice, as he wanted to know. Jude flinched. Connor had never raised his voice to him before. Somehow, in all the chaos, Jude understood what kind of permission Connor asked of him.
“No. They didn’t. Connor, please don’t.”
Connor was still fuming, breathing through his nose. Connor looked over to John and Scott, they were still lying on the grass, clearly in pain. When Connor looked back at Jude, Jude said.
“Please Connor. For me.”
With that, Connor regained some control of his temper. His breathing became more regular as he even opened his mouth. Jude saw Connor thinking it over carefully before deciding. Connor nodded while looking Jude in the eyes as he stood up and walked over to John and Scott.
“Get the fuck out of here. If I see you two even look at him the wrong way I’m going to make sure you’ll never be able to play soccer again. Fucking idiots, get the fuck out of here.” Connor almost spat as he spoke in a tone that couldn’t be misinterpreted.
John and Scott got up without saying anything or looking at either Jude or Connor. John picked up his backpack before they ran away.
Connor returned to Jude and kneeled before him once again.
Jude sniffled and dried off his cheeks from his tears.
Connor wasn’t looking angry anymore. He looked… concerned. That hurt puppy look, Jude couldn’t grasp this absurd moment.
“Connor… are you sure you’re real?” He managed so say after a minute of trying to calm himself down.
Connor gave away a small laugh, obviously relieved that Jude hadn’t shut down completely.
“Yeah I’m sure. I promise.” He gave Jude a warm smile.
“And hey, I’m sorry for raising my voice to you. I… I didn’t mean to. I just got so… mad. Sorry.”
“Stop being so perfect…” Jude couldn’t even look Connor in the eyes.
“You… you rescue me like some kind of superhero and you’re apologizing? I… you can’t be real.”
Jude was shaking his head as he finally felt capable of looking at Connor.
“Hey… are you blushing?” Jude couldn’t believe it but he was actually already smiling, despite what had happened just a few minutes ago.
Connor looked away, he was also smiling.
“You can’t call me a superhero. It’s not fair.”
Jude snickered. “Are you kidding me? Your cape was even wavering in the wind when you were running. And don’t get me started on those leather shorts…”
Connor blushed even harder as he laughed.
“Hey we should get going, this outfit isn’t exactly outdoor friendly.” Connor said to Jude who still was sitting down by the tree.
“You’re right. I’m going to go home. I don’t think they are going to try anything tonight so…”
Connor didn’t want to leave him like this, he really didn’t. For safety reasons Jude should be escorted. Yeah... safety reasons. Nothing else.
“Can I… walk with you? I can tell my dad to pick me up at your place.”
“You don’t want to go back to the party? I don’t mind Connor…”
“Nah not really. I rather just walk with you. If it’s ok?”
Jude nodded. It was far more than ok.
“So, shall we?” Connor said while offering Jude his hand to help him stand up again.
Jude looked at Connor’s hand. Just by looking at it he knew it would be warm. Jude was sure that Connor was always warm, even though being half-naked in the middle of the night.
He gave Connor a slight smile before getting up by his own accord.
As Jude got up he saw something lying on the grass, not far from where John had lost his backpack when Connor tackled him to the ground. When Connor looked away he picked it up. From the label on the plastic container he understood that it was some kind of industrial superglue. He didn’t know why but he hid it from Connor as he probably wouldn't like it, at all. |
The eighth time this happens he feels the need to correct any misconceptions that Oliver might have had about what they were doing.
He had meant to start off with that and then lead into the whole hooking up thing, but his excuse for coming over laid abandoned in Oliver’s living room, as they had quickly made plans for a very different course of action.
Where they were laying now, looked far too familiar for his comfort.
The last time he’d been here, they’d accidentally fallen asleep afterward and when Connor had awoken he had counted the ceiling tiles, all sixty-four of them, not wanting to disturb the person who had been sleeping beside him. There was definitely a feeling of being too domestic that had sat with him for the next few days, making his stomach turn whenever he thought about it.
It’s now as he lets himself be pushed into the mattress, his eyes flicking upwards to the all too familiar ceiling, that he is reminded of the real reason that he was here.
“This isn’t a relationship,” he says (announces really), to the room about him and the only other person in it.
Though it’s hard to say that with a straight face, especially when Oliver grinds down against him and he instinctively bucks his hips up to meet his movements.
The pure want coursing through him isn’t helping his focus in the slightest.
Nor does the amused huff that is breathed out against his skin (going straight to his cock) as fingers tighten against his hips.
“This isn’t a relationship,” Connor says between breaths, as if repeating the statement suddenly makes it more solid, more real.
He’s not sure that it even works, but he has to get this out. He has to clear the air, otherwise he’ll spend more nights (far too many at this point) lying awake and trying to remind himself that what they were doing wasn’t anything serious.
That they could stop this at any time, and probably should.
So he forces himself to keep talking even though his entire being wants to struggle against the notion and refuse.
“This isn’t one of those things you see in the movies,” he continues, “you know the ones, with the cake, and the hand holding, and the happily ever after,” he huffs because the whole notion is so silly, so inconceivable, “we’re not going to get married and adopt kids and pretend to be some straight couple. This is just mutually beneficial release it’s just-“
“Stop talking.”
And he’s cut off, lips pressing up against his, swallowing the words that he wants to force out, that he needs to get out.
He lets the distraction keep them occupied for a while.
The hands that skim up his side are anything but gentle and that’s just the way he likes it.
After all, that’s what this is, right?
A distraction.
Something to keep his mind off work when he needs it to be, or to get him information for work when he needs that as well.
It’s a mutually beneficial relationship, Connor gets information and distractions and Oliver gets- well, he gets off, at least.
Eventually he twists his head to the side to break the kiss, ignoring the slightly confused look, he continues speaking “we’re not boyfriends, you know that right?”
There’s a dismissive snort that is most definitely not an answer.
He would be more irked with that if there weren’t surprisingly deft fingers (or not so surprisingly, after all it seemed all those hours at a computer could really come in handy) flicking open the button of his pants and unzipping him.
They’ve played at this long enough that Connor knows all the tricks to use. He’s still not certain whether that is a good thing or not.
Still, it takes just one movement and they’re flipped back around (properly, as Connor will point out later when he’s in his right mind), so that once again it is he who is on top, pushing the other man down into the mattress with something that is definitely not fondness.
(Not in the slightest.)
He punctuates each word with a flick of his wrist this time, grounding it in the sensations, “This. Is. Not. A. Relationship.”
“You got rid of the contraction,” is the only answer he gets.
“Thank you, Captain Obvious.”
There’s another one of those laughs, the laughs that send a jolt through him, straight to his chest this time, to the ward part of him that could almost be considered his heart, rather than his cock.
It’s an interesting sensation.
One that he doesn’t want to dwell on, which is why he pushes and pulls and does the thing that is so familiar to them, the routine of fucking that’s just the right side of rough and unattached, that’s everything he seems to need nowadays.
Everything he craves.
(He’s never craved somebody before, not like this.)
The words that fall from his lips now are nothing more than a string of curses, there’s no logic, no answers, no time for clarification, just need.
He’s so lost in the sensations, so swept up in the familiar warmth beneath him, that with each thrust of his hips he can almost pretend that they’ve had the discussion properly and that Oliver had agreed with him.
Connor can pretend that the little (almost smug) “I know” that Oliver huffs out now, is an answer to all of his previous statements, not just agreement regarding Connor’s far too desperate need to get off.
He can’t get the words to come out the way he wants, not when they’re both nearly on the edge, so he kisses Oliver again, trying to get the message across in the only way he can manage.
When he comes there’s a name on his tongue, his own mind willing against him and admitting that this something more.
And as they both lay there, unwilling to get up, to move about and eat leftover take out, or hack secure servers, or whatever Connor’s excuse for being there was- he finds that he could almost like this, in some other life, if he couldn’t see the inevitable down the road coming at them like a train wreck.
“One day I’m going to ask what happened to you,” Oliver says, his voice not more than a whispear, but carrying through the room nonetheless, “what made you not want anything serious-“
“Nothing happened to me,” Connor says with far too much of a defensive snap for it to even sound real to his own ears.
His body is tensely coiled, post-orgasm haze nearly evaporating in his sudden awareness of his position.
People who weren’t in relationships didn’t lay around in bed with their not-boyfriend’s post-sex and bask in the afterglow.
“Of course not,” Oliver just replies, and his tone could have been mocking, but instead it’s just soft and god forbid fond- because they are not fond, “just like we’re not in a relationship.”
“Exactly.”
|
"I'm not a child Pitch...and if you treat me like one don't expect for me to give you too much attention." Jack grinned in response and left the cafe in a seductive stride, a little too much shake in his hips considering he was in public but he knew exactly where Pitch's eyes were just then and failed to care until he reached the front of his school, luckily right on time to get swept up in a massive wave of flooding teenagers in a non-voluntary rush to get to their classes. 'So wait...this means that it's kind of serious right?' He thought as he struggled to move out of the stream of classmates and towards his first class. 'You don't usually masturbate to a specific person you know, with them knowing about it and standing like ten feet away without it being serious right?' Jack wished he had more relationship experience to help him deal with these kinds of things...
–
On the opening gates of the high school campus, an unseen observer of Jack and Pitch's romantic meeting scrolled through the numerous photos she had taken of the two. The quality was remarkable and she was confident that no one – not even Jack and Pitch could deny the truth of these photos. It was almost aggravating how people just walked by the cafe without a second thought – not paying attention to the two rather popular men inside who were obviously having an intimate moment.
It didn't matter though.
She had proof.
And she was going to use it.
–
Jack struggled through school to focus on his work, a mixture of happy post-orgasm enfeeblement and confirmed relationship based excitement coursing through him for a majority of his busy day running through his classes and somewhat completing his work. He was fortunate enough this time to be paying enough attention to class to know when it ended and leave without totally embarrassing himself in front of his school mates – not that he really cared that much about what they thought of him.
During lunch he picked at his food, more and more questions about his mysterious lover poking about in his brain. He wanted to know more about him and spend more time with him to get to know him better, it was strange for him. He really didn't care much about his classmates unless he was trying to keep up appearances with them but he was willing to bend over backwards to please this man who he didn't even know much about...
He poked the over-expensive lunch again with a pout and thought more of Pitch until he was yanked out of his thoughts by a familiar voice.
"Hey Jack!" Jamie's wide smile appeared in view and the white haired boy nearly jumps out of his seat in surprise and shock, completely forgetting he was still even in school.
"Oh hey Jamie...long time no see?" Jack put on a good face for his friend, the incurring awkwardness of their relationship didn't stop with Pitch walking into his life – if anything it got worse since he had something more serious and current with him rather then Jamie.
Jamie pouted and gave Jack a sideways look of confusion before he leaned in a bit closer, whispering though the loud cacophony of the lunch room. "We walked into history class and into the cafeteria together, standing right next to each other and you didn't see me?"
Jack swallowed and looked away, feeling a little bit guilty from his lack of attention, even as he tried to stay more focused in school while also thinking of Pitch he still couldn't pay attention to his surroundings with enough alertness to even recognize his only real friend in school. "Sorry."
"What's been up as of late with you?" Jamie asked curiously, nervously rubbing his hands together while he asked the question while the young Frost took a moment to see that Jamie wasted no time in getting to the root of things.
"Nothing man-"
"Don't bullshit me." His voice was dangerously low and he looked at Jack with a heated glance. "I've known you since grade school, you've never acted like this." He spoke low and quiet with a level of anger that carried a hint of concern. Jamie was honestly worried about him...why didn't it feel like a generally good level of concerned though?
"It's really nothing Jamie." Jack mirrored Jamie's upset expression and decided he was going to lead the conversation away from himself. "I'm fine, but are you okay? You seem like your a little off dude..."
The way Jamie's eyes narrowed in his direction and examined his face gave him a clear indication: he wasn't falling for it. He stared at Jack and opened his mouth just a sliver before closing it again and just continuing to look. The other just grinned absent-mindedly for a moment before looking back down at his unfinished food that had all of a sudden become much more interesting then the surrounding area.
"Whatever." Jamie suddenly shot up out of his seat and left as quickly as he came, striding out of the lunch room without taking a single look back to see Jack's shocked expression.
'What...just happened?' Jack asked himself as he got up to dump his unfinished lunch away, now uninterested in it and trying to replay the entire conversation again in his head but finding nothing that would bring up that much anger in Jamie that he would walk away from the conversation like that...
Jack kept an eye out for Jamie as he walked to his next group of classes but couldn't find him until his last class of the day: Biology. He tried to get his friend's attention and he was absolutely sure Jamie noticed him trying but the auburn haired man refused to reciprocate. Even after the class when Jack tried to get a hold of his friend after class, looking around for him as many students evacuated the school like it was a burning building, he couldn't find him.
'Maybe I can get a hold of him some other time...' He silently hoped and left the campus, still wondering what exactly was going on while he walked back from school, hands in his pockets and hood covering his head until he noticed that he was approaching Cafe Claussen. He practically ran up to the building, pulling off his hood and entering the place with a smile on his face, scanning the crowd of teenagers for a unique but familiar face that he always enjoyed seeing.
Nothing.
No one in the cafe was even wearing gray.
'Great. I guess I'll see him later then.' Jack thought to himself as he begrudgingly left, putting his hood back up and trudging home feeling more then a little upset and confused.
For the next few days, until Friday, Jack lived in a blissful but strange sort of peace. On one hand, his father wasn't drinking, he could actually finish his work in a minimal amount of time with little struggle and he completed his history test with a perfect grade second time round. He actually felt like he was putting on a tiny bit of weight after finishing the left over pizza one night and sitting down to do something that he hadn't done correctly or without being bothered in so long that he almost forgot how: he sat on his bed, opened up his laptop, queued up some of his favorite show: Legends of the Hidden Temple on YouTube and he relaxed. Not a temporary 'Okay...just calm down Frost' but multiple hours of nothing but him and his interests. It was absolute bliss, he even got him and Mary some Party Cake flavored ice cream in a silent celebration for their ability to unwind.
But on the other hand Jamie wasn't talking to him and despite making five trips to Cafe Claussen – two going to school, two coming from school and another after feeling a little antsy at home and wanting to just double check – he hadn't found hind nor tail of Pitch. Even after asking Toothiana about his possible whereabouts her only answer was 'I'm sorry, but I really don't know jack about him'. Whether she was taunting him, joking or just didn't know his name and actually meant that as what it was Jack didn't know but he was absolutely sure he wasn't ever going to tip her. Ever.
It was Friday night at around 8:30 when Jack pouted and lay on his bed, rather upset and angry from feeling rejected with his lack of contact with Pitch that he decided to check one last time. He was sure that a few of days with no contact really didn't mean the absolute end to their relationship but this was the first one that Jack thought he could really take seriously and it was a flimsy one at that. They hadn't even kissed yet – he thought it was more flirting to pass the time then any actual emotional connection. He wanted something deeper then that with Pitch, he realized. He wanted to know more about him, kiss him, touch him -
Before he could even finish that thought he was out the door, giving the excuse that he was off to see his study partner about some additional schoolwork before the weekend. Luckily with his age he could go out this late at night without being overly questioned about it and practically ran to the cafe with some little last light of hope gleaming in his eyes that maybe Pitch would be there, sitting there in a dark but classy or at least good looking attire in a booth alone, book held close to face with eyes moving merrily and slowly across the pages with familiar reading glasses donning his face...
It was a five minute full blown run across not-so-crowded streets to reach the cafe and almost collapse through the door. 'Need more exercise...' Jack thought before looking about at the few, sparse faces in the place with not a single hint of gray amongst them. 'Thought so...of course he wouldn't be here. Probably got sick of me.' He reasoned before leaving as quickly as he came. He knew he was probably overreacting to the lack of seeing him but part of him still hurt inside – he always that the Pitch would be there when he really wanted to see him, like he was put there specifically for him. He knew it was a selfish thought but at the same time he wanted to see Pitch so badly that he felt like he could be selfish, just this once.
He went back home, disappointed and lied to his parents – saying his study partner wasn't home before he crawled upstairs and returned to bed, discarding his sweatshirt in favor of partial nuditybefore falling into the bed in exhaustion. The run had taken more out of him then he thought it would...
He curled up underneath the comfortable sheets and tried to get him mind off of Pitch for now. He thought of numerous things like 'He's too old for you anyway', 'He's probably got a girlfriend', 'He's too busy for a child like you', as if trying to reason his existence and their relationship away before he drifted off to a dreamless sleep. |
He wasn't sure when things had changed so drastically for him when it came to Rose. He just knew that when he'd called her and seen her face instead of just heard her voice, he was quickly obsessed with her. The quirk of her brow and the smile in her eyes. She was so full of personality and life, so unlike most of the people in his life.
Donna hadn't understood, he didn't think. She had a soulmate, after all, but they were treating things more like a courtship. As a result, things were going very, very slowly for them.
But that wasn't what John wanted. He wanted to meet Rose, and be with her, because they were meant to be together. And she wanted that too, she had said she wanted to save up the money and come with him. He hoped her mother would let her, but they still had two summers left for her to convince her.
John let out a sigh and prepared to go to school. He was almost done, with this part of it at least, almost headed to Uni. Then he would be away from all the people around him that had bothered him so much.
Aunt Sylvia was cooking up breakfast when he thundered down the stairs, messenger bag over his shoulder.
"Donna says you were up late," she said, not cruelly, only out of concern.
"Donna was out," John pointed out. Even though he was talking to his family, he used as little syllables as possible, because he just wasn't ready to open himself up like that, not like he was with a soulmate. With his soulmate, rather. Rose.
"Yes,' Aunt Sylvia replied, "With your soulmate?"
"Yes."
"Are you going to try and meet her?"
"Yes."
"When?"
"When she turns eighteen."
Aunt Sylvia nodded. "Good call to wait for a little bit," she said, smiling at her nephew. She was really trying to make things better between them, even if John didn't seem to want to fix things. He was so quiet. But he wasn't last night, she had heard him talking and laughing last night, and she had dared to hope that something better was coming out of this.
"Yeah."
"Do you want something to eat before you go, sweetheart?" She asked.
"No, don't have time," he said, "Thanks."
Sylvia sighed and shook her head. "You'd better eat something when you come home. I won't be here when you get back but I will know if you haven't eaten."
"I'll make something."
He scooted out the door then, adjusting his loose tie. It was his 'thing' really, to dress up for school. He always thought that one should always put their best foot forwards, and he did so every day, even though people picked on him for it.
He sat through his classes, because he quite enjoyed them, but it was lunchtime when things started to go downhill. He sat alone, and people never talked to him, even in passing, so he liked to talk to Rose, even if she was in class.
Rose?
Hi, John.
Can you talk?
I can always talk.
He chatted with her in his head for awhile, until suddenly someone sat across from him. He couldn't even look up, he was so shocked, and he wanted to make sure he focused on Rose first, if he was completely honest.
John? Her voice filtered into his mind, and he realized that it had been his turn to speak.
Someone just sat at my lunch table.
Oh. That's okay, I can go.
I'll get rid of them.
John-
I don't want to talk to whoever it is, I promise, he thought to her, quite fiercely. Be right back.
He looked up and saw a blonde girl sitting before him. If he didn't know better he would think that it was Rose, but this girl was too prim. He knew who she was, of course, because quiet people in schools are the ones who know everything.
"What do you want?" he demanded.
Reinette, the girl who was sitting across from him, blinked, her blue eyes filled with surprise. "Hello to you too," she said bluntly, yet her voice was still smooth.
"Sorry to be rude, but I don't really want to talk to you," he said, "I was sort of having a conversation when you came up."
Reinette's expression fell, but only for a moment. "Oh, um, your soulmate?"
"Yes, why?"
She lifted a shoulder. "You know, I just thought, for a really long time, that you didn't have one, cause you were so quiet, I just thought you were embarrassed."
John furrowed his brows. "I have a soulmate.'
"Oh."
"Is that what you wanted?"
"I wanted to talk to you," she said, "I think you're very attractive, John."
"I have a soulmate."
She scowled, "You know, it's not unheard of for people to fool around a bit before they meet their soulmates. Date around... Other things." She was flirting with him, he realized, and blatantly, despite his obvious refusals.
John clenched his jaw. "Why would I do that?"
"You're bored, I can tell. Is she younger than you?"
John didn't speak, because Rose was none of Reinette's business, and he had a feeling that she only wanted to know if Rose was younger so she could pick on her. He just shoved his fork into his chicken and took a bite, pretending to ignore her.
She huffed out a breath of annoyance. "She is, isn't she? How much?"
"Not your problem," he said, shooting her another glare.
"John, just admit it, she bores you. She's not old enough for the things someone our age is interested in. I'll bet you don't have a whole lot in common right now, do you?" She reached out and touched his hand, and he stared at it in shock. No girl had ever touched him before.
Reinette smiled, sensing a small, tiny, chink in his armor. "So, until she's old enough for you, you can have me," she purred.
That startled John right out of his daze of pretending that Reinette's hand was Rose's. He looked up at her and pulled his hand out from under hers. "So, what, you came over here to demand that I sleep with you?" he demanded.
Reinette winced. "You make it sound so vulgar."
"Ever think that maybe some people still wait for their soulmates? It would be like cheating to be with you."
"Can you even cheat on someone you've never met?" Reinette asked.
"Leave me alone," John said lowly. "I'm not interested."
"So you want the word around school to be that you're a pervert?"
"Are you blackmailing me?"
She shifted in her seat, twirling her long hair through her fingers. "I don't know, John, am I?"
"You must be lonely," he said dully.
She made a face at him. "Don't start to feel special. I could get any guy in this school that I wanted."
"Go ahead then," he said, "Because I don't want you."
"Well, then, guess I'm blackmailing you."
"Reinette, do you think I care? No one at this school likes me anyway, why would it matter to me what they think of me?" He said it with such a lack of emotion, his voice smooth and no longer rough with disuse, and Reinette looked shocked by the whole ordeal.
"Where does she live?" Reinette demanded, "Are you two meeting up on the weekends? I don't understand."
John sighed and rubbed his eye with his pointer and middle finger. "England."
"She lives in England, and she's younger than you, and you don't want any action from someone your age?"
It wasn't a matter of what he wanted, because he certainly thought about wanting Rose, he'd definitely thought about kissing her. But not Reinette. Certainly not Reinette. As charming as she was, John Smith was probably the most loyal man on the face of the Earth, and he'd already promised himself to Rose. He wasn't going to betray her trust.
"No," he said. "Goodbye, Reinette."
He could practically see the irritation radiating off of her, and when he turned his head a little to the source of loud giggling, he understood why. Reinette's friends, Astrid and Lynda, were staring at them, eyes wide and hands over their mouths.
John suddenly felt sick. "This was a bet, wasn't it?"
"No, of course it wasn't a bet. They knew I fancied you and they convinced me to come over here," she said, tossing her hair over her shoulder and all but batting her eyelashes at him.
He gave her a look of disbelief. "No one has to 'convince' you to do anything," he said. Reinette looked appalled at the suggestion and glanced over at her friends, which told John that this was, indeed, a bet.
"Well, answer me now, John, or I'm going to have to move on," she said, and then leaned over the table at him. "And listen here. I may move on, but I don't give up."
He shoved some of his lunch into his mouth and held direct eye contact with her. "Got it. Bye."
Reinette was not used to not getting her way. She had been sizing John up for months now seeing if he was desperate enough to snatch up her advances. She frowned, because somehow, he wasn't. Lynda looked completely crushed by this, as she had been quite certain that John would be desperate and all but snog Reinette right on the table. But he hadn't. He hadn't even looked down her shirt or moved closer to her. Lynda wondered if he was gay.
Reinette frowned. "Fine," she turned her nose up at him and stood up, turning so her back was facing him before turning over her shoulder. "If you want to find me, I'm sure you can find my schedule. I hear you're very clever, after all."
John could understand that she was displaying herself for him, and he clenched his jaw. "Goodbye."
She rolled her eyes and walked away, leaving him to breathe out a frustrated sigh. If he didn't have Rose, he probably would've given in to Reinette's advances, because of course he was a teenage boy and there were things he thought about, but loyalty to Rose was the most important thing that he could imagine and he wasn't about to betray her trust. It was then that he realized she had been waiting awhile for him to reply.
Rose?
Who was it? She asked curiously, her mind filling his with questions.
No one important. Can we Skype when you get home from school? He needed to see her face again and he wasn't afraid to admit it. After looking at Reinette, he felt dirty, like he needed to look at Rose instead.
Yeah. Is something wrong? Did something happen?
No, he assured her, and immediately winced at himself for lying, but he didn't want Rose to worry about anything that would happen with Reinette, because nothing was going to happen with Reinette, and he was going to make sure of that. Everything's fine. Just someone annoying come to bother me. No worries.
Okay, if you say so, she didn't seem to convinced. But yeah, let's Skype. Around four?
Sure. That's perfect. Four.
They Skyped that night and the next, and they still called and texted, but nothing really replaced the telepathic communication. There was nothing better than it, nothing that made him feel closer to her than those encounters.
And suddenly, John graduated, and the summer hit full force. Rose said things were warm in London and she got a job at the community pool as a lifeguard. Apparently she had meant it when she said that she was going to get a job.
He was proud of her, even though she sent him a picture of herself, smiling up at the camera in sunglasses almost bigger than her face, her friend Shareen next to her. Just from the photo he could see that Rose was absolutely stunning in her one piece red suit. She had curves, and she was quite lovely regardless, he was completely aware of that. And he told her. Often. He was sure that there were boys trying to get her attention, but she wasn't saying anything.
Being so far away from her was much harder than he had originally thought that it would be. |
There’s a lot of things Bucky doesn’t quite understand.
He doesn’t understand Steve and his undying will to make him better, to help him remember and convince it’s not your fault, Buck, even if Bucky knows it is. He doesn’t understand his relationship with Natasha, but he finds a little comfort in knowing that literally nobody understands and that Natasha herself prefers to keep it that way. He doesn’t understand how Tony welcomes him into his Tower, ignoring the real reason behind his parents death just because he’s Steve’s friend and Steve is Tony’s own family by now.
He doesn’t understand FRIDAY, or Vision or this goddamn pop culture who relishes in stupid reality shows about rich people.
But her–he’s intrigued and curious and confused but he likes it. He actually loves it.
She’s smarter than he is and he’s pretty sure he’s heard Tony labeling her as a genius sometime while they needed tech assistance on a mission.
He constantly wonders why she’s involved in the red side of things.
It makes him feel vulnerable and impotent when he finds out her life had been just as hard as his and yet–she smiles brighter than Stark’s stupid customized Fourth of July fireworks.
He feels selfish. Her life was just as hard as his and she is everything that he isn’t.
She doesn’t mope like he does and she doesn’t hate like he does and he would’ve thought she was a goddamn angel if he didn’t know what she’s been through. She’s everything that he isn’t–young, carefree, calm and good–but is everything he wants to be.
He sees all of these traits when they go undercover for intel in some snob rich CEO party–she’s young in that light pink satin dress, carefree when she dances to a catchy pop song, calm as they almost get caught while downloading all that stupid data and good–
Good when he panics, tight metal grip around the hidden gun under his tuxedo as she cups his cheek with one hand, the other going down to brush the metal knuckles lightly until his breathing is even again and he’s loosen the weapon.
Good when she turns off both of their comms and gives a small smirk that he wants to reciprocate once Maria’s frantic voice dissipates on his ears.
Good when she’s pressed between the wall and his body, his metal arm now resting loosely around her waist as both of her hands now cups his cheeks.
Good when–
“You okay?” she asks ever so softly like her own lips that he can’t stop staring until she chuckles, lifting his chin slightly with her thumb as their gazes finally meet. “Partners confidentiality. I won’t tell if you don’t.”
She looks pointedly to the comms and bites her lip like a kid who was caught doing something wrong.
He finds delight in this because 1) she looks fucking gorgeous like that and 2) Maria must be going crazy without knowing his path.
And also 3) she’s willing to give up her credibility just to protect him.
(Bucky ends up deciding he doesn’t understand that too).
“I’m fine,” he mutters quietly, hand flickering on the small of her back and watches her frown suspiciously, a sigh escaping his lips as he pulls a firmer tone of voice while trying to ignore her fingertips brushing his stubble. “Fine.”
Then her lips are meeting with his, soft and leaving a light smudge of lipstick in the corner of his mouth when she pulls back, grinning playfully.
And he just stands there, froze in place after the touch while the urge to just kiss the living shit out of her takes him and while they–
“They’re coming,” she announces while rolling her eyes and Bucky doesn’t even have time think about anything else than her quiet giggle as she turns on the comms again and grips his hand tightly. “Ready for a jog, soldier?”
He almost wants to laugh at her incredulity. This girl, she can most definitely be the death of him.
And in the end, they do end up running and taking a rant from Steve and Maria for turning off the comms.
But he decides he doesn’t mind.
Bucky goes to sleep in that night still feeling the softness of her lips against his. And that was more–so much more–than enough for him.
Bucky locks himself up in his room for weeks.
And he can only understand that the team is relieved for that, Steve being the only one who visits him.
Everything still feels real when he closes his eyes tightly.
The cold surface of the camera they used to freeze him, the mechanical noises that goddamn chair would make as it encircled his temples and wrists, the needles constantly under his skin and the uncomfortableness of the cell he’d stay as he waited for orders.
It’s memories that swallows him and suffocates him and makes him panic.
He often wonders if that’s how Doctor Banner feels about the Hulk. Having that constant fear in the back of your head and when it comes creeping up and up and up and you can’t do absolutely nothing but standby and watch it take over.
And it is dangerous and volatile and frantic and merciless and kills without thinking twice.
It takes Steve and Sam and Scott to make him snap out of himself, because in the end, they’re the same person, the same bloodied hands. It takes two weeks to the dark purple shape of his hands to start disappearing from her neck. And it takes three weeks to her bruised lungs heal and a few more days for her to finally start speaking.
Steve’s always the one who lets him know, always doing the role of supportive friend that he doesn’t deserves, always telling him before he can ask–because both of them know Bucky wouldn't just ask.
He gets used to it. He is used to it.
Being locked up in a room is easy and Bucky wishes he could say the same about being locked up in his mind.
He looks at her face and–
Her eyes are wide open just like her mouth, and the small, frantic gasps are lessening and her neck feels like a simple rag under his fingers. He let go and she falls to his feet and when he looks down to his hands, Bucky almost doesn’t recognize it. He locks himself up in his room for weeks. And he almost wants to give up.
But she is that kind of person and.
And he still can’t decide if she’s going to be his downfall or his strength.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Bucky says quietly, watching as she ignores her life and sits next to him by the edge of the bed, clicking her tongue while gazing at him like he’s done nothing wrong despite the very faint purple still lingering on her skin.
“And neither should you,” she replies firmly but still sounding calm and like her, hand falling on his thigh as he looks up and stares longingly at her neck until she lowers her head to meet his eyeline again. “You need to get out of this room, Bucky.”
Bucky moves his gaze to the wall and decides to stare the beige, dull painting he’s been enduring nonstop for the last few days. He does need to leave but he doesn’t know if the team actually wants him to. Needs and wants are completely different things and so far he’s used in putting other people’s needs and wants before his own.
He’s lived like that for seventy years, after all.
But he keeps in silence. And she sighs tiredly. And suddenly he's–
“You can’t be here,” he protests again and it’s true. He knows she can’t because Tony banned her from his floor, he knows because Steve let it slip during a one-sided conversation last week.
He knows because she lets out a frustrated groan once he finishes, lying her back against the mattress as she pull her legs up to rest on his thighs.
“I know,” she muses and lets out a laugh, her fuzzy socks clad feet shifting on his lap as she nudges him and he stares sternly because she’s treating him so normally and that’s a dangerous thing for a guy like him. “Scottie helped me in.”
Bucky almost wants to ask if Scott’s there but he doesn’t really cares about a man in the size of an ant in his room. He isn’t even sure on how… whatever that is works. And he’s just thinking about that because he wants to distract himself from her dismissively lying on his bed like she actually belongs there, with him.
He wants to distract himself from guilt and sorrow because that’s all he can feel as he looks at her right now.
“I’m sorry–” He gets interrupted by her sitting up, lips suddenly pressed against his carefully and lightly and he wants to pull back, he really does, but he also feels love and affection so he can’t.
She’s the one who pulls back first and she chuckles softly when he blindly follows her lips again, setting her palm against his cheek and sitting straighter, almost on his lap.
“That wasn’t you and I don’t blame you for a thing that happened,” she whispers, lips brushing against his that he almost feels dizzy, his flesh arm falling to her waist as she glances him through her eyelashes. “Do you hear me? That wasn’t you, Bucky.”
Bucky doesn’t know what it is.
But there must be something in the way she says it because–
He almost believes it.
Dealing with anger issues are pretty much a daily occurrence to Bucky. He gradually becomes used to it and learns how to properly deal with them. Sam makes him write and jog and spare with Natasha and Steve–always keeping himself out of it because he doesn’t want to have his ass kicked, Barnes.
He uses the things he knows, that HYDRA teached him, to his own benefit and that’s one of his first steps to deal with what he feels inside. And to be honest, Bucky feels a lot of things.
But he doesn’t want to mix what he feels for her into his own mess because these feelings–
They are the only thing he’s sure of.
“You’re not gonna hurt me.” She breaks him out of his trance and he looks up at her, standing to his front, pumped in adrenaline like she knows what she’s getting into. “You have all the control. You say stop and we stop.”
“No,” he snarls firmly hoping for her to back off and he can’t say he’s surprised when she slams her feet against the mat, crossing arms across her chest.
Bucky holds back a smirk because she’s wearing goddamn pigtails and she’s doing a very good job in looking like a five year old. And apparently she notices it, letting out an angry huff and stepping closer to him.
“Bucky, come on! I’m not made of glass!” she whines loudly, rolling her eyes when he glances her inquiringly despite the soft chuckle escaping her lips. “I am not.”
“We’re not doing this,” Bucky protests again and it takes a groan and a step from her and his hands are around her neck again, except this time–
She’s the one who put them there.
And the look on her face is determined and fierce but yet kind and affectionate and it helps him to not. freak out.
“Feel it.” She says, simply and dismissively and calmly, her hands upon his own as she presses them further against her skin, urging him on to touch. “I trust you and you're not gonna break me.”
Her skin and bones feels so fragile under his fingers, so much that even the pressure under his metal ones are lighter. So he moves them. Soon enough his fingertips are running through her skin, brushing the spots where once there were nasty marks, quietly apologizing as she just smiles, knowing what he means.
Her hands are still upon his when she brings them up and he fully cups her jaw. And God, he’s been wanting that for so long.
Bucky doesn’t stop himself when his metal fingertips touch her lips and she parts them, ever so slightly and–
Kisses them. And he kisses her.
Arms thrown around his shoulders, body flushed against his and lips. Everywhere.
Lips and neck and collarbones until she giggles when he pulls back, pressing her smiling lips to the dimple on his chin and the corners of his mouth are lifting enough for her to notice. And then she hugs him.
Now Bucky’s also sure he’s made the right choice for the first time.
There’s a lot of things Bucky doesn’t quite understand.
He doesn’t understand why she insists in wearing socks to sleep even if everytime he’ll tuck her feet against his, making the socks go off. He doesn’t understand why she bakes when she’s angry or nervous, but he doesn’t exactly complain when she feeds him with the cookie dough on her fingertips. He doesn’t understand why she prefers to always stay to his left, lifting his arm up and cuddling herself to his side once they’re both sat in the quieter corner of the coffee shop.
But when she smiles up at him like that, the cup of coffee still between her lips and her legs thrown over his lap and–
“I love you, Bucky Barnes.” Voice soft and kind and joyful followed by a kiss upon his smirking lips, he just knows.
That girl can be most definitely the death of him and he doesn’t care because–
He loves her.
And he’s never been so sure about something in his entire life. |
Connections
Sherlock didn’t believe in soulmates.
When he was younger, he’d researched and experimented as much as he could, trying to learn everything about the world around him. His seemingly endless curiosity had caused many an argument with the nannies and staff on the Holmes estate, as all manner of household objects, food, plants and even garden furniture had fallen victim to his desire to catalogue every detail of his environment and expand his knowledge.
His brother Mycroft had intervened with the staff, pointing out that if one of the spare bedrooms on the second floor was converted to a laboratory, Sherlock could conduct his experiments and research away from the main living areas, leaving the rest of the household in relative peace.
Their father had eventually relented, still seeing the boy’s restless intellect as more of a nuisance than an advantage. He was a cold and unaffectionate man towards his youngest son, who craved positive attention. Mycroft himself was far from immune to the absence of familial warmth. However, he absolutely adored his brother, and made every effort he could manage to provide Sherlock with encouragement and support. It was through Mycroft that Sherlock was first introduced to the signs and symptoms of soulmate connections.
“Junctura cognoscitiva”, to give the condition its Latin, medical title. Although rare, affecting around 1 in every 650,000 of the British population, the condition was very widely known and recognised, mostly because of the romantic implications. Much had been made of the connections between soulmates in poetry, music and literature over the centuries, and it was heavily featured in many a tawdry romance novel.
The condition had been first properly identified in the late 1920s, when medical practitioners were beginning to get to grips with the workings of the human brain. There had always been stories of people dying from broken hearts, or intense feelings of love driving them insane, but this was the first time in history the activity in the brain could be measured in some way. The results had shown something quite astonishing – in around 1% of humans, a connection was formed between two minds, a love so strong that each could feel the other in some way in their consciousness. The afflicted would never see a face, or hear a voice, or know a name, but there would always be a presence there, the other half of the connection pulling on them like the thin thread of a stitch in heavy cloth. Essentially, they would feel a little of each other’s emotions, maybe see glimpses of each other’s dreams. They would always feel as though there was something missing, like they were a puzzle piece with which only their soulmate could fit.
Contemporary medical research showed that the connection, or “tether” as it was popularly known, was formed from birth, but normally didn’t present until puberty. In the case of the very deepest connections, the person was always aware of their tether, and in acute cases it took extremely potent medication and intense psychological therapy to prevent the influence causing catastrophic damage in the mind. The neurochemistry of a tether could be incredibly strong and destructive. Being tethered was universally recognised as a serious medical affliction, and despite or perhaps because of the inherent romanticism, the general public was sympathetic, if unintentionally patronising.
Occasionally sufferers experienced a fluctuating tether throughout their lives, and often the constantly increasing and receding presence could drive the sufferer to the edge of insanity, unable to disassociate from the other person’s emotions trapped in their mind. Almost all of those with such a severe form of the condition succumbed to fatal addiction in some way, becoming desperately dependent on illicit substances to drown out the noise.
Neither was finding and meeting the subject of the connection a guarantee of relief. Some people spent their entire lives searching, and bankrupted themselves into permanent, abject poverty fruitlessly travelling the world. When one half of a tether died, it could destroy the remaining person, as they were slowly consumed by overwhelming grief.
Very occasionally though, two tethered people who were meant to be together found one another, and shared an intense and binding love that seemed endless and indestructible.
Sherlock had been aware of his tether for as long as he could remember. In his youth he had furiously researched the condition, seeking any answers as to how or why tethers formed, and if it was at all possible to sever them completely without any significant consequences. His extensive research came to naught; instances of illegal experimentation to determine the root causes of a tether resulted in the death of the subject in every single case, as did any attempt to break the connection. The only course of treatment were powerful drugs, and even then, each person’s body reacted differently to the types and dosages.
Mycroft often saw the effects of his little brother’s connection, the confusion and loneliness in sharing feelings with someone you didn’t know. Sherlock’s tether was usually an unobtrusive, somewhat comforting presence, but throughout his childhood it had occasionally caused traumatic emotional reactions in the boy. It seemed whoever was at the other end of the connection was suffering too, the link between them forcing them to share each other’s misery. Sherlock had at times felt inexplicably and deeply sorrowful, an overwhelming sense of melancholy creeping through his veins. At other times he felt flashes of a deep, white-hot rage that seemed to burn into him, right to his core. In his tether the rage was apparently very rarely unleashed, instead it was clearly restrained and kept hidden just below the surface.
Occasionally Sherlock experienced a terror so powerful it sent him into a self-destructive spiral, crying uncontrollably and lashing out at anyone who came near him. He was intensely frustrated at being unable to identify the source of the terror, where the threat was coming from. It was as though there was a constant physical danger for no apparent reason emanating from a volatile individual, someone very close to his tether that should represent happiness and love, but instead brought only anguish and pain.
At times like those Mycroft tried to reassure and comfort him, gently explaining that his tether was feeling these powerful emotions, and through the connection between them was unwittingly sharing them with Sherlock. He advised Sherlock that he should endeavour to train himself to control his own feelings, lest he influence his connection in the same way or worse, cause himself irreparable psychological damage.
“Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock. You would do well to remember that,” Mycroft had murmured, fully aware of the consequences of allowing a tether to begin to consume your heart and mind. His own experience had been absolutely wretched and had nearly destroyed him, and he was determined that his beloved little brother would not suffer the same fate.
Sherlock had taken the advice very seriously, distancing himself from other children and everyone around him, including, to Mycroft’s lasting regret, his brother. For a long time Mycroft had been the only thing close to a companion that Sherlock had had, but their difference in age had taken him away to London and Sherlock had been sent off to complete his school education.
The boys at school had taunted and bullied him relentlessly for his coldness and otherworldly appearance, calling him “freak” and “machine”, and beating him on a daily basis. It hadn’t helped that Sherlock was the youngest boy ever to attend the prestigious school, and was by far the cleverest pupil they had ever had. He had constantly outshone his older classmates, and they hated him for his intelligence. He rarely deliberately stooped to rubbing their noses in it, but sometimes couldn’t resist when his teachers repeatedly called on him during lessons. He merely responded with correct answer after correct answer, much to the irritation and jealousy of his peers. The beatings in the dormitory after curfew and lights out became part of his routine, and he continued to shroud himself with a seemingly impenetrable cloak of arrogance and superiority to cope. His teachers remained ignorant of his suffering, assuming the bruises and marks were the result of normal, boyhood roughhousing. It was only the intervention of the headmaster, probably acting under guidance from Mycroft, which made the beatings cease. The insults and slurs, whispered to him across the darkness of the dormitory every night, continued unabated. Each and every word was hurtful, but Sherlock determined never to show it, and was almost certain none of it had been shared by his tether.
Sherlock left school for university at the tender age of sixteen, hoping that the academic environment of one of Britain’s most ancient institutions would shield him from the emotional turmoil of his tether, who was unmistakably experiencing danger and heartbreak almost daily. He was unfortunately mistaken, and although there were no physical attacks during his time studying chemistry at Cambridge, he graduated feeling more alone than ever. The mind palace he had so carefully crafted became his solace, and it was here that he could cage the feelings of his tether in a special room. This allowed him to use the rest of his racing brain to explore and experiment to try to find some quiet, and it was in pursuit of this quiet that he had first come to the attention of the then Sergeant Gregory Lestrade.
Lestrade had found him shivering in an abandoned house on a dodgy estate in East London, dirty, dishevelled and high as a kite. Even in this state, Sherlock had deduced the good policeman immediately and loudly, getting every detail right to Lestrade’s great surprise. He’d taken Sherlock back to the station for questioning in relation to a string of burglaries in the neighbourhood, suspecting junkies seeking bounty to sell in exchange for their next fix. In the car on the way there, Sherlock had explained feverishly that the suspects Lestrade should actually be looking for were a gang of three teenagers trying to pay off their questionable gambling debts before their parents found out. Lestrade was once again astonished, and having deposited the skittish young man in a cell by himself, set out to follow the investigative course Sherlock had outlined. Three arrests later, and he was offering the filthy twenty-something a deal: get clean, find somewhere decent to live, and Lestrade would let him help on some cases.
Sherlock jumped at the chance; even through the fug of his high he had been excited and eager to find the answers, and investigating cases for the police seemed like the perfect alternative to his other, 7%, solution.
His tether apparently agreed, for it dimmed somewhat for a while, as though the person had found some kind of brief happiness with someone else. Sherlock dismissed the disappointment welling up in him at this thought. If his tether was happy, then it would leave him alone.
That was just fine. Alone, alone would protect him.
******
The solution was so obvious, even Lestrade’s team of idiot lackeys couldn’t fail to see it. And yet, they had.
Sherlock was standing in the middle of the crime scene, his mind focused on the problem at hand. As usual, the Met had been out of their depth on this one and had called in the world’s only consulting detective.
Sherlock took a deep breath, his eyes closed as he explored the events leading up to the murder in his mind’s eye. Anderson was wittering on in the background, telling Lestrade that this was the last time, he was going to go above Lestrade’s head about inviting a civilian into official police business. Lestrade was just sighing, and waiting patiently for the forensics “expert” to quit ranting and get on with collecting the evidence Sherlock had immediately pointed out on arriving.
At least this case had the potential to be distracting for a few hours, if not in any way intriguing. Lestrade had described a body in an empty warehouse, naked except for his socks and shoes, with a six-inch knife buried up to the hilt in his neck. No signs of forced entry, no signs of struggle. The post-mortem would determine the victim’s toxicology, but Sherlock already had a pretty good idea of what it would say. A mixture of speed and PCP, the man had taken it with his boyfriend (yes, Anderson, his boyfriend - recently divorced, older man trying to keep up with a shallow, twenty-something, petty drug dealer who’d chatted him up in a sleazy bar a week ago) ¸ who then had some considerably violent hallucinations and murdered him with a kitchen knife he carried for protection. Some protection, Sherlock thought dryly.
He opened his mouth to launch a scathing verbal attack on Anderson’s observational skills (appalling, just like his dress sense and ridiculously fluffy facial hair), when his thoughts suddenly came crashing to a halt. His tether was in mortal danger and though calm, was experiencing a severely traumatic event. Sherlock could feel adrenaline pulsing through his body, heat on his neck and a faint smell of cordite in his nostrils.
It had never been this strong before. He could normally push the tether’s invasive presence to the very depths of his mind palace, locked securely away like his brother had taught him. Now, the tether was assaulting his every sense, invading his mind and consciousness like a virus. He noticed distantly that he was shaking, and as he saw Lestrade approach him he held up an arm to force the DI to back off. Sherlock was losing his iron control, unable to cope with the sudden force of the emotions swirling around and through him, and he walked on unsteady legs towards the dark entryway at the back of the warehouse. There was an old office space back there, quiet and out of sight of the concerned faces of the police personnel around him, where he could focus on getting his feelings back under control again. He stumbled towards the office, wondering dimly if Lestrade’s team had been through there yet, when the door unexpectedly flew open and someone shot past him, knocking him backwards to land stupidly on his arse.
The suspect sprang out of the room armed with a hefty length of metal, the leg of an old desk, Sherlock dimly realised, clearly still heavily under the influence of the drugs in his system. Sherlock heard Lestrade shouting at his men to take the man down, but the killer jerked away from them snarling. He’d forgotten about Sherlock, still sprawled awkwardly in the office doorway behind him.
Sherlock forced his tether’s emotions away and leapt up. He was attempting to distract the frantically high man, to allow Lestrade, his taser drawn, to close the distance between them safely and make the arrest. But as Sherlock quickly advanced, he suddenly felt a sharp sting burst in his shoulder, followed swiftly by the most intense pain he had ever experienced, causing him to cry out. The suspect spun around instantly and swung the metal leg of the desk at him with brutal force and surprising accuracy.
The dense metal connected with the side of Sherlock’s skull with a sickening thud, and then everything went black.
******
Sherlock opened his eyes to find he was standing in his Baker Street flat. He glanced around him, taking in the familiar, comforting scent of his home. His violin was resting against the back of his chair, as if he’d been playing, had gotten distracted and had set it down carefully, ready to be picked up and the melody resumed. There were files and papers scattered all over every surface, on the sofa, on the floor, spread out over the coffee table. Even on the mantelpiece, under Billy the skull.
Sherlock frowned, trying to remember which case this chaos related to. It wasn’t the dead man in the warehouse, Lestrade had only called about him this morning and Sherlock hadn’t had chance to steal any files from the DI’s office at New Scotland Yard yet. He bent down to pick up the folder on top of the nearest pile, but when he opened it each and every page was blank.
Puzzled and annoyed, he moved to another pile, picking up the stack of paper precariously balanced on the arm of the other chair, the tatty old plaid one. These pages too were blank.
Tossing them over his shoulder in frustration, Sherlock paced through the sitting room, trying to recall what he had been working on. He remembered Lestrade’s call, the body and the warehouse, and the suspect jumping out at him like a crazed jack-in-the-box. But after that, nothing.
His phone. He’d grab his phone and call Lestrade. The DI was bound to have the suspect in custody by now, and with any luck the man would have come down safely and be ready to talk about his supply chain. Excellent, Sherlock could work with very little information. He could bring down a dangerous circle of drug dealers operating out of questionable gay clubs by nightfall.
He reached into his suit jacket pocket and found… nothing. Thrusting his hands into his hair in exasperation, he looked around to see if he had set it down somewhere, but it was nowhere to be found.
“I need my phone,” he snapped at the empty flat.
Except the flat wasn’t empty. Someone was standing in the doorway.
Sherlock felt the man’s eyes on his back as he turned to face him, fully prepared to hurl insults and deductions at the stranger with all the vehemence he could muster. Something in the man’s eyes stopped him in his tracks.
The man was short in stature, but seemed to Sherlock to be filling the room with his presence. He was compact and sturdy, the subtle strength of his physique camouflaged by the simple jeans, the plaid shirt and the woolly jumper he wore under his jacket. His sandy blonde hair was closely cropped, and there were faint lines of luminous silver running through it. His eyes were of a deep navy, crinkled slightly at the corners as he smiled gently. His smile, his smile was lovely, and Sherlock was more than a little startled at that thought.
“Here, use mine,” the man said, holding out his hand to Sherlock.
Sherlock’s gaze flickered once more over this incredibly gorgeous man who’d materialised in his flat before reaching out to grasp the proffered phone.
His mind was racing, trying to catalogue every aspect of what he saw. His deductions usually came upon him quickly, but now they ran through his brain at breakneck speed and it was all he could do not to press his hands tightly into his eye sockets in an attempt to make them slow down.
Tan lines, close-cropped hair, stance; military. Afghanistan, or Iraq?
Soft hands, strong though, caring nature, a hint of concern in his eyes: doctor?
Cane, holds his shoulder a little awkwardly but almost like he’s forgotten about the pain: limp is psychosomatic, shoulder wound is real.
Sherlock felt a little flush spread up his neck at that thought, as the memory of the pain bursting in his own shoulder leapt into the forefront of his mind. Hastily pushing it aside, he looked down at the phone in his hand, then back to the stranger.
Fairly new model but not brand new, inscription on the back, tell-tale scratches on the sides and at the bottom: gift from alcoholic brother who he’s no longer close to, possibly because of the drinking, more likely because he cheated on his wife.
“Afghanistan,” a voice murmured quietly. “How… how did you know all that?”
Sherlock’s eyes snapped up to meet the wonderful blue ones of the man in the doorway. He hadn’t been aware he was speaking out loud. He paused for a moment before answering.
“I can see it,” he said simply. “I can read your military service in your haircut and your stance and your cane, I can read your medical expertise in your hands and your eyes and your gentle speech. I can read your brother’s drinking in your phone.”
He stopped, waiting for the inevitable reaction to his deductions. He learned quickly that, far from being impressed by what he could tell just from looking at them, the ability to lay out all of their secrets almost instantly made people hostile and vicious.
“That… that’s extraordinary. Brilliant,” the man breathed.
Sherlock was astounded and only just managed to prevent his mouth dropping open in surprise. He tried desperately to ignore the bubble of warmth in his chest at the soft praise.
“You think so?” he asked tentatively, hating the slight craving that had crept in his voice.
“Yes, that was absolutely extraordinary. Amazing.”
“That’s not what people normally say,” Sherlock confessed.
The man in the doorway stepped forward, and Sherlock unconsciously took a step closer to him, inexplicably drawn to this warm, pleasant presence here in front of him.
“What do people normally say?” the man asked.
“Piss off,” Sherlock stated flatly, avoiding the man’s eyes for the first time.
The laughter that filled the air made Sherlock’s heart sing. He looked back at the stranger standing just a few feet away; he had thrown his head back and the cheerful sound of his giggles poured into Sherlock’s ears like warm honey and sunlight. The sound was soon joined by a low rumbling, Sherlock catching himself off-guard by chuckling deep in his chest and throat. It had been so long since he’d laughed, he couldn’t remember the last time he shared it with someone.
The man was wiping his face with his sleeve, his eyes full of wry mirth, and stepped forward again extending his hand in greeting.
“John Watson,” he said, still grinning.
Sherlock hesitated, then covered the outstretched hand with his own, much larger one.
“Sherlock Holmes,” he replied.
The man – John – was smiling as they shook hands for a moment then he let Sherlock’s hand drop again. Sherlock felt a pang in his chest at the loss of contact, but chose to ignore it.
“Oh, and it’s my alcoholic sister, not brother,” John murmured, smirking. Sherlock rolled his eyes dramatically, scrunching his nose in displeasure. There’s always something.
John was looking around the flat, clearly keen to see more, but maintaining his polite manner at the same time. Sherlock gestured to the piles of paper, and John grinned widely, reaching down to pick up the file Sherlock had so unceremoniously tossed over his shoulder.
Sherlock was about to tell John not to bother with that one, that for some annoying reason it was blank, when he saw words and images slowly become visible in John’s hands. Mesmerised, he watched as the file filled itself with information; reports from Molly’s pathology lab, crime scene photos, evidence analysis, interrogation notes from Lestrade.
John was reading through it all with a look of intense concentration, and Sherlock watched the changes in his body with open fascination. John’s stance became more solid and he somehow seemed to Sherlock to be an even larger presence in the room. His shoulders squared, and he stood taller, his cane forgotten in his hand. His mouth was set into a tight line – what he was reading was clearly making him very angry but he was holding it in check, the fury just bubbling away beneath the surface.
Sherlock glanced down at the file John was holding; ah, that would explain the strong emotional reaction.
That case was still unsolved, much to Sherlock deep annoyance. The vicious assault and murder of a young homeless boy had left the police baffled; barely any physical evidence and no viable suspects. His body had been found in a disused bus shelter, not far from a busy industrial estate that the homeless sometimes gravitated to in the depths of winter. The metal huts and shipping containers on the mostly empty estate provided some shelter from the bitter winds and freezing rain, and the boy had been known the community huddled there.
He’d lain in the bus shelter for some time before he was discovered, and the time and harsh winter weather had not been on their side, degrading what little evidence there was and making their task a hundred times more difficult.
Lestrade had been miserable at the crime scene, Sherlock recalled, and angry that a young life had been so brutally ruined and wasted, the teenager left to rot not far from the only people who’d noticed he was missing. Sherlock had felt stricken with sorrow for just a moment before marshalling his feelings and shoving them aside. Feeling sad wouldn’t help the boy, he rebuked himself, bending down to examine the body.
Two months on and the perpetrator responsible for the poor child’s meaningless death was still unpunished. Molly had confirmed the boy’s name and date of birth; Stephen Penrose, age 14, and his time of death was determined at approximately three weeks before he was discovered. Cause of death, a ragged stab wound in his leg, severing his femoral artery, likely made with a long shard of broken glass. He died pretty quickly, small mercy given the extent of his other injuries. His body had taken heavy punishment before the cut that finally claimed his life.
With no clear motive, no CCTV (despite Mycroft’s contribution to the investigation, which Sherlock knew was entirely at Lestrade’s behest) and no DNA evidence, the case had gone immediately cold. No-one had come forward to claim the body. His father had died several years previously, his mother was deemed unfit to look after him and Stephen had run away from the care home shortly after arriving there. Lestrade had wanted to spend more time tracking down the boy’s other relatives, but the pressures of fresh crimes and cases had gotten in the way. He’d given Sherlock the file without protest, the earnest hope obvious in his eyes, hope Sherlock would be able to make headway where the Met had run into a brick wall.
Sherlock had contacted his homeless network and had discovered that Stephen had been close to another boy of a similar age, known as Joe, and that they had both appeared on the streets about a year prior to Stephen’s disappearance. Many of the other homeless people who had known him had assumed he’d returned to his mother, or made his way back to the care home. Sherlock set about finding out as much as he could about Stephen, but even he was struggling. It seemed the case was destined to remain unsolved.
Now, he wanted more than ever to bring Stephen’s killer to justice. The look of determined anger on John’s face indicated that John was in definite agreement.
“So, what do we know?” John asked. “Talk me through it.” He strode across the room and sat down in the tatty plaid chair, looking up at Sherlock expectantly.
Sherlock noticed that John had left his cane beside the door, and his stomach did a funny flip at the sight of John in that chair, just sitting there, looking like he belonged. Casting aside his delight at John’s staying, Sherlock focused more intently on the case. This was his Work, where he excelled, and he was keen to get stuck in with fresh eyes. Maybe he’d see something he had missed the first time.
John was nodding, encouraging Sherlock to begin speaking, and was preparing to write down some notes in a notebook that seemed to have appeared in his hands on the arm of the chair.
Sherlock related every detail of the case, pacing the flat as John settled himself and listened, thoroughly rapt as Sherlock recited what he’d found out.
“Stephen Penrose, 14, disappeared from care and lived on the streets for approximately 11 months with a boy of a similar age, Joe, suddenly disappeared once more, body discovered in a disused bus shelter only 500 yards or so where he was last seen, bled out from a deep wound 3 inches long in his left thigh, severed femoral artery, multiple contusions covering his upper body, indicative of brutal attack from an assailant approximately 5’ 6” tall, and from what can tell by the pattern of the bruising, the attacker was left-handed. The killer dumped Stephen’s body and left it to the elements for three weeks before it was discovered by a team of three new security guards, just introduced by the owner of the industrial estate, looking to drive the vagrants from his property. After clearing the main areas the guards had been checking the bus shelter for squatters. No clear motive, the physical evidence has been degraded by time and weather, just a few generic fibres and no viable fingerprints is all we have to go on. That, and the boy’s tether medication…”
Sherlock paused, frowning. He’d kept that fact between him and Molly until now. The toxicology report on Stephen’s blood had shown a spike in a particular hormone known for being the principle tether treatment in recently presented adolescents. Molly had frowned and made to search through her computer to figure out what the hormone was when Sherlock had quietly enlightened her. Her initial reaction was surprise and she started to ask him how he knew this. Molly Hooper may be a lot of things but stupid definitely isn’t one of them. She promptly closed her mouth, cutting off the question as she realised. Then she’d just nodded, and carried on as normal. Molly wasn’t tethered but now she knew that Sherlock was. He was silently very grateful for her discretion.
Sherlock glanced at John, who had set down his pen and was staring off into the empty space between them, his mouth set in that same tight line as before. He was unconsciously clenching and unclenching his left hand into a fist against the sofa cushion. He was angry again.
“Do you think he was killed for his medication?” John asked. Sherlock shook his head.
“Although it is often mistaken for illicit substances, Peroxycortin does not provide any kind of decent high, and its bitter scent is usually enough to put off even the most desperate junkie.”
He would know, during his own brief stint in the city’s drug dens he’d been approached more times than he could count by addicts who had heard of his deductive abilities. They would bring him mysterious substances, acquired from god knows where, and expect him to figure out what they were. Frequently they were just handing him street drugs that were laced with baking soda or some other filler, but once or twice he’d saved some idiot from snorting or injecting something more dangerous. The puzzle of working out the chemical makeup of the substance presented to him using what limited resources were available had proved a bright lure for his restless mind, and he’d often been paid for his services in substances of a much higher quality.
“So, why kill him then? He was just a kid, I mean, Jesus.” John scrubbed a hand down his face, shifting and fidgeting in the chair. Sherlock saw the action and walked through to the kitchen to make tea. He called through to John:
“Stephen’s death was clearly unintentional, the shard of glass was a weapon of opportunity and the fatal wound was inflicted during the struggle. Despite a year on the streets Stephen was strong enough to fend off some of the blows raining down on him, and judging from the scratches on his knuckles got one or two punches in himself.”
“This feels like it was personal,” John muttered grimly. “Look at the savagery of these injuries, someone was very, very angry.”
Sherlock hummed in agreement. “Split lip and severely swollen right eye, two cracked ribs, fractured collarbone, a vicious kick to the spleen causing internal bruising. They’ve left impressions in the skin, down to the lower levels of the dermis, with the force of their punches,” he said. He handed John his mug of tea, glancing down at the photos in John’s hand. John was right, the anger was evident in the savage beating Stephen had suffered. There were indentations in Stephen’s skin, visible now the blood covering his body and clothes had been washed away. The pattern of the bruising and the impressions though, they almost looked like…
The image came to him in a flash – one of the people he’d spoken to trying to find Joe, a surly young man named Danny, had been wearing a distinctive ring with a woven band that Sherlock was sure would match the marks in the photo.
“Oh!” he exclaimed as the pieces fell together neatly in his mind. His outburst startled John, who looked up at him in amusement and expectation.
Sherlock was reaching for his coat and running out of the flat when he realised John was beside him, grinning from ear to ear. Sherlock threw his arm up to get the attention of the approaching taxi and they got in, Sherlock barking the address at the cabbie.
“So, what’s the plan? I mean, obviously, you know who it is you’re looking for, but you can’t just go haring off without me. Stephen deserves justice, I want to help you find it for him. Even if all I do is run around after you, you lanky git.”
John was still grinning, but his eyes were serious. Sherlock quirked an eyebrow but nodded. John had helped him already, drawing his attention to a detail he had recognised but then dismissed. And having a military doctor around could come in very useful in future, too.
Sherlock took a moment to look at John, to properly take him in again. John was turned away from him, watching the traffic outside the window of the taxi. His hand was settled in the space between them, and it was close enough that Sherlock could almost brush against it with his own. He wondered what John’s touch would feel like on his skin, how those strong hands would feel in his own, how the sun-warmed skin of those fingers would look weaved around and between his own long, pale ones. What would the trigger callouses on John’s left hand feel like caressing his face? What would John’s lips feel like pressed against his own?
Shaking his head in annoyance, Sherlock dismissed the thoughts. He couldn’t afford to be distracted right now, even by something as intriguing as John. He closed his eyes and ran through the details of the case once more.
When he opened his eyes they were standing beside a shipping container with a scraggly-looking girl of about nineteen. John was asking her gently about Stephen, coaxing her to tell them what she knew. Sherlock didn’t remember how they’d got here, but decided not to dwell on it.
“…loved Joe,” the girl was saying. “Danny just… didn’t get it. I knew, I didn’t tell them I knew of course, but it was obvious. Even a prick like Danny could see that Stephen and Joe just fit.”
Sherlock focused his gaze on the girl, and she involuntarily took half a step backwards under his scrutiny. She had heavy but ill-fitting boots on her feet, her hair was a matted, dirty blonde, and her oversized sweater and baggy leggings just emphasised her thin frame. She wasn’t lying to them, and the twitch of her face and the way she rubbed her arms in the cold air indicated genuine care for both Stephen and Joe.
“Joe was Stephen’s tether, wasn’t he?” Sherlock asked quietly.
The girl nodded, tears beginning to well up in her eyes. “They were so happy to have found each other, Joe told me what had happened to Stephen at that care place when they found out he was tethered. Stephen knew it would only get worse, especially after he figured out his tether was a boy, not a girl.” She sniffed and wiped her sleeve across her face. John reached into his pocket and held out a clean tissue, resting a reassuring hand on her shoulder as she sniffled. Sherlock watched the small gesture settle the girl’s nerves and silently marvelled at the simplicity and sincerity in John’s actions.
“So, Stephen and Joe were…?” John started carefully, leaving the question hanging. The girl looked up at him, confused, then shook her head.
“No, it wasn’t like that, not really. I mean, I don’t think it was. They mostly just loved being together, being with each other, y’know? Like they could just spend all day in silence, just enjoying each other’s company. I don’t know anyone I could spend a whole day with without talking, without getting bored.” She frowned, and screwed up her nose in disgust.
“That wasn’t what made Danny jealous though. He thinks he loves Joe and he hated that Joe wouldn’t give him anything, he hated that Joe was happy with Stephen. Then, about a month ago, Joe got sick. Stephen took him to this doctor everyone knows, one of the good ones. He doesn’t turn you away if you’ve not had a bath in a while. The doctor told him that Stephen should go back to where they were staying and get a few of his things so Joe could get better faster. Anyway, Stephen came back and told me where Joe was. He said he was going to do something special for Joe when he was well enough to come back, and off he went. That was the last time I saw Stephen, or Joe.”
She was crying now, tears falling freely down her face. John reached out to pull her to his chest, and though she initially resisted, she quickly folded into his embrace and began sobbing quietly into his jacket. John shushed and mumbled to her, his voice gentle and his hand brushing up and down her back to calm her. Sherlock watched in admiration, amazed by how easily John offered comfort to a complete stranger. He was struck by the thought that, if it were left to Sherlock, the girl would probably have given them nothing. Sherlock knew people did not respond well to his aloofness and his deductions; his ability to get answers was almost entirely based on forcefulness or deception. People trusted John, opened up to him and his kindness, his caring manner. They obviously didn’t see the fierce strength and current of danger hiding underneath John’s woolly jumpers and easy smile. The thought cause warmth to course through Sherlock’s body, a feeling of affection he recognised but normally associated with his tether. The strength of his attraction to John was becoming increasingly inconvenient and confusing.
The girl had stopped crying and John released her from his arms. She looked up at him gratefully, and he smiled encouragingly. Sherlock cleared his throat and carefully asked his next question.
“Did you see Danny that day too?”
Still looking at John, the girl nodded. “Danny came by later, looking for Joe. I told him to leave them alone and he hit me, punched me in the face. Then he stormed off. Do you think…” she trailed off, her face crumpling and a hand flying to her mouth in horror.
“We’ll find him, don’t worry. If Danny did this, we’ll make sure he’s punished for it.” John’s voice was soft but the steel in it was unmistakable. He squeezed the girl’s shoulder one more time before they walked away.
“So, Danny obviously found Stephen not Joe and they argued. Danny lost his temper and started beating Stephen, but the smaller boy unexpectedly fought back. Danny overpowered Stephen and stabbed him in the leg with the glass during the struggle. Stephen bled out and died quickly and Danny panicked, dragging the body to the bus shelter and covering him with rubbish to conceal it,” Sherlock outlined the crime as they walked, noticing John’s clenching and unclenching hand again.
“So, we find Danny, then what? Turn him over to the police?” John asked. Sherlock hummed and nodded, pulling out his (John’s) phone to text Lestrade.
“But you said there was hardly any physical evidence, how are they going to convict him of murder without any evidence?” John was frustrated and increased his pace to a march, matching Sherlock’s own long stride.
“We’ll have to get him to confess,” Sherlock admitted, “Otherwise he will walk free and Stephen’s death will go unpunished.”
John grunted in acknowledgement. “How are we going to find Danny though?”
Sherlock smiled. “We visit with the good doctor,” he replied.
******
Joe was convalescing in a room on his own. The doctor sighed sadly, Joe was not coping with the loss of his tether and had had to be heavily sedated and restrained for his own safety. It wasn’t clear how much longer Joe’s body would be able to hold on while his mind tried to cope with the grief.
“Jesus,” John muttered under his breath. “I’ve seen it before but never to this extent. The grief is literally destroying his mind. He’s dying of a broken heart,” he explained for Sherlock’s benefit.
Sherlock needed no such explanation, he was fully aware of the effects of death on a tether. His brain helpfully began to bring up images from his childhood, of a time when he had been too young to fully understand how and why his brother was suffering so much… Scowling, he forced the door to that area of his mind palace to slam shut, and turned to the doctor.
“Has he had any visitors?” Sherlock asked.
“Yes, just the one actually. Big lad, think he said his name was Johnny, or Donny, or something? Bit weird actually, he kind of stared at poor Joe through the door. Didn’t say anything else. He just left, in fact. You could probably catch up with him… hey!”
Sherlock took off towards the entrance, hearing John’s hasty apologies to the doctor as he followed. He knew what Danny looked like, and as he burst through the doors he caught sight of him walking away. Danny turned and saw him, and set off running down a side street and into the alley behind the safehouse. Shouting to John to go around the other way and cut Danny off, Sherlock ran after him.
He ran into the alley but Danny was nowhere to be seen. Suddenly he felt an arm around his throat and a cold blade at his neck. Danny’s breath was hot in his ear as he pulled Sherlock backwards, further into the damp alley.
“I didn’t mean it, it was an accident. He wouldn’t shut up, he just kept saying Joe was happy, happy with him and I lost my temper. Stupid bastard wouldn’t go down though, the glass was in my hand before I knew it.” Danny huffed a laugh and pressed his knife harder into Sherlock’s neck, drawing blood.
“You can’t prove a thing. It was an accident anyway. If I’d known what would happen to Joe, I never would’ve…”
Sherlock tried to scoff, but the arm around his throat made it difficult. He was struggling for air as Danny pressed more firmly against his throat, the knife still digging dully into his skin. He was starting to wonder where this was going; Danny was right, they couldn’t prove anything, even if the ring matched the impressions in Stephen’s skin. So why was Danny holding a knife to his neck, and where was John?
His second question was answered just as he reached the conclusion to his first. Stephen was not the first boy Danny had beaten the living shit out of. Danny enjoyed having power over others, how many others had suffered at his hands? Killing Stephen though, that had given him a taste for stabbing, hence the stolen knife.
“You’ll want to drop that,” came John’s voice from behind them.
Danny let out a squeak and immediately released Sherlock, who dropped clumsily to his knees to regain his breath.
The knife clattered from Danny’s hand and Sherlock stood up slowly to kick it away. He turned to see John calmly holding a gun to the back of Danny’s head, craning his neck to see if Sherlock was alright. Their eyes met and Sherlock’s heart leapt into his aching throat. The warmth was back, flooding through his veins at the sight of this army doctor, steady and caring, looking back at him.
“Get down on your knees now, Danny,” John was saying, “The police are on their way and you’re going to tell them what happened to Stephen. You owe Joe that much.”
Danny’s bravado was rapidly fading as reality began to set in with John’s words.
“If it were up to me,” John continued coldly, “I’d see you tried for Joe’s murder as well. You know he’s dying in there, right?”
Danny whimpered and started crying. John snorted in disgust, tucking the gun back into his jeans. The snivelling killer was clearly no longer a threat and Lestrade was at the top of the alley, the doctor caring for Joe pointing down towards them.
Lestrade walked towards them, arms outstretched in a gesture that said: Well?
“Ah, Detective Inspector Lestrade, John Watson. And Danny, the man who killed Stephen Penrose,” Sherlock declared by way of introduction.
Lestrade furrowed his brow, then drew out his handcuffs to restrain Danny properly. Sally Donovan was waiting at the top of the alley too, glaring down at Sherlock. He ignored her as Lestrade spoke softly to Danny, letting him know his rights.
John moved to stand by Sherlock’s side. Lestrade walked past them pushing a still weeping Danny in front of him, and mumbled something about statements and so on. Sherlock wasn’t listening, he was too busy watching John again. He could feel the energy buzzing around and from John, and all he wanted now was to get them both back to Baker Street and make John stay there indefinitely.
John met his eyes and grinned shamelessly.
“So, what now?”
******
They stumbled into the flat, still laughing. Sherlock struggled out of his coat and let it fall to the floor as he tried to hang it up and missed the hook completely.
He’d never been this drunk in his life and it made him a bit dizzy. John was sniggering, taking off his jacket and slinging it carelessly over the back of the sofa.
Sherlock tried to fix him with an imperious glare, but John just giggled and flopped down into his chair. Sherlock gave up and sank into the leather chair opposite John’s.
They stayed like that for a while, the laughter dying down in their throats as the air between them grew heavy and still. John reached for his drink, and Sherlock took a sip from the glass he didn’t remember being in his hand.
He drained the glass and set it down on the table beside him, running his tongue over his lips to chase the taste of the whisky. He didn’t really care for whisky but it seemed to be what John was drinking so Sherlock had joined in. He paused when he noticed John’s gaze.
John was staring at his mouth.
Sherlock quickly tried to deduce John’s intentions: elevated heart rate, dilated pupils, eyes fixed on Sherlock’s lips. As an experiment (to confirm his hypothesis, if you will), Sherlock slowly licked his lips and bit down gently on his full lower lip.
John’s breathing quickened and he made a low moaning sound in his throat. So, Sherlock surmised, interested then.
He didn’t get any further with the thought however, because John was out of his chair and kneeling in front of Sherlock, his small strong hands on Sherlock’s thighs and his warm mouth pressed against Sherlock’s own. He sighed into John’s mouth, parting his lips just slightly and allowing John to deepen the kiss.
They lost themselves for a while, just enjoying the sensations. When John finally pulled away, Sherlock opened his eyes, feeling dazed. John was grinning at him again, only this time there was a hint of mischief in his smile that hadn’t been there before. He ran his hands down Sherlock’s thighs then stood and reached down to pull Sherlock to his feet.
Still feeling the effects of the whisky and the feel of John’s kisses, Sherlock allowed himself to be led to his bedroom. John placed his hands gently on Sherlock’s shoulders, pushing him down to sit on the edge of the bed as he stepped back and closed the door quietly. He turned around to face Sherlock once more and slowly dragged his eyes up along Sherlock’s body. Sherlock felt a spark of arousal flit down his spine, and struggled to control the pleasant shiver that ran through his transport.
John was openly staring at him again, the mischief and hunger plain to see in his face. Sherlock was suddenly nervous, unsure of himself for the first time in years. He looked away from John’s deep blue eyes, blinking at the carpet beneath his feet.
John’s gentle hand on his jaw forced his gaze back up again, and he gasped as he saw the open affection in John’s face. John leaned down and touched his lips to Sherlock’s again, the urgent heat of the previous kisses now distilled into something deeper.
The emotions coursing through Sherlock’s brain and body were powerful, and he stamped down the urgent panic rising in his throat as John began to unbutton his shirt, trailing kisses down his neck and across his collarbone as he did so.
“John,” Sherlock breathed, his eyes fluttering closed as those deft fingers brushed along the waistband of his trousers. Somewhere along the line his shirt had slid off his shoulders and John continued placing soft kisses down his chest as he pressed Sherlock to lie down, onto his back on the bed.
Sherlock’s breath hitched and he gasped loudly as John smoothed his hand across the bulge in Sherlock’s trousers, the pressure on his erection suddenly easing as John removed both trousers and boxers in one flowing movement.
Completely naked now, and feeling more than a little self-conscious at the thought of John seeing all of his angular, slim body, Sherlock tried to sit up and draw his arms around himself to cover up as much of it as he could. Before he could close himself off however, he heard John’s warm voice through the cold fear in the air around him.
“You’re beautiful,” John murmured. “So beautiful. You’re exquisite, perfect.”
Sherlock felt his cheeks flush at John’s words but didn’t open his eyes. He tried to force himself to relax, to make his stupid transport obey, but the affection and sincerity in John’s voice was overwhelming. Before the panic could fully take hold John was there, cradling Sherlock in his arms, kissing him softly and murmuring to him.
Sherlock couldn’t remember when John had taken off his clothes and lain down beside him but he sagged into the embrace, his arousal dissipating a little as he struggled to regain control of the emotions continuing to roil through him. John gathered him into his arms even tighter, stroking his hair.
Sherlock couldn’t say how much time had passed but somehow he found he was beneath John, and there was a growing warmth in the pit of his stomach that seemed to extend into his groin and through his legs. The pleasure was gradually building as he slowly became aware of John’s hand wrapped around them both, John’s movements against his body, John’s hot breath against his skin. He cried out as the wave crested over him, flooding his system and silencing his mind. He felt limp and boneless, shuddering as the sensations finally stopped pulsing through him. Dimly he heard John calling his name, and then John flopped down beside him, his face flushed and sweaty.
They caught each other’s eyes, and finally Sherlock understood. He knew now what it was gazing back at him. He could see love in John’s eyes, and he could only hope that his own expressed it just as clearly.
They folded into one another’s arms again, and then drifted into a deep sleep.
******
Sherlock woke slowly, feeling groggy and heavy. The pleasure and warmth from the body next to him was gone, in its place a cold emptiness. He reached out to touch the person he’d fallen asleep with, but there was no-one there and he couldn’t remember why.
Puzzled and annoyed, he rummaged through his mind palace, sure that he had catalogued some details somewhere that would help him decipher the odd feeling that he had lost something.
Nothing. There was nothing forthcoming about who he had shared an intense, wonderful night with.
Gradually he became aware of his surroundings – soft lighting and a steady beeping noise infiltrated his senses as his brain slowly came back to life. Scratchy sheets, and his feet were freezing. Distinct smell of disinfectant and low voices beside him.
Groaning, he tried to sit up in his hospital bed, only to find a rough hand on his shoulder offering comfort. A spark of hope ignited in his chest, the hand on his shoulder felt familiar but something wasn’t quite right.
He slowly sat up, managed to open his eyes, unsure of what he hoped to see. Lestrade’s soft brown eyes, looking worried but relieved. Lestrade was turning away now, speaking to a doctor who ushered him from the room so that he could properly assess Sherlock’s condition.
Sherlock couldn’t help but feel crushed; he had experienced something passionate and meaningful but it seemed he had been unable to hold onto the details. All he could glimpse was a shape in his mind, a presence that he couldn’t see, or hear, or touch, only feel.
His tether, he had experienced something to do with his tether. That was the only explanation for the sheer intensity of his feelings upon waking.
The doctor was fussing around him, shining a light in his eyes, asking him mundane questions. Sherlock was able to mumble the answers and a retort about the stupidity of asking boring trivia.
The doctor merely shrugged, stepping back and lifting a plastic cup of water to Sherlock’s mouth. He drank gratefully, as his thoughts began to organise themselves.
The suspect in the warehouse had clocked him a good one, the doctor was saying. Sherlock simply nodded, internally retracing his steps to try and pin down something about the tether experience he was so sure had been real at the time.
The doctor examined his reactions once more, and nodded to himself, apparently satisfied.
“You should take better care of yourself in future, Mr Holmes. Your energy levels will be pretty low for a while, seems you hadn’t been eating or sleeping properly,” the doctor chided.
Sherlock tried to shrug in response, sending a wave of nausea and a burst of pain through his aching head. The doctor chuckled, easing him to lie down once more.
“You need to rest, but you’ll be out of here soon enough. You weren’t unconscious for too long and there’s no sign of any lasting damage. We did two scans, just to make sure.”
Sherlock closed his eyes and tried to focus on his mind palace but sleep tugged at the corners of his thoughts. Just as he felt himself drifting down, the doctor’s voice came to him again.
“Incidentally, I noticed your tether on your scan. I should tell you, Mr Holmes, it’s one of the fiercest connections I’ve ever seen. Your mind, from what I hear, truly is incredible, but the strength of your tether, well…” the doctor trailed off, walking to the door and switching off the lights.
“I hope you meet your tether one day. A love that powerful, that deep, you and your soulmate are clearly meant to be.”
The doctor closed the door as Sherlock internally rolled his eyes at the ridiculous sentiment.
As sleep began to claim him, he found himself wondering, and the doctor’s words echoed into his dreams.
******
The bright, clean atmosphere at Bart’s was a balm to Sherlock’s frayed nerves. Despite following a lead on the Penrose case that seemed to come to him from nowhere, Lestrade’s arresting Danny hadn’t given him the usual satisfaction of a completed puzzle.
He’d come here to examine the body of a 56 year-old male, collapsed in a restaurant. Molly’s autopsy indicated heart failure, but there was no sign of disease or any discernible reason for the man’s heart to just give out like that. Sherlock suspected poison, possibly one of the waiting staff, more likely the angry daughter who’d just found out she was to be excluded from the man’s new will.
He peered down the microscope, wishing for a case more distracting. Lately his thoughts kept returning to what had happened during his unconsciousness on the warehouse case, and although he still couldn’t grasp any of the details, he felt sure that what he had experienced was real in some way.
The presence of his tether had dimmed but the emotions weren’t diminished; confusion, anger and sometimes a bleak despair that drove Sherlock to torture his violin and yell at his landlady to refocus his energies. He knew that his tether was suffering some kind of depression but he was determined not to allow it to consume his mind as well as that of his connection.
Sighing in frustration, he grumpily scrawled his notes for Molly and loaded the next slide.
The door to the lab then swung open and he heard Mike Stamford’s kindly voice, chatting with someone. Mike walked in and greeted him cheerfully, but it was his companion who immediately gained Sherlock’s full attention.
The deductions that sped across his mind felt oddly familiar – ex-army doctor, psychosomatic limp, genuine shoulder wound, very attractive (not important, Sherlock scolded his wayward brain).
The man was calmly looking around the lab, seeming unperturbed to see a suit-clad stranger lingering at one of the stations.
Intrigued by his unassuming presence, Sherlock resolved to find out more about this gorgeous man who’d wandered into his lab.
“Mike, can I borrow your phone?”
Mike smiled knowingly (annoying, Sherlock thought).
“Sorry mate, it’s in my jacket.”
“Here, use mine.”
Sherlock glanced up to see Mike’s companion holding out his phone. Pleased, but resolutely not showing it, Sherlock strode over and reached out to take it, opening his mouth to say a perfunctory thank you.
As he stretched out his hand, his fingers brushed the other man’s, and it was as though a vast array of lights had gone off in his head. He could feel sparks shooting through his body, like electricity coursing within his veins, and the sensations swirled in his mind. It felt as though a lit match had been touched to his tether and his entire being had been ignited into flame.
The feelings and details come rushing back, causing him to drop the phone in his hand and tremble at the force of the feelings surging through him.
“That was absolutely extraordinary. Amazing.”
John Watson.
“He was just a kid, I mean, Jesus.”
Simple plaid shirt, woolly jumper, hiding his powerful physique.
“You’ll want to drop that.” Speaking to Danny.
A kiss, lightning in his head, sensations all over his skin.
“You’re beautiful.”
Love in his eyes.
John.
Sherlock’s mouth dropped open and he stared at the man – John – standing there.
From his expression, it was clear that whatever Sherlock had just remembered, John had too. He was gazing into Sherlock’s eyes and there it was. Again, there it was, right in front of him. Love.
It was all so clear now. John was his tether.
“221B Baker Street?” John was smiling softly, his voice warm and full of hope.
Sherlock could only nod, ignoring the widening grin on Mike’s face as he gathered his things. Molly could finish writing up the analysis, she would be able to interpret his chicken-scratch notes.
The two men brushed against each other’s shoulders as they walked out of the hospital building, their bodies unable to maintain any kind of distance, drawn to each other. Sherlock’s hand found itself entwined with John’s, and his heart felt full at the simple touch.
The kiss they shared on the steps of the hospital was full of promise, the connection between them finally fulfilled.
Sherlock didn’t believe in soulmates, until he found John.
|
Octavia
Saying goodbye to Lincoln and the pups had been difficult, she'd never been far from them for the last few months. They were everything to Octavia, she'd give her life to keep them safe. Deep down in her stomach, Octavia was worried that she was heading towards that very fate. Lincoln had been teary eyed when she'd kissed him goodbye, the pups had been whining for her, their little fat arms reaching out to grab her as she turned and headed for the trucks. It had torn her apart, the fear of never seeing her family again. But Octavia had promised herself, promised them, that she would return. She'd always return.
Anya had gathered enough wolves together that half the Kongedakru pack headed out, at full speed, towards the Sankru lands. It wasn't far, they'd make it within the hour if they floored it. Which was what Anya was doing right then. She was practically leading the pack of trucks that headed towards the territory, Raven and Wick took up the back seat, hobbling together makeshift bombs as they drove,
“Stop! Stop, if you out that wire there its going to throw off the whole detonation system!” Raven growled, Wick huffed and grumbled,
“Yeah, but it I put it here, we can link they all together for a singular blow!” Wick shot back. Octavia rolled her eyes as the two began to argue between themselves.
The young alpha female trained her eyes through the windscreen, to the only truck ahead of them. The one pushing way past the speed limit and with only one passengers. Lexa. She drove like a bat out of hell, leading the way.
Octavia couldn't imagine how the alpha felt right then, her aunt was the cause of all this trouble, she'd spared her because she was family and it had led to this. Because of Nia it was likely an entire pack was dead and gone, that some of their own may be gone, the human might know about them, and Clarke, Clarke might be lost.
“How's Monty doing with the news block?” Anya called to the two arguing wolves in the back. There was a pause, then Raven spoke up,
“He's set up five more firewalls to stop any news spreading, but he's still finding leaks. There has to be more humans showing up. He says mostly phone footage,” Raven had a Bluetooth device strapped into her ear, just for the little computer with Monty to keep them updated. He was a quite beta wolf, who kept himself hidden mostly. Staring at his computers and gaming consoles most of the time. Monty creeped out Octavia, mainly due to his wide eyes and pale completion. Octavia could barely remember what had happened last time humans had cross d into wolf territory. She remembered Clarke tearing them apart, killing all those hunters, so there must have been someone behind the scenes, working to keep that out of the news? Maybe the hunters had their own network of cover ups. Just like the Kongedakru did. Octavia definitely knew that if the human truly did find out about them, they'd be in some serious shit.
It was bad enough that some human hunters knew, that they came looking for then. For their pelt, their blood, their lives. If the rest of the human race discovered what lurked in the shadow, just beneath the surface, only Mother Moon would know what would happen. Octavia feared for her pups, for her pack, her family. She feared that if they didn't stop Nia and her pack of mongers that they, the Kongedakru, would suffer the most.
“Good. Good, keep him on it, tell him I'll make him 50 cookies every time he stops a leak,” Raven scoffed at the promise, relaying the message through her ear piece quickly,
“He said your on,” Raven passed on the message and Anya gave a tight smile. The tension in the truck was high, Octavia could feel her inner wolf, her alpha blood, pulsing through her. She couldn't sit still, her fingers rapped against her thighs, feet patted the foot well beneath then. She envied Raven and Wick for being able to busy their hands as they drove. Envied Anya for being able to concentrate on their route. Though that didn't last long.
The truck ahead was pulling over, along with the rest that followed, as Anya mirrored their Alpha's vehicle, Octavia was jumping free from the confines of the truck, stripping off where she landed. She was ready. Lexa approached her wolves, face set, shirt and pants clean from her body, she stood in her underwear, body tense.
“Anya, Penn, stay with Raven and Wick till the bombs are ready, then you know what to do. The rest of you, we join with the Floukru on the eastern ridge, then we attack,” there was a chorus of agreement as the wolves began to strip down to nothing but their bare flesh. Octavia was already by Lexa's side, following her into the dense trees that surrounding their vehicles,
“I'll be on your left,” Octavia said quietly. She only got a nod from her Alpha. She could feel Lexa's aura pulsing, pushing out all around her, it had felt that way since the crazed human man had bitten her a few days ago. It felt feral, wild, powerful. Every muscle in Lexa's finely tuned body was tight and coiled, almost completely visible under her olive skin. Octavia couldn't help but admire her, Lexa was the goddess Octavia admired. Such a strong, powerful leader, the perfect alpha. The mighty Alpha,
“Keep alert. We don't know how many Azgeda or Sankru are left,” Lexa grunted as she disappeared to shift forms. Octavia followed suit, feeling confident and strong, knowing Lexa was by her side, she knew she'd see her pups again.
Bellamy
Echo refused to move from where she'd sunk to the floor, her eyes still wildly staring around the white corridor. Bellamy toyed briefly with the notation of leaving her there, but he knew he couldn't. So he gathered her in his arms, hoisting her up against his chest. Echo buried her face into the nook of his neck as Bellman began to move down the brilliantly white corridor. It was so brightly lit that the fluorescent lights had begun to make his eyes ache.
The scent of an omega still filled his nose, pulling him to follow it. It smelt like a heat, a damn strong one at that, but they were no where near a full moon, the usual time for an omega to hit their heats. It couldn't be possible. Echo whimpered in his arms as they got closet to the source of the scent, it washed over the both, not effecting them quite as badly as it would an Alpha, but they could feel it. Like an electric buzz across the skin, a current that tingled every hair folic to stand on end,
“I can smell them Bell, I can almost taste them,” Echo whined. Bellamy looked down at her, meeting the red ring iris’s and wondered if the Wolf's Bane that ran through her blood made her feel like an Alpha. He knew the drug, the poison was made by cutting a certain plant with only Alpha blood, so maybe those particles had begun to make Echo be more susceptible to the omega scent.
“Where?” he asked, his tone unsure. If there where omega wolves trapped down here, he had to save them. If Nia had trapped them, he couldn't imagine what torture they'd been through after what Clarke had told him Nia had planned for her.
“Ne..next door,” Echo whine, buying her face against him again. He could see it, the last door before what he hopes was an exit. He reached it and carefully set down Echo on the floor. She instantly began clawing at the white door, drawing her nails harshly against the metal frame, a low growl in her chest. Bellamy took a breath, his senses over whelmed by the omega scent. He pushed and stepped inside, eyes wide at the sight.
Two young omegas, a male and female, lay strapped down to identical metal tables. They were unconscious by the looks of it, several tubes hanging from their main arteries, pumping blood towards a station behind them. Bellamy paused for a moment, taking it all in. All the lab equipment, all the blood tubes, and the vials. Stacked neatly to the left of the door sat two sets of different colored vials. One he knew instantly to be Wolf's Bane, the luminous purple standing out against the white walls and silver tables. The other, which Bellamy hoped deep down was a cure, was a buttercup yellow. Like the sun on a beautiful summers day. It radiated warmth as he approached it.
“Don't…please…no more…” the strained, cracked voice came from the male omega on the metal tables. Bellamy turned to see him, the boy was pale, but clearly his skin should have been a deep brown before half his blood was drained, “Pl…plea….se…” the boy begged as Bellman approached, “No…no more…” he whimpered, his omega scent overflowing Bellamy's senses. Echo whined from the door way. Carefully Bellamy began to undo the tubes from thr boys arms, sliding the needles free from his pale flesh, applying pressure to the puncture wounds as he did,
“What's your name?” Bellamy asked, trying to keep his tone calm and level. The boys eyes rolled up to meet his own, scared and wide. He stared for a moment, unsure of this new wolf that loomed over him,
“Mill…Miller..” he whimpered as Bellamy moved onto the restrains that held him down, from his wrists to hos ankles. The boy held deathly still as Bellamy worked, his breaths coming in short pants. He was scared,
“I’m going to get you somewhere safe,” Bellman reassured Miller again, helping him up to a sitting position, legs hanging over the edge of the metal table. The boy whimpered as he moved, his body stiff and aching,
“They…they took our blood. Played with it. That woman, the one with the white hair…”
“Nia. She did some bad shit, and I'm going to get you away from it,” Bellman promised, “Can you stand?” Miller nodded slowly, wiggling with toes slightly. The beta male turned to the girl then, she was just as pale as Miller, hair fanned out around her head, it looked unwashed, unkempt. Bellamy had to wonder how long these kids, these omegas had been down here, “Do you know her name?” Bellamy asked as the room around then shook. Like an earthquake was above them, like a monster wolf was stomping around in anger. Like Nia knew where Bellamy was.
“Munroe…she's been here longer then me, they tried to get her to do thing…with the alphas…” Miller shuddered as he spoke, his eyes dropping to the ground, “I don't think she did. But they kept trying. Even when I was here,” the boys tone dropped to sadness, rather then fear,
“She comes too,” Bellman said, more to himself then to Miller, stepping towards the girl to undo her from her own tubes and restrains. He worked quickly, the ground above them had begun to shake more violently. Be time Bellman had undone the leather straps on Munroe's arms and legs, removed the tubes and needles, she begun to stir, “Hey, hey. Its okay. In going to get you out of here,” Bellamy soothed as the girl cried out in shock, in fear. She scuttled against the metal table she lay on, gathering herself into a ball.
“Munroe, Munroe, it's okay, he's going to help up,” Miller urged, struggling to his feet. Bellamy eyed Miller as he walked forward, almost like a baby deer, “We’re getting out of here,” the young omega reached for the girl, his friend. She moved towards him, folding against his chest. Just as Echo had done to Bellamy not a few minutes before. The room rumbled, a few tiles from the ceiling clattering down onto the floor. Nia knew.
“Fuck, we have to go. Now,” Bellamy ordered, helping Munroe down from the table. As they headed to the door and a whimpering Echo, Bellamy paused. He darted to the table lined with vials. Grabbing as many of the buttercup yellow vials as he could, Bellamy ripped a strip of his shirt away, wrapped the vials within it and tucked then into his pocket. Maybe this would be what they needed for Lexa, maybe this would redeem him. |
The Elves were impressive drinkers. On that point, Thorin had to concede defeat.
It had been a long time since he faked his way through a drinking contest, but waking up without a headache, with all the elves still snoring, made him feel that as cowardly as it was, it had been the right choice. His fellow dwarves were also stirring, and a quick glance at their portal-finder revealed that he was already awake. Bilbo, as far as he was aware, had not faked his way through the drinking contests. That merited just a little bit of grudging respect.
“Which way?” Thorin hissed, and Bilbo pointed. The dwarves trooped out of the room as quietly as they could. The evening before, when the party had not yet been in full swing, Bilbo had mentioned quietly that Myrtle smelled another portal, somewhere within the Palace. Kíli had taken that moment to ask Captain Tauriel if there was any way they could get a tour, but she refused. Moreover, Thorin had mentioned some of Thranduil’s strangeness during the audience, though he had not mentioned “the sundering,” deciding to wait until Gandalf rejoined them to open that can of worms. So they had taken it upon themselves to “help” the Elves get to sleep, while they explored.
Myrtle led, waddling doggedly forward, no doubt or hesitation in her gait. They had not gone far before it was very clear that without Myrtle, they would have gotten hopelessly lost down here. Something was addling his stone sense, and Mingalaz looked a little unsteady on her feet. He glanced back at the company. All of the flying dæmons were being carried, and none of them looked particularly well.
“The sooner we get out of this place, the better,” Mingalaz muttered, and Thorin scratched behind her ears.
“Something is definitely not right in this world,” he agreed quietly. “As friendly as our hosts were.”
“Was it the spiders or the fact that all of our dæmons were terrified from the moment we entered?” Glóin grumbled, and they all fell silent again.
The descended deep underground, stopping finally in a wine cellar. There was no sign of a portal, Thorin observed ruefully. Maybe Myrtle had been thrown off as well. But the badger sniffed and scratched along the wooden floor, stopping finally on a trapdoor, her snout pointed straight down.
“It’s right underneath this,” Myrtle declared confidently.
“Can you tell how far?” Bilbo asked nervously.
The badger scratched her chin with her claws in an oddly human gesture. “It’s a bit of a fall,” she admitted finally, waddling off the trapdoor as she noticed Bofur moving to the release lever. Bofur tugged it, and the floor tilted down, revealing a fast flowing river beneath. The morning light was decent, but there was no sign of a portal.
“It’s underwater again,” Bilbo muttered, rubbing his temples. “Because hobbits are known for being strong swimmers.”
“We’re not much better,” Bofur pointed out, entirely too cheerful.
“Uncle, why don’t you ask that compass again?” Fíli suggested. “Where the portal is exactly, or if it’s safe to jump down…” His dæmon was scurrying around the room excitedly, sniffing everything she came across and occasionally just jumping in place.
“No sense of danger, that one,” Mingalaz muttered, but Thorin took out the compass anyway. Ori was instantly at his side, quill at the ready, but Thorin struggled to think of a question. He might not be able to understand any of the answer if he asked the wrong question, and then what would the point have been?
Thorin shook his head. He could ask as many questions as it took. “Where is the nearest portal?” he asked, frowning when the needle only moved once, onto a symbol that looked like waves. Underwater then. Unambiguous enough. “Should we enter that portal?” The needle moved much more this time, and even with the symbols assembled in front of him thanks to Ori, he had no frame of reference.
Bilbo was peering around him to look at the book, and he stepped aside to give the Hobbit room. Bilbo’s brow was furrowed in deep concentration, and it was almost cute- Thorin banished the thought. He remembered the way Bilbo had hidden himself under tree roots instead.
“Maybe the arrow here means continue?” Bilbo suggested suddenly, breaking Thorin’s train of thought. He was tapping the line of symbols thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s saying, if you don’t want the elves to catch you, or, if you want to continue. Those both sounds like yesses.”
“If your interpretation is correct,” Thorin observed. “It could mean that if we drop down there, we will be shot full of arrows.”
Bilbo’s face fell. “Oh, I guess you’re right,” he admitted.
“I think we’ve found the solution to that!” Kíli announced. It was with dread that Thorin looked over at his nephews, finding them standing in front of empty wine barrels.
“With these, we can control our descent some, and if they start shooting, the wood feels sturdy enough to repel an arrow or two,” his dæmon explained, bouncing around excitedly.
Thorin gritted his teeth. It wasn’t a bad idea, not by Kíli’s usual standards, but his nephew was too casual. His dæmon addressing the company when there was an outsider among them was not the least bit proper. Myrtle could speak freely because clearly hobbits did things differently and saw no harm in the physical manifestation of their souls speaking to strangers, but Kurdaz needed to keep his tongue reined in. They would need to have a word or two about it, but later.
For now, he simply said, “Move the barrels into position,” raising his voice as the company protested. “Any who wish to simply jump down there are welcome to.”
It was a tight fit in the barrels for some of them, their dæmons large enough to merit a barrel of their own, but the risk of being separated and dying from the bond snapping was too great. Thorin was snug with Mingalaz, but at least she didn’t have horns. Glóin was less fortunate, but his dæmons’ large horns did solve the problem of how to pull the switch to open the trapdoor: by putting them in the last barrel, his dæmon could simply turn her head and hook the handle with her horns.
Then they were plunging down, into frigid depths. There was no rain of arrows, so grudgingly, Thorin privately admitted that maybe Bilbo had been right: when they surfaced, they were clearly in another world. They were still on a river, but there were no trees anywhere. The barrels sat in a calm spot on the river, bobbing up and down gently, but not floating off in any particular direction. To their left, beyond the beach lay mountains, and to the right, flat scrubland as far as the eye could see.
“Which way?” Mingalaz coughed, spitting out water and shivering against him. Thorin repeated the question to Bilbo, who shrugged.
“Myrtle’s too close to the portal we came through to sense anything else,” Bilbo said apologetically.
“The mountains seem more promising,” Balin suggested. “Do you see anything in the other direction?” he asked his dæmon, who was flying above the company in an attempt to scout. She just shook her head and flew back down.
“No towns,” she croaked. “No woods. Just grass.”
Well that settled it. “Make for the mountains,” Thorin ordered, and the company began the slow process of paddling their barrels toward the shore.
Bilbo Baggins was soaked. Straight to the bone, if he felt like exaggerating, and frankly he did. It was starting to become a theme with him, and wasn’t that an unpleasant thought. At least this time the dwarves were all in the same state, but it wasn’t enough to keep the doubts at bay. Maybe they shouldn’t have left Mirkwood so hastily. The Elves had been thoughtful hosts, and they’d had a very enjoyable evening. But even without Thorin’s tenuous doubts about the Elvenking, the way their dæmons reacted to the place was reason enough to move on. Bilbo knew that. But it was hard not to feel any resentment. Thorin’s nephews, and Bofur and Bombur, had been friendly and welcoming the night before, and beating them all in the drinking contest had been enough to earn their camaraderie in the morning, but still Thorin watched him with an unfriendly eye.
“It’s nothing personal lad,” Balin said, surprising Bilbo out of his reverie. “Thorin appreciates that you’ve more skill and sense than he initially thought, but he’s slow to trust. A king must be, you understand.”
“I don’t really,” Bilbo admitted. “We don’t have kings in the Shire, so it is hard not to take it personally, but if you say it isn’t, I suppose you know best.”
“If you manage to find Gondolin, Thorin will be so overjoyed, he might ask you to marry him,” Balin’s dæmon croaked, with what sounded like a hoarse laugh.
“Don’t say that where he can hear you,” Balin cautioned with a chuckle of his own. “But our Thorin never does anything by halves. So when he decides you can be trusted, you may wonder what you have to do to get rid of him.”
Bilbo accepted this information with a nod and a blush, saying nothing. It was heartening to know that Balin was so certain that Thorin would eventually thaw towards him, though he hoped Balin’s dæmon was joking. What a change that would be! It was hard to imagine.
It was especially hard to imagine at the moment, in the company of 13 very soggy dwarves, not a one of them with dry clothing. Their dæmons were not much better off, particularly Dori’s. Thorin had ordered them to make for the mountains, but it was clear very quickly that this did not mean they were up for exploring the mountains at the moment. What they needed was a sheltered cave and a warm fire, and blessedly Daisy found a cave fairly quickly. Glóin and Óin soon found sufficient firewood, and before long good cheer was restored by having a warm fire and somewhere to hang their wet clothes.
The day was still very young, the sun not yet near its peak, and the weather was fine, so it didn’t take long before the younger dwarves grew tired of the cave, and took to roughhousing on the beach. Even their dæmons got in on the action, their playful nipping looking much more dangerous to Bilbo. Initially it was just Fíli and Kíli, with Ori off to one side practicing with his slingshot, but before long the cave was mostly empty, the other dwarves joining in for some sparring. In the end, it was just Bilbo and Thorin left in the cave, Bilbo jumping every time Balin’s dæmon snapped at Óin’s, or when Glóin’s dæmon caught Dwalin in the chest.
They were all clearly having fun, if the cheeky grins and wide smiles all around were any indication, and that was what calmed Bilbo down. Moreover, their dæmons seemed to have recovered from whatever it was that had troubled them in Mirkwood, every bit of sluggishness gone. “I don’t understand why they seem to enjoy pain so much,” Bilbo observed to Myrtle, forgetting Thorin was still there. “But I suppose cheerful, half-naked dwarves are nicer to deal with than soggy, irritable ones.”
“It is not the pain they enjoy,” Thorin replied, startling Bilbo, who very luckily did not jump up or shout. “It’s the exercise, the feeling of testing your strength against a worthy opponent…” Thorin trailed off, and Bilbo looked over at him. Thorin was gesturing with one hand, as if he were grasping for the words.
“You are weak, and would not understand,” Minty muttered, her voice a low growl. The words felt like a slap, but Bilbo couldn’t deny their truth. He looked back at Thorin, and noticed that the dwarf’s mouth was pressed into a thin line, as if he agreed with the sentiment, but wanted to chastise his dæmon for her lack of diplomacy.
“You’re probably right,” Bilbo agreed with a hand over Myrtle’s mouth so that she couldn’t interject. Thorin and Minty both looked a little taken aback by his frankness. “What? Is it so strange to be aware of my own deficiencies?”
Thorin shook his head. “No, but it is strange to admit to them easily. We are a proud race. Some might think such an admission makes them lose face.” There was something in Thorin’s eyes as he said this that Bilbo couldn’t place. It wasn’t strong enough for admiration, but maybe just a little bit of respect?
“Well, we have a saying in the Shire,” Myrtle said, freeing her snout from Bilbo’s grasp. “The first step to fixing a problem is admitting you have it in the first place. If there are weeds choking your tomatoes, it’s hard to keep your tomatoes alive if you refuse to admit that those weeds aren’t part of the tomato plant.”
Thorin was watching them both intently now, and it was a point of pride for Bilbo that he didn’t look away first. “You wish to learn to fight?” Thorin seemed surprised that he was even asking this question, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“It probably wouldn’t be the worst idea,” Bilbo admitted. “There’s no need to learn in the Shire, but I was helpless against the spiders. That didn’t feel good. Not that I have a weapon anyway.”
Thorin considered him silently for a moment, though Minty groomed herself disinterestedly. Bilbo wondered which of them was being sincere. Maybe both? Dwarves were different, after all.
“If you truly wish to learn, we have weapons enough,” Thorin said finally, rising. Minty stretched languidly, following suit. “I will speak to Balin about it.”
“Thank you,” Bilbo said, and Thorin gave only a little nod of acknowledgement. Still, it was something.
Their clothes and supplies were still damp after their lunch of fish, fresh caught from the river, so Bilbo’s lessons were to begin immediately. He was given one of Fíli’s apparently copious knives, with an assurance that the dwarf prince was stuffed full of them, so he didn’t need that one back. Bilbo wasn’t sure he could do much damage with something that small, but he also doubted he could lift anything bigger, so it would have to do.
His lessons were an object of interest for the rest of the company, who watched Bilbo ineptly try to match the positions Balin taught him, and shouted words of encouragement. It was distracting, which was not helpful, and Myrtle kept up a near constant stream of muttering about the uselessness of dwarves, but Bilbo didn’t mind. They actually cared about the outcome of his training, which meant they hadn’t written him off yet. It didn’t occur to him at the time that maybe all the shouting would draw attention. After all, the elves had been friendly enough.
The residents of the one other world they had visited being friendly was not enough of a sample to be basing their behavior on, as they would all soon learn.
Eventually, as dwarves started checking their clothes and finding them dry enough to be putting back on, Balin finally called a halt to the day’s lesson. Bilbo was sore in places he’d never been sore in before, sweat-soaked, and exhausted, but at least he knew how to hold the knife correctly, and maybe even a few of the positions. He wondered, as he pulled his jacket back on, what his relatives would say about all this. Or what they were even saying right now. He had vanished from Bag End without a word to anyone. Someone probably saw him get thrown into the river... but he hadn’t come up again. Oh.
“Myrtle, we can’t go home, can we?” he asked her quietly as they broke camp.
“They might think you’re some kind of shade, or a wight,” she agreed unhelpfully. “Though I suppose shades don’t usually have dæmons. But Gandalf said he thought we’d find our home out here somewhere, so there’s no time for regrets of that kind.”
“We can’t get back even if we try,” Bilbo realized, squeezing Myrtle a little tighter than was comfortable for either of them. “The portal back to Mirkwood leads to the forest river, and who knows where it leads. I guess there’s no choice now.”
“That’s the spirit,” he heard Bofur say somewhere behind him, but he didn’t turn or acknowledge the comment. It was a little exhausting, realizing that there was really no going back.
For once, Bilbo wasn’t leading, the dwarves depositing him safely in the center of the pack with Ori. Dwalin and Daisy led, the wolf dæmon keeping a sharp nose out for any sign of trouble as they looked for some kind of mountain pass, or a cave that led deeper. Bilbo would have expected Thorin to lead, being in charge of this quest, but Nori informed him discreetly that their leader had a rather poor sense of direction. The bird dæmons scouted ahead as far as they could without straining their bonds, but the owls could see little in daylight, and the other birds confirmed there wasn’t much to see. The mountains were tall and stretched for hundreds of miles to the north and south, and that was about all they could report.
Still, eventually Daisy found a path, which led to a pass through the mountains, or at least they hoped it did. Bilbo heard at least one dwarf grumble about the prospect of walking back down if this pass didn’t pan out, but finally, as night was falling, Ori’s dæmon found another cave for them to shelter in. Just in time too, as Bilbo’s legs were just about done. He’d always been a good walker, but he didn’t usually climb mountains after being taught to fight.
“Are you okay there, Bilbo?” Most of the dwarves were helping with the fire or gathering the materials for dinner, but Dori had apparently noticed the panting, slumped hobbit despite all that. His cat dæmon was already sauntering over to check on Myrtle.
“Just a little winded,” Bilbo replied, waving his hand dismissively. “It’s not every day hobbits climb mountains, you know.”
Dori nodded. “Don’t stay up too late after dinner,” he advised Bilbo. “Until Myrtle picks up a scent, we don’t know how much more mountain there is to go, so you’ll need your strength.”
This was agreed to easily enough, along with the generous portion of dinner. Bilbo did miss the usual hobbit meals, but it was hardly practical to stop every hour for food, especially when they didn’t know whether anything in the next world would even be edible. It was an adventure, and some sacrifices were going to be necessary.
“Do you smell anything yet?” he whispered to Myrtle as they settled in for the night.
“I might,” she admitted. “It’s faint, and I think it’s inside the mountains somewhere.”
“I’ll mention it to Thorin in the morning,” Bilbo decided, and that was when the ground dropped out from under them. |
When he came to bed, Sig slept already; and Bilbo was groggy in the morning when they awoke, and as they made their goodbyes to Uncle Isengrim. So they did not speak until they had been on the road a while, but eventually Sig could be quiet no longer.
“It seems Fili is not the type to want a mother for his children after all,” he said. “You are moving in high circles.”
Bilbo sighed. “He is very beautiful,” he admitted. “But he is also too young. I should feel ashamed.”
“But you don’t?” Sig asked.
“No,” Bilbo replied. “I should regret it, but I cannot. I don’t know where it comes from in me.”
Sig clasped his shoulder. “You are half Took,” he said, “and Tooks are often wild.”
“Don’t remind me,” Bilbo said. “I do not have a good example.”
Sig squeezed his shoulder, and let his hand drop. “Neither have you already made vows, or even a promise. I do not think you have what she did in you.”
“I do not like to think it,” Bilbo said. “But if anything makes me want to feel remorse, it is her lack of it.
“I think she feels remorse now,” Sig told him.
“But in the moment?” Bilbo asked him. “These past twenty-eight years?”
“I don’t know,” Sig said.
They made good time, and as they left the river valley the road past the farms became a track, with the foothills of the mountains on their right and open grassland to their left.
“I don’t think the Dwarves often go to Rivendell, or the Elves to Khazad-dûm,” Sig said, as the grass began to push upon the track on the third day.
Bilbo laughed. “No, it seems not,” he said. “Only curious Hobbits!”
“Hobbits, the explorers of Middle-Earth!” Sig returned, and they continued in this way for a while.
As they settled down for luncheon, Bilbo and Sig observed a figure riding a horse come from the Rivendell way. They could watch him for a while over the rolling land, and they sat at the top of a hill. He was dressed in grey, and his horse was white; and somehow as he came closer, Bilbo began to think he looked familiar, though he could not think why. He told Sig as they packed up their luncheon and began to walk again.
“I cannot place him,” Bilbo said. “And I have not been to Bree so often as that; I don’t know many Men. And he is yet some distance away! But I cannot shake the feeling.”
Sig looked ahead as the grey figure came into view. “I couldn’t say,” he said. “Only for some reason he makes me think of the Party Tree. So I suppose I feel the same.”
“How very odd,” Bilbo said. “I wonder when we shall meet. By teatime, do you think?”
Sig shook his head. “Sooner, I think,” and indeed, it was less than an hour before they closed the distance between them.
“Hobbits!” said the figure in grey. His robes seemed to be layered in all different shades of the colour. “You come a dangerous way, my friends.”
“You have just been through it,” Bilbo said. “What do we have to fear?”
“Wolves, mainly,” he said. “Though on occasion, Orcs as well.”
“Orcs!” Sig cried. “Why would they not say anything in Khazad-dûm? They knew we came this way.”
“The Dwarves do not often visit the Elves,” said the man. “I do not know if they know it.”
“That’s true,” Bilbo reminded Sig. “We marked how little the track was used.” They looked at each other.
“What shall we do?” Sig asked him.
Bilbo turned to the man in grey. “How long do you think it, by foot?” he asked. “And did you see signs of Orcs?”
“Eight more days,” he said. “Seven if you hurry, and don’t stop for all your meals.” He paused. “I saw no Orcs,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean they may not come down out of the mountains.”
Bilbo looked to Sig. “You didn’t volunteer for Orcs,” he said.
“No,” Sig said. “But I hate for you not to go after all.”
The man in grey sighed. “I see my business in Khazad-dûm will have to wait,” he said. “I will return with you to Rivendell.” He bowed. “Gandalf the Grey,” he said. “With whom do I travel?”
Bilbo looked at him. “Perhaps you should go on to Khazad-dûm after all,” he said. Gandalf looked affronted.
“He’s had a bad week,” Sig said. “I wouldn’t take it personally.”
“I am, actually,” Gandalf said, “known to many Hobbits. I have not found such a greeting usual.”
“Like I said,” Sig said. “Bad week.” He bowed. “Sigismond Took, at your service.”
“Ah,” said Gandalf. “Perhaps you saw my fireworks? At the Old Took’s eleventy-eleventh birthday?”
“We thought you looked familiar!” Sig exclaimed.
Gandalf turned expectantly to Bilbo.
“Bilbo Baggins,” he said.
“Ah,” said Gandalf. “I know your mother, I believe—“
Sig interrupted him. “I really wouldn’t. Bit of a touchy subject.”
“But Bella Took is your mother, is she not?” Gandalf persisted.
Sig winced.
“Belladonna Took gave birth to me,” Bilbo said, Baggins polite, as if he complimented Gandalf on his fine whizpoppers. “I have no mother; I thank you for asking.”
“Oh dear,” Gandalf said. “Still, I do not think I would be welcome in Hollin should harm come to you. I will accompany you to Rivendell.”
“Thanks a lot,” said Sig. “He’s going to Baggins us to death now.”
***
Aside from his unfortunate connection to Bilbo’s—to Belladonna, Gandalf proved an amiable travel companion. He rode beside them, his lovely horse (whose name, he said, was Shadowfax) at a gentle walk, and told them of the beauties of Rivendell before them, and of many other places where he had travelled. Sig asked some questions, and Gandalf answered; and sometimes the other way around, but Bilbo kept his eyes on the forest beginning to rise in the distance and did not speak unless Sig asked him a direct question. Gandalf was charming, and spoke to Bilbo early on; but soon enough he learned better, and directed his conversation to Sig.
Bilbo found it hard not to like him, but he persevered. Gandalf had introduced Belladonna to Dwalin, she had said; and it seemed, had fully encouraged her immersion in Dwarven society to such a degree that she—well. That she did what she had done. Though Bilbo supposed it was unfair to blame the Dwarves entirely. It seemed the Hobbits of Hollin were equally to blame. And Gandalf. He felt entirely free to blame Gandalf the Grey. He supposed his parents’ marriage should have been happy if they had remained in the Shire, away from such influences.
As they settled in to their evening camp and waited for their stew to heat, Gandalf tried again to speak to Bilbo.
“I am astonished to see you so grown,” he said. “I believe when I last saw you, you were only a fauntling.”
“I am sure it is so,” Bilbo replied.
“And you have come now, to live in Hollin?” Gandalf asked. “From the Shire, I should think you would take the East Road to Rivendell.”
“We shall take the East Road home,” said Bilbo. “We live in the Shire.”
“So you came to the mountain to visit,” Gandalf said. “I imagine your mother was happy to see you.”
Sig groaned. “Please, Bilbo,” he said.
“I have no mother,” Bilbo said. “When I last saw her, I do not think Belladonna Took was happy, no.”
Sig groaned again, and this time appealed to Gandalf.
“Please, Mister Gandalf,” he said, “Please let it be, else it will be a very long trip to Rivendell; and we shall all be sorry you decided to join us.”
Thankfully Gandalf took Sig’s advice, and said nothing else the rest of the evening.
The next day, Gandalf and Sig conversed as Bilbo walked in silence, and again the day after that. They saw neither wolf nor Orc, but Bilbo knew that did not mean they were not close. He was secretly glad for Gandalf’s protective presence. But on their fourth day of travel together, Gandalf spoke to Bilbo again as Sig walked quietly ahead.
“You are the most cantankerous Hobbit under one hundred I have ever known, Bilbo Baggins,” he said.
“You have been blessed with many Hobbit friends,” Bilbo said.
“Indeed,” Gandalf said. “I have never before had a Hobbit enemy, yet it seems that is what I have in you.” Bilbo thought about that, as they walked through the green dapple.
“I don’t think of you as an enemy, but I can’t think of you as a friend either,” he admitted. “I am sure you are very charming.”
“You condemn me with your praise,” Gandalf responded. “What can I have done that you hate me so? I have not seen you in almost thirty years.”
“No,” Bilbo said.
“Then?” Gandalf asked. “It is a very sad thing to me to see a hobbit so embittered. You are such a happy people.”
“Perhaps it is best if you left it,” Bilbo replied.
“I cannot,” said Gandalf. “You see how it is; it worries at me, and it only grows. I shall soon be able to do nothing but follow behind you fretfully asking ‘why?’”
Bilbo laughed against his will. Gandalf smiled a bit to hear it.
“Very well,” Bilbo said. “I will begin by asking you a question, Master Gandalf; and we will see if you can come to an answer on your own.” Gandalf nodded. “Why have you not seen me for almost thirty years, do you think, sir?”
“You went to the Shire,” Gandalf replied. “It is true I am more often at the mountain, though I do come through the Shire for a birthday party now and again.”
“Yes,” said Bilbo. “I went to the Shire with my father, and my mother—Belladonna—stayed behind in Hollin. Do you begin to see it? I am told that it was her great good friend Gandalf who introduced her to the Dwarf whose child ripening in her belly ended my parents’ marriage. I am told that they had many adventures together that took her away from my father and me.”
Gandalf stilled. “You cannot know the importance of what your mother did,” he said.
“How can I care?” Bilbo asked. “Somewhere in there, she chose these adventures over her family, and then built a new family in the ruins of the old. I hate only her from it; but I can’t like either Dwalin or you, and I don’t think anything could change that.”
Gandalf rode in silence for a moment. “I did not know what we did to you,” he finally said. “And yet I would not change it. I am sorry for it, but even so—your mother’s task—“
“Stop,” said Bilbo. “Soon I shall hate you too. Three is too many for any Hobbit to bear.”
“Three?” Gandalf asked, but Bilbo would not confide in him. After a while, Gandalf said, “Hatred is not meant to grow in a Hobbit’s heart.”
“No,” Bilbo agreed. “It is not.” Sig dropped back to walk next to Bilbo, and Bilbo leaned into him.
“Maybe now you could leave it, Mister Gandalf?” Sig suggested. “It’s only now that Bilbo has learned of it, and the wound is still so fresh.”
“It was a great good she did,” Gandalf said.
“Mayhap,” Sig said. “It was a great evil too.”
***
Bilbo was glad to find that now that Gandalf knew the source of Bilbo’s resentment, he no longer pestered him. It was their last day of travel, Gandalf said in the morning; and then he said nothing else. At last, as the day turned to afternoon, they rounded a bend in the path, and the valley of Rivendell lay before them. Bilbo had never seen such beauty—not the green Shire, not opulent Khazad-dûm. The Elven dwelling was built so that the water ran through and around it, as if it grew out of both the forest floor and the riverbed.
“I shall leave you now,” Gandalf said. “You will be safe the rest of the way.”
“Thank you,” Sig said. “Will you be, Mister Gandalf? Safe, I mean?”
“I shall,” he said. “Shadowfax and I can move swiftly, and I am not helpless against orcs.” He moved his arm to show them he wore a sword. Bilbo had not noted it before; nor had he seen Gandalf’s robes seem to shine through white from below, yet for a moment, they did.
Gandalf turned to Bilbo. “Bilbo Baggins,” he said. “I wish for you that Rivendell may heal you. Please consider staying long enough that it may. I know it is not a recommendation to you, but either your—Belladonna’s name, or my own, shall be recommendation enough for Lord Elrond.” He stopped, and for a moment, Bilbo thought he saw the glint of a tear on his cheek; but then it was gone. “You break my heart,” he said, and then he was riding away. Bilbo and Sig watched him until they could not see him anymore, and then turned to follow the path into Rivendell. |
~Chapter One~
Losing Control
Naruto sighed pleasantly, walking slowly behind the others with his hands folded behind his head. Despite how annoyed he was about the newest member of Team Kakashi, that Sai person, Naruto couldn’t help but internally relax due to the lack of alpha presence. With Sakura being a beta and the two new members being… well, Naruto assumes they’re betas since they don’t have a scent. Who knows, they seem kind of weird. As much as Naruto respected and enjoyed being led by Kakashi-sensei, sometimes his alpha scent was so overpowering and made Naruto have to keep a tight leash on his instincts, so a mission without it was a pleasant change in his eyes.
This mission
Naruto closed his eyes and inhaled deeply to smooth himself. He knew he could never fully relax. They were finally going to get information on Sasuke; that means he was one step closer to bringing him home. After nearly three years, Naruto could feel himself getting closer to fulfilling his promise to Sakura. Naruto couldn’t explain his need to bring Sasuke home, they were always arguing before he left. But when Sasuke did leave, Naruto felt an ache in his chest which he couldn’t explain. Maybe his omegian instincts were working automatically, Sasuke was an alpha that was close to Naruto after all and to leave him so suddenly must have had a negative effect on him.
That should all change shortly though. Despite this being a just an intelligence research mission, Naruto could feel it in his bones that he would see Sasuke. They’d travelled this far, Naruto was sure he’d finally find Sasuke. Just the thought of Sasuke being in the hands of that creepy alpha for this long was enough to fuel his determination, why couldn’t he understand the snake was only using him? It made Naruto’s emotions run wild and he knew he’d have to keep a hold of his anger and bitterness throughout this mission. He couldn’t have his omega scent breaking through his suppressors now.
“There’s no presence of anyone around the Tenchi Bridge yet.”
Sai’s monotone voice brought Naruto out of his thoughts. His eyes snapped to the group in front of him. He’d been so involved with his thoughts about Sasuke that he hadn’t noticed everyone had stopped and Sai had apparently done a perimeter check. Looking around the group whilst Yamato made commands, Naruto’s breathing hitched as he took in the sight of the bridge.
This is it, this is where he’d find out about Sasuke. His skin tickled at the thought for some reason and he rubbed his hand over his neck unconsciously. Strange
As Captain Yamato explained what was going to happen, Naruto found himself listening quietly and not giving much input. His mind was preoccupied, thinking about scenarios for if they saw Sasuke today. He'd convince him to come home no matter what it took, he'd never give up on his comrade. As Yamato continues his instructions, he gave Naruto a photograph to hold for him. He was shocked for a moment to see the Akatsuki member Sasori, before he remembered the task of this mission.
Of course Yamato-sensei needed to see Sasori.
Naruto internally scolded himself for getting so side tracked with his thoughts about Sasuke. He would be no good in this mission if he kept getting distracted by the alpha. Working as hard as he had over the years, Naruto couldn't afford any screw ups with either his abilities or masking his second gender during this mission. Focusing his resolve as Yamato transformed into Sasori and tested his voice, Naruto pledged to concentrate fully on the mission, leaving his instincts under lock and key.
Focus on the mission.
As Naruto, Sakura and Sai parted ways from the transformed Yamato, they made their way to a location where they could see the bridge. Following Saukra, who determined the wind would help mask the presence, they moved closer to the bridge, crouching behind a larger moss covered boulder. Naruto's skin started to inch with uneasiness for a reason unknown to him. It was nearly noon, the heat was rising in their stuffy hiding spot making the trio restless. Naruto broke the heavy silence first.
He growled slightly, something Naruto rarely did as an omegas growl was lighter (thankfully in this situation it could be classed as him trying to be quiet), before he spoke, "That lousy spy, why isn't he showing up?"
The other two were silent for a few moments before Sai's small gasp broke the air.
"He's here."
Both Sakura and Naruto copied Sai's gasp before turning their attention back to the crucial bridge. A figure, whose form was completely covered by a blue robe, stood at the opposite side of the bridge. They seemed somewhat familiar to Naruto but as they held no prominent scent, due to them either being a beta or using suppressors, he couldn't place the person in his mind. He watched intently, breath held, as the figure moved across the bridge, stopping in the middle before looking off to one side. The trio could still not see the spy's face.
The tinkling of a bell informed them of Yamato’s steady approach. The cover of the Hiruko puppet travelled slowly across the bridge to meet up with the spy in the centre. Due to the wind, the trio could barely hear the conversation between the two on the bridge as they engaged each other. It made Naruto nervous and he gripped his jacket sleeve to calm himself.
The spy slowly turned his head and Naruto growled once more, his anger rising due to the figure. Kabuto! Naruto clenched his teeth in anger to prevent any more growls, his hand grips the rock and threatened to crush it.
It was fairly obvious that Naruto has a serious dislike for the beta but he knew he had to try control his anger, for fear of his scent getting revealed. It had never happened before, well, in public that was. There was this one time between missions when he was lazing at home for a few days and forgot his suppressors. Thankfully he got his scent covered again before he left for his next mission. He did get shouted at by Sakura though for not leaving his house, if only she knew the real reason why.
Naruto watched the interaction between Yamato and Kabuto with narrowed eyes, his anger a steady flow coursing through his body. Everything seemed to be going to plan but Naruto couldn’t shake a feeling he had, especially when Kabuto whipped around so determined as if expecting someone.
Then, it all happened suddenly. Naruto smelt him first. It was a scent he would never be able to forget as long as he lived. It was a putrid, vile scent of rotting carcasses yet it was undeniably alpha. Never had an alpha scent made Naruto want to vomit before, they’d made him want to whine and jump the owner but never vomit. It was disgusting, from years of messing with his body with experiments. Orochimaru appeared on the bridge just moments later, causing Kabuto to jump back to ‘Sasori’s’ side.
That alpha
Naruto could barely control his rage at the site of him. He took Sasuke away from him. His Sasuke! The snake wanted to use him for his eyes and body, how dare he! Naruto could feel himself begin to shake as Kabuto turned on Yamato, ruining his disguise. Both of them here is too much for Naruto to bare as the pair joined forces against Yamato.
Naruto continues shaking in silent fury as he can feel his teeth elongating. He knows his eyes must be red by now and his features must have turned more animalistic. Damn it! Naruto tries to regain himself but it’s no use, the sight of these two have left him in a state of pure, unresolved anger.
Naruto’s eyes widen as Yamato gives the signal and he trio leap into action, landing on the bridge before their temporary leader. They were now so close to the snake duo and Naruto recognised they were speaking to them but couldn’t process the words in his fury. That is until, the snake voiced the name on his mind for so long.
“…Sasuke.”
Naruto sees red, he emits short violent growls and his features become even more animalistic. His figure is hunched over and still shaking, his sharpened fingernails ripping into the bridge.
“Give Sasuke back! You give him back!”
Naruto voice is deep and shaken when he speaks, a dangerous aura being emitted from his person. All thoughts of withholding his anger gone the moment he landed on the bridge.
The last thing he notices is the widening of his enemy’s eyes as the nine tailed cloak covers his form before darkness.
“ …’s that delightful sce…”
“…Naruto’s a…”
“…how…impossible…”
Naruto can here faint voices as he teeters on the edge of consciousness. His skin feels like it has been set ablaze and his skull feels crushed. His body is aching entirely.
What happened?
Wincing but unable to open his eyes, Naruto tries to recall what happened. He remembers the mission, it going downhill, landing on the bridge then… nothing at all. His burning body is making it hard for Naruto to think.
I haven’t felt like this since that time with Jiraiya…Oh please - no!
Naruto’s eyes snap open in realisation. He must’ve gone into four tails mode again! But that means… his scent…
Naruto cautiously turns his head, wincing as he does, to look at the people crouched by his form.
Sakura
Yamato-sensei
Naruto could already smell his unique honey omega scent, they surely knew his secret by now. He closed his eyes in aching defeat. He worked so hard to prevent this moment from happening, six years of effort just gone in a moment.
“Naruto”
Sakura’s timid and barely recognisable voice entered his conscious and he opened his eyes to face her. The first thing he noticed was her larger than usual pupils and the slight occasional twitch in her hands, both of which he knew was due to his scent. Despite being a beta, it would still affect Sakura. Glancing to her left, he saw Yamato was faring much better and showed no signs of being affected.
“H-how… W-why did you never say anything?” Reverting his attention back to Sakura, he noticed her voice was unsteady and she had unshed tears in her eyes. She looked like she was struggling to restrain himself and moved to inch forward before Yamato place his hand on her shoulder.
Naruto sighed before replying. “I didn’t wanted to be treated like I was fragile or couldn’t do anything. I want to be hokage, it’s my dream.” Naruto’s voice begins to crack at the end.
He would never be able to achieve that dream now. Surely when they got back to village he would be under strict supervision and mated off as soon as possible, perhaps even to multiple people. People would be fighting for his attention but keeping him under locks. He might never see sunlight again, might even be kept in chains for his ‘safety’. Naruto shivered at the thought, tears welling up in his eyes. He wouldn’t let them fall though, he was stronger than that.
“Oh Naruto,” Sakura started but Naruto’s mind was elsewhere.
Screw his dynamic, Naruto would finish this mission and find Sasuke. He’d never let it stop him before so why now? If he was going to be locked up when he got back, the least he could do in his final mission was bring Sasuke home, he had to.
With new determination, Naruto interrupted Sakura causing her to gasp. Omegas aren’t meant to able to do that or so she thought. She seemed to forget that Naruto was an omega before this day and wouldn’t change just because they found out.
“Enough, Sakura.” Naruto sits up and begins getting to his feet with determination resting surely in his eyes.
“Come on, let’s go find Sasuke!” |
Remus went back in the pub quickly, feeling a bit disoriented. Padfoot had stayed inside since Remus had went out too suddenly after Sirius, but the dog was right at the door as Remus opened it, and started whining and pawing at him.
"Remus? Are you alright?" he heard Lily say distantly.
"I... I need to..." he tried to get to the loo, his feet unsteady, but Lily stopped him.
"Remus, sit down or you'll fall," she said, pushing him in empty chair by the door as Padfoot put his weight on his legs to prevent him from standing up again. Remus could see that the rest of the group was still at their table at the back of the pub, talking to each other.
Thankfully, not looking at him.
He felt a sense of deja-vu, as well as a headache starting at the back of his head. He tried to inhale and exhale slowly, but the horrible numbness started from his spine towards his limbs, going to his cheeks, and he felt dread wash over him. Weirdly, the last thing he thought about before blacking out was the feeling of warmth as he remembered having held someone in his arms. Right now, he just couldn't remember who it had been.
He lost track of time, but could hear an unknown person talking to him in a gentle voice. It sounded like the voice was far away, and he was only hearing its echo, as if he was standing at the bottom of a well. He knew his eyes were open, but all he could see was darkness. He felt trapped in his own body, incapable of screaming, running, of doing anything. He could only endure.
And slowly, the voice became clearer and clearer. He still didn't know who it was, but he somehow knew it was a friend. Someone safe.
"...mus? It's...ly...will...right..." said the disconnected voice.
He knew that voice. He felt like he gained back the ability to speak, so he asked the first thing he thought of. "Lily...?"
"Yes, Remus," the voice said clearly. "It's me, you're alright."
"Lily..." he turned his eyes towards her voice, seeing her blurry edges. He sighed in relief, taking her hand.
"Yeah, it's me. Are you okay?"
"I'm..."
Talking was difficult, like the words were ashes in his mouth.
He tried again, stuttering uncontrollably. "I'm o-okay." He saw her red hair and green eyes looking back at him in concern. "I'm okay," he repeated more clearly. "How long?"
"Only a couple of seconds, Remus. Don't worry, nobody noticed," she said as she turned around to look at their group near the billiards table.
Something nagged at Remus's mind. Something important.
"What w-was I doing?" he asked Lily in a quiet voice.
"You were outside with Sirius, probably talking to him, I don't know. I stayed inside to flush the drugs with Potter, remember?"
Hearing Sirius's name made his heart stutter, because he suddenly remembered what he had been doing outside, and who he had held in his arms.
Christ.
"What happened outside, Remus?" Lily asked, like she was a mind reader.
"I, err... talked to Sirius, like you said. Just making sure he's alright."
"And is he?"
James entered the pub at that moment, saving Remus from answering.
"Hey lads," James walked towards them. "Remus... thank you for, err, what you did. Usually it takes longer for Sirius to get out of that state of mind—"
"It's nothing," Remus answered quickly. "I'm gonna head back now," he said, turning to Lily. "I can feel a migraine starting. But you can stay here if you want."
"Are you sure? Will you, um..." she looked sideways to James, who seemed to be listening intently, his eyes squinted behind his thick glasses. "Will you be alright?" She asked quietly.
"Yes, of course. See you tomorrow? Say hi to everyone for me," he nodded towards the back of the pub.
"Will do," James said, perplexed.
"Be safe!" Lily added.
She waited until Remus was out of the pub to turn around and ask James, "What happened out there?"
"They, err... well, it seemed like they were in each other's arms when I arrived," he answered with an honest smile.
"You're joking," she replied, bewildered.
"Why would I joke about that?"
"It's... well, a bit unexpected," Lily said, still gaping.
"Is it really? I mean, there's clearly something there, no?" James scratched his head uncertainly.
"Well, yes, but I didn't think Remus would... oh, you don't know him like I do." She waved a hand impatiently. "Now, this changes everything..." She put a hand to her chin in a pensive look.
"Does it?"
She didn't seem to hear him. "Potter," she turned fully towards him, taking him by the shoulders suddenly. James flinched; she did have a really strong grip. "You'll answer to some questions. And if you lie, I will suspend you by your balls, d'you get me?"
James opened his eyes widely. "Err... do I have a choice?"
"No," she pushed him in the chair where Remus was previously sitting. "Answer honestly, or I'll know."
"Erm, alright," he lifted his hands in surrender. That woman could be scary as hell, which somehow made her even more lovely.
"Okay," she took a deep breath. "Is Sirius a good person?"
"Oh my, don't tell me you're pulling that crap!" he laughed.
"I'm just looking out for Remus, that's all!"
"Alright, alright," he huffed. "Yes, he is a good person. He is the best person I know."
"Would he hurt Remus?"
"No! At least, not intentionally..."
"What does that mean?"
"Just, you know," he ruffled his hair. "We never know what can happen between two people."
Lily looked at him with dubiously, but seemed satisfied with the answer. "Did he treat his past boyfriends well?" She continued.
"He hasn't had many, but yeah," James said slowly, feeling a bit like he was breaking a promise, or something.
"Impossible. He must have had a thousand partners, yeah?" Lily scoffed.
"No, he's not like that at all!" James said, insulted on behalf of his best mate. "It's not because he's— well, handsome that he is necessarily a ladies' man! Or a gentlemen's man in this case," he added as an afterthought.
"Interesting..." Lily started pacing back and forth in front of a puzzled James. "So, he's selective."
"Very much so."
"What else?"
"...What?"
"What other characteristics can you tell me from your best friend!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air impatiently.
"Err, well... he's loyal, caring, and obstinate. He tries to make you laugh when he knows you're feeling down, but he's reckless, and he would go to the end of the world for you if you're part of his inner circle. Being friends with Sirius is more than just that; you're not just friends, you're family. And he'd do anything to protect the family he chose. Literally anything," James said vehemently. "It can be a blessing and a curse."
"How so?"
"Well, just imagine if he thinks he is the one you need protection from," he deadpanned.
"I see," Lily tapped her chin again, thinking fast. "Do you think he could be interested in Remus?"
"I don't think it, I already know it."
Lily stopped dead in her tracks. "Really?" Her eyes were lit with excitement.
"He won't admit it for whatever reasons. Probably because of his pride, or something. Err, that's one of his flaws by the way," he added helpfully.
"You don't say," she chortled. "Does he think Remus is below him or something?"
"No, it's nothing like that!" said James quickly. "He's not posh, though he sounds like it. That's just his education, it's not his fault. It was forced into him, quite literally," James sighed. "I think the bloke just surprised him, is all. I feel like Remus might have seen right through things Sirius tries to hide."
Lily looked at him frankly. "You are surprisingly insightful."
"Well," he smiled disarmingly. "Always happy to be the cause of amazement!"
She rolled her eyes. "I didn't say that!"
"Hey, what's going on?" Fabian said as he put an arm around James's shoulders. "Where is Sirius? And Remus?"
"They went home," James replied simply.
Fab smiled secretively. "Oh, is that so?"
"They went separate ways, you twisted little man," James elbowed him in the stomach playfully.
"James, wanna play billiards? Both of us against Benjy, I'll help you identify the balls," said Gideon as he walked to them.
"This is not over, Potter. We'll talk some more later," Lily said quietly before he got pulled by his friends away from her.
~~~
Remus unlocked his apartment door, and let Padfoot enter first. He took off his boots and his scarf, throwing his keys on a small table near the entrance. After that, he went directly to the couch and lied there with his eyes open for an undetermined amount of time, looking up to the white ceiling.
What the fuck did I do?
~~~
Sirius couldn't remember the trip he made with his bike from the pub to his apartment, too lost in his thoughts to care. He couldn't shake off Remus's warmth that had somehow seeped through his jacket and stayed right there with him, still carrying it like a damn token or some shit.
You deserve to be forgiven...
Sirius climbed the stairs to the third floor two by two, his vision getting blurry at the edges. He tried to control his breathing as he unlocked to door, and mostly failed. He closed it behind him and went straight to lie on his bed, his heart hammering.
Why would Remus say something like that? He didn't even know Sirius. He didn't know the things he'd done, the people he'd hurt, the stupid stuff he'd forced others to go through because of him... he didn't know anything.
So why was Sirius clinging to his words like a lifeline?
~~~
Remus sit up suddenly, determined. I'm not going to keep thinking about that, he thought bitterly as his mind went over how comfortable and warm Sirius had felt in his arms and against his chest. I'm not.
He made a simple dinner and sat down in front of the telly, putting on a show about interior design that never failed to relax him. Seeing professionals explain how and why they put certain colors, shapes and materials together was always interesting to him, as Remus liked design and agencing colors, but it was more an instinctual thing than related to any logic. He didn't know all the terms and words, and didn't know why he felt like vibrant red fit well with a golden yellow like in his flat, or why a baby blue felt good with a natural green and dark wood in his office. Lily had even said he would've been an interior designer if it wasn't for Cerberus, but he had disagreed with a laugh. It was just something he liked, a hobby maybe.
And if he felt like the mix of monochromatic shades of silver eyes, pale skin and black hair was one of the most beautiful he had ever seen, well, nobody had to know.
~~~
Sirius heard James get back to the flat two hours later, as he was just finishing making dinner.
"Blimey, it smells like heaven!" James smiled, his eyes closed and nose up high in the air. "Is that—"
"Treacle tart, yes, your favourite¹," interrupted Sirius with a smile. "It's still in the oven. I also made a Sunday Roast, I hope you're hungry," he said, swiping his hands on his red apron.
"Christ, Sirius. Did you cook nonstop since you've arrived?"
"Almost," said Sirius evasively. Truth be told, he had spent some time thinking about Remus and how safe it had felt to be held in his arms, and had decided to put an end to it by occupying his head elsewhere, namely in the kitchen.
Sirius would've never thought he'd be good at cooking, since even his own parents never touched a single uncooked vegetables, having their butler, Kreacher, take care of those common chores. He had never seen anyone cook anything before he left the House of Black and went to live at James's, where his mum made the best recipes he had ever tasted. Seeing her work in the kitchen, putting ingredients together and making entire dishes seemingly out of nowhere had always felt like magic to Sirius.
And later on, when they rented their first apartment together with James, he quickly realised he would have to be the one who cooks, since James was hopeless in a kitchen, his poor sight probably not helping on the matter. Sirius didn't mind, as he soon discovered that cooking relaxed him, and he could spend hours working on a recipe without noticing.
"Y'alright though? Usually you cook these when—"
"I'm alright James, really," he turned around to his best mate. "I just needed to distract myself a bit."
"From that hug?" James asked, smirking.
Sirius decided, against all reason, to be honest. "Yeah, from that."
James stopped as he was about to put his coat on the hanger. "Was it nice then?" he asked sincerely.
"It was," Sirius turned back towards the oven, looking at the tart intently through the window.
"Well, I didn't expect you to be so honest! Did you drink some truth potion or something?"
"It's just... well, there's no point in trying to hide it from you anymore, I guess. I mean, you saw it yourself, what he did and... and how I was."
James finally put his coat on the hanger, and walked to Sirius. "Yeah, and you know perfectly well I can read you like a book."
"Like I had braille all over, yes, I know," Sirius finished quietly.
James took his shoulder. "Remus helped you today, didn't he?"
"He did. I don't know how he did it... but he did."
"Maybe," James started slowly. "Maybe he can read you too, you know."
Sirius sighed. "That's exactly what scares me."
~~~
In the early morning, a single ray of sunshine hit Remus's eyes, making them flutter. He had fallen asleep on the couch like a slob, still wearing yesterday's clothes. He shielded his eyes with one hand, groaning. Padfoot licked his other hand, hanging from the couch. He batted him away gently, hoping for some peace. Padfoot whined in response.
"Alright alright, I'm getting up. Happy?" He asked without malice. Padfoot popped his tongue out, like he was smiling. "You're a crazy mutt," Remus ruffled his black fur affectionately, and finally got up.
~~~
"I know you probably won't want to hear it, but we should go to The Marauders's gig tonight, since we had a breach last time." Lily was sitting on Remus's desk an hour later, watching him filling papers for another band.
"I know... I was thinking about that, too," he sighed and looked up at her. "It's in King's Cross, right?"
"Yeah, at Scala. Quite a smaller venue, but I think it's going to be awesome."
"You're starting to like this band," Remus said, smirking.
She punched his arm. "Oh, stop it. You like them too, don't deny it! I was told you even hugged one of their members outside a pub yesterday..." She looked at her nails in feign nonchalance.
"Don't," he groaned. "We were not hugging. Jesus." He felt his cheeks grow hot.
"Oh I'm sorry, would you prefer the term 'embracing'?" She chuckled as she slid off his desk. "In any case, we have to go later. You can practice hiding your fluster until then."
"I'm not flustered. I'm perfectly unflustered. What I am is professional, and that's what I intend to be tonight." He smacked a folder closed with more force than necessary. "Don't you have any work to do?"
"Oh my, when you start inventing words, that's when I know something's up." She guffawed. "Well, my perfectly professional fellow," she got to the door, about to leave to her own office, "Maybe you should tell your cheeks to be as 'unflustered' as you say you are." She left before he could throw something at her.
~~~
"Sirius, can I talk to you for a sec?" Fabian had just arrived with the rest of the group for soundcheck. Sirius was smoking his ritual fag, his back leaning against Scala's backdoor.
"Yeah, of course," Sirius put out the cigarette on the concrete beneath his foot. "Fab, I'm so sorry about yesterday... I didn't mean to go that far—"
"No no, mate, it's fine. Don't apologize," Fabian hesitated, "James told me about what happened to... well, you know. I'm so sorry mate, I didn't know..."
"It's fine, don't worry about it." Sirius felt sorrow welling in his chest.
"If it means anything, I'm never gonna use again. I swear it. I wasn't much of a user to begin with, but—"
"Fab, it's fine, you can... you can use, just, maybe not in front of me? If that's alright."
"Yeah, no, totally man. Totally." Fabian scratched his bearded chin. "So, we're good?"
"Yeah, we're good mate. Sorry again."
"It's fine." Fabian took his shoulder with one hand. "All is forgiven, yeah?"
Remus's words seemed to echo inside his head.
"Yeah," Sirius returned the feeling by gripping Fabian's shoulder. "Forgiven."
~~~
It was when Sirius was just debating if he should change his outfit for the night after soundcheck that he broke his pre-show mute ritual. The reason for it was quite simple: he was mortified, and he had to do something about it.
He saw Remus and Padfoot standing in the middle of the empty dancefloor, where about a thousand people would be jumping on in an hour or so. He was looking at the stage, his arms crossed, seemingly pensive.
"Hey," he didn't dare look into the soft hazel eyes as he approached him. "My apologies, you know, for yesterday. I shouldn't have reacted the way I did..."
"It's fine, don't worry. How are things with Fabian?" asked Remus with a gentle voice.
"It's alright, James explained to him why I... well, he got explanation." Sirius said vaguely, looking at the stage too.
"Good," replied Remus.
"How did you... I mean, it's like you knew what to say, you know, when I was... how I was." Sirius felt the feeling of mortification expanded in his chest.
"Ah, I um... I used to have panic attacks when I was young." Remus replied slowly. "And I know the feeling of... err, helplessness well. Forgetting where you are, one-track mind, that sort of thing."
Sirius looked up to him at that, suddenly curious. Remus was still looking at the stage. "You? Panic attacks? What kind of situations triggered you? If you don't mind me asking," he added quickly as an afterthought.
"Ah... going to school was a big one." His brows furrowed. "Let's just say I didn't have many friends."
"Me neither," sighed Sirius.
Remus finally looked at Sirius, their eyes meeting. "Really? That's hard to imagine," he said, puzzled.
"It's really not. Everybody was too afraid to talk to me because of my family name, and my family didn't want me to make any friends they hadn't previously chosen, so you can see the conundrum." Sirius smiled sadly. "Everyone avoided me at first, everyone except James. I don't know what I'd be without him."
Remus smiled fondly. "Lily did the same for me. She was the only one piercing through my shell, as she likes to say." He shook his head, chuckling. "She saw me for who I really was."
"Well, they might be more similar than we thought! You know James is mad about her, right?" Sirius said, laughing. "Can't stop barfing poetics about her, quite tiring really."
Remus chortled. "I can't say the same for Lily, but I think she's warming up to him."
"I know James can be pushy when he's nervous, but really, he's a great guy. Honest and loyal. He would never hurt her."
"Are you his wingman or something?" Remus snorted. "Are we suppose to set them up now?"
"Ah, they're adults, they can do that on their own. But we might need to chaperone them," Sirius said conspirationally.
Remus laughed warmly, the sound reverberating into Sirius's chest.
"Oi, Sirius! Get ready, will you? The show starts in 45 minutes!" Peter yelled, his usual quietness always gone when anxious.
"Sorry, gotta work. Who said life as a rock star was easy?" Sirius said, his smile disarming. "Will you be watching tonight?"
"No actually, I can't— I mean, I'll be backstage, so I'll hear you," Remus said, cringing inside.
"Great! I hope you like it!" Sirius started walking towards the backstage to go to the green room. "And um... sorry again, you know. And thank you." He said, turning to Remus one last time.
"No problem." Remus nodded once.
~~~
This time, the event went well and no breach of security happened. Everybody had a great time, and Remus had even found himself tapping his foot in rhythm with the beat of each of their songs. He wished he could see the stage and watch the group properly, but he knew it wasn't possible for him without the risk of triggering an episode.
Remus kept thinking about his conversation with Sirius earlier. He was surprised at how easy it had been to talk with him, and they had even broached subjects about his private life that he usually never talked about.
This was beginning to feel dangerous, as if things were taking a turn that Remus was not ready for. Thankfully, he wouldn't have to see Sirius again for some time, since there had been no breach tonight. Remus could let his security team do the work without him; he didn't have to be there anymore and see Sirius every other day. That was a good thing, right?
So why did he feel like there was a heavy stone setting deep in his stomach? |
Bonnibel shivered and rubbed her palms together quickly in a futile attempt at warming herself up. She shuffled where she was sat, perched on a cold and uncomfortable wall, and tugged her sleeves over her fingers, balling her hands into fists. Her body shook with another shiver, the wind's icy breath making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.
Shakily, she let out a soft sigh, her breath coming out in a puff of smoke, and she leaned over and crossed her arms over herself. Penguins huddled together for warmth, and although Bonnie wasn't a penguin and didn't have anyone to huddle with, she could still attempt at closing herself up in an effort to keep the cold out.
The temperature was in the minuses, and Peter couldn't pick her up until five. So, Bonnie had resolved to wait outside of the train station for forty-five minutes.
(Probably not her best plan ever.)
She huffed again, tugging the hood of her pink sweater over her head in an attempt to keep her ears warm. She could've sworn it hadn't been this cold earlier when she'd left the house with Jake and Lady. It was probably an idiotic move to leave the house without a coat on Christmas Eve, but in her defence, she'd checked her weather app and that had told her she'd be fine.
Stupid apps.
Bonnie kept her hands balled into fists and thought back to how Jake had offered her a ride home. Regretting her decision to call Peter and save Jake the hassle, she gritted her teeth and decided that she was going to stick it out. She could handle another forty-five minutes.
In a final act of desperation, she emptied her pocket for some change to use for a bus ride home, but all she found was a quarter, a pen and a piece of scrap paper with a small shopping list scrawled on it. Nothing she could pay for the bus with.
Sure, she could walk home, but that would take her nearly an hour and it was already dark. Walking home alone in the dark? Not her thing. She was still kind of shaky with her orienteering around town, and she'd rather not get lost on Christmas Eve and freeze to death. Not how she wanted to go at all.
Bonnie kept her gaze trained towards her feet and avoided any passing looks from strangers. Loitering outside of a train station probably made her look a little weird, but if anyone asked, she'd tell them she was waiting for someone. A distant relative, or something of the sort.
Either way, when she heard a scuffling in front of her, her head snapped up to look at the person who was approaching her. Maybe Finn, Phoebe or Elle. Someone she hadn't seen go home already.
It was Marceline.
Bonnibel blinked up at her company. Marceline had stopped in front of her and was staring down at her, apparently wanting something. Why else would she stop?
"Uh," Bonnie cleared her throat and hunched her shoulders to stay warm, "can I help you?"
"Why are you sitting there?" Marceline folded her arms across her chest in an effort to maintain her intimidating persona. It was mitigated when she crossed one leg over the other in a casual stance. "It's Christmas Eve. Shouldn't you be off with your friends or…family or whatever?"
"I was with my friends," Bonnie replied quietly, "They all went home and my uncle can't pick me up until five. That's why I'm waiting here. Shouldn't you be with your family, too?"
"I only just finished work." Marceline told her, but it was hurried, like the information was irrelevant. "Aren't you cold? You're not wearing a coat."
Bonnie wasn't about to admit that she purposely left it at home. Not to Marceline of all people. "Yeah, I…forgot it."
Marceline blinked at her. "It's December."
Bonnibel shook her head. Were they having a civil conversation for once? But they didn't like each other. Weird. In fact, it was so weird that Bonnie wanted to know what was up. Small talk wasn't her area of expertise.
She cleared her throat. "Yeah, whatever. Why are you even talking to me?"
Marceline sighed, "Look, I don't like you-"
"Wow, thanks for the reminder," Bonnie interrupted, her tone dripping with sarcasm, "Don't worry, I haven't forgotten from the last time you told me."
Marceline sent her a scathing look that read something along the lines of shut the hell up. Bonnie was happy to oblige. "Yeah, well, whatever. I don't like you, you don't like me, but it's Christmas Eve and you're freezing."
"Your point?" Bonnie raised an eyebrow, hoping she'd reach one soon. Either that, or she'd just leave her alone. Hopefully the latter.
"Do you-" Marceline paused and let out an irritated huff, like she was about to propose something she really didn't want to, "Would you like a ride?"
Bonnie blinked in surprise. "You're offering me a lift home?"
"Yeah," Marceline looked down at her feet and kicked at a little stone on the pavement, "if you want."
Bonnie weighed up the pros and cons. Pro: she'd get home early and could sit by the fire and watch Christmas specials before bed. Con: she'd have to spend an extended period of time with Marceline. Pro: she wouldn't freeze. Con: she'd have to spend an extended period of time with Marceline. Alone. In a car.
She decided that freezing to death was probably a worse fate than spending time with Marceline, so eventually, she nodded. "Yeah. Alright then. Thank you."
Marceline bowed her head in acknowledgement and began walking to her left, so Bonnie stood up and stuffed her hands in her pocket. Keeping a respectable distance between herself and Marceline, she trailed behind the other girl, down the road and around twenty feet away from the train station. Marceline stopped suddenly, so Bonnie carefully approached her.
Bonnibel frowned down at the black car in front of her. It was polished, shiny, and looked like someone had been looking after it a lot. Bonnie found it hard to believe that Marceline would care for something like that, though.
Maybe it was because she owned an honest to god Mercedes.
"Why do you have-" Bonnie stopped herself from saying 'such an expensive car'. "Your car is really nice."
"Thanks," Marceline seemed to sense the end of the question she'd nearly asked, "It was my dad's. He got a new car and gave this one to me for my birthday. My brother can't drive, so…"
Bonnie wanted to ask why that last part was added. If she went by the implications, she would assume that Hunson may have given it to Marshall, had he been able to drive, but she figured that was unlikely. Why would Hunson favour one twin over the other?
"Oh, alright then," Bonnibel watched as Marceline skirted around the car to get into the driver's side, unsure if she should get in next to her or sit in the back. Distance seemed good, but Marceline shot her an odd look as she sat down, so Bonnie opened the door to the passenger side.
She sat down and fiddled with the drawstrings of her hoodie as Marceline started the car and put some music on. Bonnie wasn't exactly a fan of rock – she wasn't very widely versed when it came to music – but she kept her mouth shut. It wasn't her place, and she didn't doubt that Marceline wouldn't kick her out of the car if she complained.
"So, uh, you were working?" Bonnie awkwardly attempted conversation. "On Christmas Eve? That doesn't sound very fun."
Marceline frowned. Apparently she hadn't expected Bonnibel to make conversation. "Um…it wasn't so bad. I like being out of the house and I was working with Keila. We just…played on the guitars and hung out. Occasionally dealt with customers."
"Sounds like fun," Bonnie tried to keep her tone optimistic, "Keila's nice. How long have you two known each other?"
"Since elementary school." Marceline responded, "She moved here from California when we were in second grade. We were forced together by our teacher since neither of us had friends and we got along better than we thought we would."
"Oh, well," Bonnie tried to formulate a response, "maybe that's why she was so nice to me. She knows what it's like to be the new girl."
"Yeah, maybe," Marceline glanced over at her and looked her up and down, and Bonnie felt her stomach clench. She wasn't sure if she was just nervous because Marceline wasn't looking at the road, or if it was the judgement in the other girl's stare.
Either way, she didn't like it.
Bonnie was the one to break eye contact, coughing to clear her throat. She kept her gaze directed out of the window, at nothing in particular. "Uh, so, you mentioned you were playing on the guitars at the music shop. I didn't realise you played?"
It came out far too much like a question, and Bonnie knew that Marceline had picked up on every last little nervous tremor in her voice. Apparently she was attentive. Naturally.
"I play lots of things," Marceline answered her quietly, "but don't mention that to my dad."
Bonnibel's face sunk into a frown. Wouldn't Hunson already know about it? That was a little odd, but it's not like she was going to tell him anyway. She didn't doubt that Marceline would kick her teeth in if she said anything she didn't like.
"Alright," Bonnie uneasily responded, "Keila told me that she plays guitar."
"Yeah. In our band." Marceline told her. "I was the one that gave her the idea to learn, actually. I'd already played for a little while and said she should try it out."
"How…nice of you," Bonnie commented. She glanced around the car for something else to latch onto as a conversational topic, since all of her ideas were running out. There was nothing. She couldn't just pick up a water bottle and be like hey, I drink that too, what a coincidence, so she resolved to keep her mouth shut and fiddled with the drawstrings of her hoodie.
Marceline occasionally broke the silence with a cough, but didn't make any attempts to chat. Apparently their earlier conversation hadn't been good enough advertisement of Bonnibel's few social skills. Maybe that would solidify their mutual avoidance policy, which had been put in place since they were forced to work together on that science project.
Their science project was another thing. Bonnie had done some work on it herself – she'd chosen the topic in class and written down their research question in both her own and Marceline's notebook, and instructed that the other girl do some work over the holidays.
Bonnie decided that she'd bring the project up, although she highly doubted that Marceline had done it. At least a slightly awkward conversation made the tension in the car a little bit thinner. Bonnie didn't like this awkward atmosphere at all.
"So, our science work," She announced the subject clearly to grab Marceline's attention, "have you done anything on it yourself? I have a detailed series of notes for us to work from."
"I- uh, I looked in the textbook on the topic you picked and wrote down some stuff, but I didn't really know what else to do." Marceline replied, her voice a lot quieter than Bonnie had expected. Her tone was empty, shameful, reserved. Admitting that she hadn't done much work was deserving of a quiet shame, in Bonnie's opinion.
Bonnibel huffed to show her irritation. People who didn't pull their weight in projects were horrible, but she hadn't expected much from her partner in the first place.
(Admittedly, she probably shouldn't have expected anything.)
"You know, that's very-" She cut herself off before she could launch into a full scale rant about how irresponsible and annoying it was that Marceline hadn't really done anything, but when she looked over, she shut her mouth immediately. Marceline actually looked guilty. "Um, it's not a big deal."
As if on cue, Marceline's face sunk into a frown. "What?"
"It's not a problem," Bonnie said. She couldn't bring herself to yell. She might've, if Marceline hadn't looked so guilty, like she actually felt bad about what she'd done. Or hadn't done. "The project is in on the second Thursday back, isn't it?"
Although she already knew the answer, Marceline answered her question anyway. "Yeah."
Bonnie knew that what she'd suggest next wouldn't get a very good reaction. "Alright, well, we have another week and a half until we're back at school, so I propose that we meet up."
As expected, Marceline's previously neutral expressed soured, turning into an irritated scowl. The other girl bristled and shook her head. "Can't. Working."
"Every day?" Bonnie raised an eyebrow. She didn't believe that for a second. "It's our schoolwork. It's important that we meet. I'm not doing all of the work and you obviously don't know what you're doing."
Marceline huffed, "I don't want to spend any more time with you than I have to."
"Fine," Bonnibel sent the other girl her attempt at a glare. It probably didn't go down as well as she'd hoped. "I'm not giving you a choice in the matter then. I have your address since I'm friends with your brother, so I'll come over on the Saturday after next. I think that'll give us a sufficient amount of time to put together however much- or little –we've done on the project."
If it was possible for Marceline to bristle even more than she already had, she was. "I won't answer the door. I hope you know that."
"I'm sure Marshall wouldn't mind letting me in." Bonnibel countered, "You're doing the work. Even if I have to break into your house and tell your dad that you won't do it."
It was a childish threat, something an eight year old would say to get their way over another eight year old, but it had the desired effect. Marceline scowled again, but this time it was accompanied with a loud and definitely exaggerated sigh. "Ugh, god. I wish I'd been partnered with Keila. Not you. You're a pretentious, prissy-"
"As much as I appreciate some good alliteration," Bonnie interrupted Marceline pre-rant, "I'd rather not keep arguing with you."
Honestly, one of these days, she was going to launch into her own rant about why she didn't want to work with Marceline.
(There were a lot of reasons, actually.)
But, Bonnie was mature. If she didn't like someone, she'd be reserved about it. Quiet. Adult. Clearly, Marceline didn't understand that once you're past the age of twelve, you were supposed to be polite to people. Even if you didn't like them. Dealing with someone who obviously wasn't intelligent enough to avoid conflict wasn't something that Bonnie liked doing at all, but she had to. And she wouldn't lash out.
Unlike her partner, she actually had more than three brain cells.
Bonnibel kept her mouth shut for the rest of the drive, but cast glances over at Marceline on regular intervals. The other girl kept an irritated scowl on her face, probably to convey how much she regretted offering Bonnibel a lift home.
Both of them were relieved when Marceline pulled up outside Bonnibel's house. In fact, Marceline breathed an audible sigh of relief, which Bonnie tried not to take personally.
Keeping up her polite façade for the moment, Bonnie sent Marceline an awkward, forced smile. "Uh, thanks for the lift. I owe you one."
Marceline shook her head. "You don't owe me anything. It's Christmas."
"Still, it was nice of you to do," Bonnie unbuckled her seatbelt and clambered out of the car. She leaned down to look at Marceline, the door half-closed, "I'll bring a chocolate bar with me when we meet up in thanks."
Marceline opened her mouth, probably to object, but Bonnibel closed the door before she could speak. Then, she spun on her heels, aware of Marceline watching her, and walked up to her porch.
Although she'd never admit it to anyone, Marceline waited until Bonnibel was in safely before she drove away. |
“Thomas?”
“Yea, hey, I need a favour…” Thomas hated asking Aris to get in the middle of all this but he couldn’t borrow Newt’s shampoo forever, it was expensive.
Walking Aris through everything he’d need from the house for a while was a quick task. When he’d grabbed a bunch of stuff at random the night before Thomas had thought it would be a temporary reprieve. Though Newt insisted it still was temporary.
“Didn’t go well, huh?” Newt tried when he slid back into the room, fresh clothes loosely draped on his slight shoulders.
“She’s so uncompromising.” Thomas complained.
“That’s what sisters are for right? Be stubborn and bloody annoying.” Newt shot back, “Once, my sister found a dirty magazine under my mattress and wouldn’t let me live it down until I formally apologised for keeping it around.”
Thomas watched as Newt’s lips twitched up at the memory and he chuckled ever so slightly.
“You got in trouble for having a dirty magazine?” Thomas asked incredulously.
“I should mention I was ten and had stolen it from her room. I started looking at pretty boys young. Now I have the prettiest one in my house.” Newt sent him a lewd smile.
It was obvious the blonde was trying to lighten the mood. Thomas had done everything Newt had asked in terms of his sister. It hadn’t worked and now Newt was shifting the focus, not forcing Thomas to try harder right this moment.
“Now,” Newt said quickly, “I got a message while I washed up and I’m afraid I can’t afford the time it would take to properly enjoy a bout of intimate cheering up.”
For a moment Thomas had half a mind to be disappointed but in the end he simply shrugged. He hadn’t really expected anything. Newt wasn’t the type to let their first time be because Thomas was feeling down, it wouldn’t have been right.
“Don’t give in so easy,” Newt chastised, mischievous smile in place, “I don’t have time for everything but if you come over here we can at least do something.”
Thomas felt himself perk up a little at that. “Something?”
“Yeah,” Newt let his head fall to the side in what was an obvious mock of Tommy’s curious head quirk, “We can think of something.”
~
Thomas was still marvelling at how something as simple as making out on the couch could become such a magical experience with Newt when there was a knock on the door.
Trying to bury thoughts of lingering touches and the pressure of Newt above him, pushing their hips closer together while devouring his lips, Thomas walked to the entry. He only stopped to pause briefly before turning the handle, running a hand through his hair quickly.
Aris, standing on the other side, raised a bag in greeting and pushed into the small entry space. Thomas stepped out of the way and let Aris look around, taking in the space. He was just as curious as Thomas but less reserved about showing it, if that were possible.
“Doesn’t look like I thought it would.” Aris finally commented.
Thomas scoffed, “And what was that? Some sort of sex lair?”
Aris stilled in consideration, “Yea that does seem pretty unlikely now you say it out loud.”
Thomas shook his head briefly, half amused half concerned. Teresa was surely constructing her own version of what this place looked like too.
“Just make sure you tell Teresa what a normal place this is.” Thomas mentioned motioning Aris to take his things into the lounge and drop them in a corner.
“She seems to think he lives in some dirty meth pit.” Aris said off-handedly.
“That’s what I’m worried about.” Thomas complained.
“She worries there’s needles on the floor and hookers in the bathroom.” Aris continued, though Thomas could see the teasing light in his eyes.
“Zero hookers, zero needles.” Thomas replied, waving his hands about the lounge room widely. “Though I haven’t checked out the spare room yet.”
Aris chuckled softly at that and looked towards the hall that led off to the bedrooms, “No porn star either?”
Thomas shook his head, “Just me. Newt had to go out a little while ago, something to do with work I think.”
Aris stilled again, considering the statement and mulling it over in his head, “Work.”
Thomas nodded. He didn’t feel half as defensive around Aris. He was the guy who always kept things calm in the house, he didn’t judge or yell or threaten. He did look concerned though.
“You sure about this?” Aris asked, and Thomas could tell from the sound of his voice he was trying to be as diplomatic as possible.
“Yeah, I am.” Thomas answered, easily.
“I, ah, I looked him up…” Aris started.
Thomas was actually shocked by that. Brenda hadn’t done that, in fact she’d said she’d avoid Newt if possible. Had Teresa done the same? What would Teresa think?
Aris seemed to read his mind, “I don’t think Teresa did. Not that it’d be too bad if she did. The damage is done but his videos are different, normal? He actually seems like a genuine and nice guy in them.”
Thomas had to agree, “That’s why I watched him.”
It was a weird conversation to begin with. Thomas and Aris had never spoken about porn, they’d barely spoke about anything to do with sex or relationships. They were both closer to Teresa and had other friends outside of each other. The fact that it was Newt’s porn they were talking about just added another layer of odd.
“It’s still a bit weird though. To think that he’s dating my flat mate.” Aris said.
“It’s a bit weird knowing my flat mate has seen my boyfriend have sex.” Thomas quipped with a smile.
Aris nodded, “But it’s not just me, is it? It’s random people all over the world. I’ve seen the comments from other countries. And he doesn’t have a small following either, he’s popular. There are hundreds of thousands of people who have seen your boyfriend like that.”
Thomas shrugged. He hadn’t really thought of it like that before. Everyone always pointed out that it was weird for him to have seen his boyfriend have sex with so many other people. Others rarely commented on how weird it was that so many had seen it. And Aris wasn’t wrong, Newt did have an international reputation, many US porn stars did.
“On our first proper date someone recognised him.” Thomas commented, remembering the guy with his family. “He said it doesn’t happen too often.”
“That doesn’t bother you, though? That other people know him because of this?” Aris asked.
Thomas did mind a bit. He wasn’t exactly self-conscious, not quite. But he still didn’t think he was the greatest guy in the world. And surely some of the people watching along with him were probably better looking and more successful. Newt had chosen him from the group but he could have so easily picked someone else.
“He could have anyone he wanted.” Thomas said easily.
“That’s not what I meant.” Aris sighed.
Thomas jumped slightly as the front door was opened sharply.
“Honey, I’m home!” Newt’s voice called from the front.
“He’s actually talking about you this time.” Followed Minho’s voice.
“Shut up, you bloody shank.” Newt replied, Thomas heard him close the door.
“Make me. Maybe you could do that thing with your tongue.” Minho called back walking far enough into the flat to see Aris standing with Thomas. He paused a moment, like the day he’d first seen Thomas, before moving on to place several bags on the coffee table.
“The one where I pull yours out?” Newt said. “Cause that’s all you’re bloody getting’ from me tonight.”
He too came into the room with one arm full of bags. He stopped when he saw Aris. Thomas could almost see the defences going up. There was nothing cold in the way he regarded Aris, just wary. Thomas noticed Minho had moved himself between the two also, casually and with a smile on his face.
Aris for his part was looking at Minho with realisation in his eyes. Thomas guessed that if Aris had looked up Newt he had seen Minho in the videos and was only just now putting together the boy in the videos with the guy who had picked Thomas up for a party not long ago.
“You brought your cute friend around.” Minho said with a wink at Aris and a smile at Thomas.
Newt turned to glare at Minho, “What have I said about normal?” he hissed under his breath.
“Guy knows who you are now though, right?” Minho waited for Aris to nod, “Exactly, so I don’t need to be boring anymore.”
“Minho,” Newt started.
Aris cut in before he could get further though, “It’s fine. I mean, I’m not really looking for… that. But you don’t have to act different because I’m here.”
Thomas smiled and Minho grinned widely at the permission. Thomas wasn’t sure if Aris was saying it just to be polite, or maybe checking to see what Newt was really like, maybe he’d ever report back to T. Why ever he was saying it a little of the tension in Newt melted away and that made Thomas feel better.
Newt, despite seeming more comfortable, frowned at Aris, “You shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s fine, really.” Aris insisted.
“Trust me. You’ll regret it.” Newt turned to greet Thomas properly, meeting him halfway and giving him a light peck on the lips.
Thomas’s mind took him back to just a few hours ago when those lips felt like they could draw out his soul. His eyes followed them as Newt backed up to drop his bags with Minho’s.
“Isn’t it disgusting?” Minho asked Aris, voice full of disdain.
Aris seemed confused, “What?”
Minho threw his hands towards the other boys, “That.”
When Aris stayed still, looking at Thomas and Newt like he was missing a piece of the puzzle Minho continued. “They’re so domestic. Kiss on the lips? What kind of show is that?”
“My life isn’t a bloody show, shuck face.” Newt quipped, barely paying attention.
“Give us some passion!” Minho cried. He turned back to Aris, “They’re far too domestic. Newt’s too straight laced to do more than a peck for greeting. It’s boring and horrible. You see Newt’s best kept secret is that he’s actually a massive prude.”
“Really?” Aris asked, not sounding convinced.
“Guy never gets laid,” Minho replied, “Well, except for work.”
Newt glanced at Aris and Thomas before responding, lewd smile in place, “What’s to say that when you’re not here we don’t immediately strip down and have some fun. Maybe you’re bringing us down.”
Thomas could feel his cheeks light up at the comment and wished for a moment that Aris and Minho would leave so he could take Newt up on that.
“You do this on camera for a living, Newt. A live audience shouldn’t put you off. I know you like to be watched.” Minho teased, sending a knowing look to Thomas.
Thomas’s face went even brighter as he remembered watching Newt, the look on his face as he stared down Thomas, completely wrecked by lust. It was arguably one of the best nights of his life. Newt also seemed to be remembering that night if the half dreamy look on his face was anything to go by.
“So Aris, what’s someone as good looking as yourself hanging about Newt’s place for anyway?” Minho asked.
“Dropping off some of Tom’s things. What’s in the bags?”
“Just groceries.” Minho sounded bored by that, “Newt wanted something in the fridge while Thomas was here. Wouldn’t let me get anything fun.”
“There are plenty of fun things here already.” Newt replied, voice a little odd.
“Do they still work or are they too old? It’s been a long time since you needed fun things.” Minho quipped back and Thomas was a little interested by what ‘fun things’ were.
Newt looked a little annoyed at the question and Thomas really was intrigued.
“What are you talking about?” Thomas asked, head quirked to the side.
“I’m talking about you two being less boring.” Minho said.
“We aren’t boring.” Newt argued.
“You’re either boning or you’re boring.” Minho smiled back, “Anyway, I’ve gotta run, I expect a video by next week.”
Newt scowled at him, “Slim it, shank. Like I’d let you see that.”
“Guess I’ll have to keep dropping by unexpectedly and catch you in the act.” Minho joked.
“You know where the door is.” Newt laughed back, “Leave and don’t come back.”
“You’re breaking my heart Newtie, Tomboy will let me watch, won’t you?”
Thomas could barely splutter an answer before Newt was pushing Minho out of the room, complaining about the attack on his boyfriend. |
Gavin walked into the room and looked around, it was silent. He looked to his watch and wondered if the girls had gone out for drinks after dinner. Walking into the bedroom he found them, each in the submissive pose at the corner of the bed.
"I've died and gone to heaven," Gavin smiled loosening his tie.
"Welcome," they said in unison.
"St. Peter is busy tonight so he asked us to guard the gates!" Alex teased causing him to laugh.
"Fuck me," he gasped at the view of the two stunning women kneeling in only lace garters.
"If that would please you," Elizabeth smiled.
"Later perhaps," he smiled as he looked to Alex. "I think Alexandria needs a boundary pushed."
"What boundary is that? Sir," Alex asked her secret smile coming out.
"Elizabeth," Gavin said moving to a chair and sitting down. He crossed his legs and pressed the tips of his fingers together in front of his face. Time to see if he is right he decided.
"Elizabeth is a boundary?" Alex asked confused.
"Well, judging by the couple of things I have seen you interact with, I take it you have never been with a woman?" Gavin stated more than asked.
"No, Sir," Alex shook her head.
"I offered you to Madelyn last night and you got excited," he smiled at her when she lifted her head in surprise. She shook her head. Damn Jedi. "Then the first night, when I was playing with you, you had a lustful look at Elizabeth...like you wanted to eat her."
"Who wouldn't?" Alex smiled.
"Show me then, entertain me," Gavin demanded.
Alex lifted her head but didn't stand as Elizabeth did.
"That will be ten," Gavin said softly watching her hesitation. Alex smiled and stood when Elizabeth pulled on her hand.
As soon as Alex was on her feet Elizabeth had her lips on her mouth and they were in a passionate kiss. Alex lost all sense of where she was. She opened her eyes to look at Gavin and saw his secret smile and knew he was pleased. This caused a fire to rage in Alex as she put her hands in Elizabeth's raven dark curls and held her head forcefully as she pulled her mouth off.
Alex looked at Elizabeth with a fire that matched the one growing between her legs.
"Open your mouth," Alex said forcefully. Gavin watched Alex switch her Dom on. It was easy for her. Gavin shook his head. This woman could so easily be a Dom. He frowned slightly, if she decided to be a Dom, he would lose her.
Elizabeth obeyed and opened her lips. "I want your tongue." Alex demanded. Elizabeth slowly let it slip out to the edge of her lips. Alex let her tongue join it on her lips. She rubbed the soft split in the middle of Elizabeth's tongue causing it to flip up and nearly wrap around Alex's.
Alex then let her tongue trail the edges of her soft rose colored lips.
"You are delicious," Alex smiled looking at her.
"Thank you," Elizabeth smiled.
"I wonder how your other lips taste?" Alex asked as she ran her tongue across Elizabeth's tongue. Alex didn't wait for a response. She pushed Elizabeth to the bed and watched as she propped herself up on her elbows to watch with her secret smile.
Elizabeth watched her for a moment as Alex drank her in. Elizabeth used the crook of her finger to beckon Alex to her. Alex obliged moving her body over Elizabeth's. Kissing her passionately again. Moving down her lips to Elizabeth's throat. Letting her tongue dance on her skin as she heated to a boil.
Elizabeth ran her fingers through Alex's hair and pushed her gently. Nudging her lower on her body. Alex took the prompt and moved down to her breasts. Alex pulled them gently from their delicate lace encasement. Looking up at Elizabeth she slowly traced the areola with her tongue, using it like a snake uses its tongue to feel out.
Taking the nipple in her mouth Alex sucked deeply bringing the tautness to a tiny bud in her mouth. She trailed her snake tongue over to the other breast, her hot breath causing Elizabeth to drop her head back as she sat there propped up on her elbows.
Moving down hastily Alex couldn't stop her heart from pounding in excitement. She was doing everything in her power to slow her beating heart and her breaths as they seemed more set for a sprint race, the excitement causing them to come in short gasps. She got down to Elizabeth's sex. It was beautifully pink. She kept it completely free of hair and Alex found that very erotic! It was smooth and looked like a ripened peach ready to be suckled.
"What is wrong little one?" She turned her head to find Gavin standing next to her. She had thought he was in the chair. She was so lost in the erotic nature of the moment she hadn't seen him come up next to her.
"Nothing, Sir," she smiled. "I've just never seen anything so beautiful!" She marveled quietly.
"Yours is just as beautiful," Gavin assured her. She shook her head. "Do you know what to do?"
"I've never done this before," Alex admitted looking up at him. Gavin knelt next to her.
"You know what to do, just trust your instincts and do what feels right," Gavin smiled stroking her lips with his thumb. "There really isn't a wrong way to do it...just watch Elizabeth...she will tell you what she likes without a word." Gavin leaned down and used his tongue to gently caress the outer part of Elizabeth's sex causing her to hold her breath.
"I see," Alex smiled as she saw it.
"You try," Gavin encouraged. Alex got closer and could smell the excitement from Elizabeth. Slowly she let her tongue follow the trail Gavin had just laid out. Following his saliva trail with her tongue. This caused Elizabeth to arch her hips trying to push Alex's tongue into her sex instead of the edge. Alex let her eyes twinkle at Elizabeth's attempt.
"That's a good girl," Gavin cooed in her ear as he coached her. The words set Alex ablaze and she buried her face into Elizabeth's sex causing her to gasp in pleasure.
"No, no, no!' Gavin pulled on Alex's hair pulling her back which caused Elizabeth to whimper. "Not so fast!" Gavin grinned. "You are always so eager!" Alex looked up at him as she had her lips wet from her and Gavin's saliva and now Elizabeth's sex. Now it was Gavin who couldn't stop himself as he crushed his lips to Alex's causing her to smile as she hooked him easily.
"Oh my!" Gavin grinned licking his lips. "Go slow...drive her crazy before satisfying her desire."
"Shall I edge her?" Alex asked wickedly as she began to slowly lick again. The words caused Elizabeth to shake her head in pleading against.
"You are in control right now," Gavin smiled as he watched her. "What do you want?"
"I want her cum on my face!" Alex said with a hungry growl. Elizabeth gasped as Alex buried her tongue for a few seconds before pulling off and licking the outside again.
Alex repeated the process over and over. A few laps around her sex, before delving into the sweet sex Elizabeth possessed. Alex would look up at her when she buried her face in to see the exquisite reaction Elizabeth gave with each deep invasion. The dropping of her head, the biting of her lip. The way she held her breath causing her breasts, which raised and lowered with her quickening breaths, only to stop moving when she held her breath.
Alex watched and absorbed everything. She felt Gavin's hands on her body. His fingers walking gently down her spine causing her to shiver. He moved across her buttocks, letting his fingers fall into the valley of separation. Alex tensed when he brushed his fingers against her anus. She looked to him when he stopped there and traced around the edges. He pushed her head back into Elizabeth and Alex ate hungrily as Elizabeth groaned out her approval.
Gavin pushed gently on her anus, never going in, just applying pressure to it causing it to indent. Alex ravenously ate at Elizabeth now. Her own passion erupting. She didn't know why his finger near her ass was turning her on but it was. She thought it odd as the last time a man was near her ass it ended in disaster.
"No apprehension?" Gavin whispered. "Trust...good girl!" The words caused her to go wild on Elizabeth as Elizabeth's stomach muscles tightened under her milky white skin. Alex watched her tense her body up under her manipulations, her hips lifting off with the squeezing of her abs.
"A woman's orgasm," Gavin whispered in Alex's ear as his tongue danced on the edge of her lobe. His finger still pressing gently on her anus. "Is the most beautiful thing on earth or in heaven!"
He watched with Alex as she marveled over Elizabeth in mid orgasm. Elizabeth was pulling on Alex's head, pulling her deeper, as she lifted her hips pushing herself into Alex's face frozen as her orgasm danced just out of reach for a few maddening seconds before it washed from her and out.
Alex gasped as Elizabeth's inner beauty, her orgasm, came to light. This time it wasn't brought on by Gavin, who was a master at bringing women to orgasm. It was her lips. Her tongue. It was her manipulations that brought Elizabeth to her zenith.
Elizabeth looked down at her hungrily and with an admiration. Alex smiled her secret smile but continued to work on her fellow sub.
"How does she taste?" Gavin asked as he admired the way Alex was working.
"Magnificent!" Alex said in her folds. Gavin went to Elizabeth and kissed her deeply while his hands pinched her nipples causing her to squeal in pleasure. He left her lips and moved in behind Alex.
Elizabeth held her head when she tried to turn to see what Gavin was doing behind her. He had pulled her buttocks apart, alarming her instincts. Elizabeth shook her head at her with a smile. Alex was thankful for it as she realized Elizabeth had just saved her from another ten strokes!
Alex gasped as she felt Gavin's tongue on her anus.
"Holy fuck!" Alex gasped in pleasure. She had never felt something like this before. The softness of his tongue was only surpassed in pleasure when he pushed it into her ass. She sat opened mouth as his tongue probed her inner sanctum. A place only once ever entered before. One that left her horribly scarred. This was definitely not that! This caused her to shake with excitement.
"You like this little one?" Gavin laughed at the rhetorical question. He knew she did.
"I've never felt anything like it!" Alex gasped. "Are you going to fuck my ass?"
"Do you want me to?" he asked her while still tonguing her.
"I want to please you," she said, but the quiver in her voice couldn't be stopped.
"In time," he smiled. "After we have prepared you." He brought his hand up to her and gently inserted his pinky in her ass causing her to tighten instinctively. "Oh yes little one...I'm going to love fucking this tight little ass of yours!" He marveled at the tightness of her taboo hole.
She relaxed as she realized, he wasn't hurting her in the least. It felt a little odd yes. But not painful. He pulled his finger out and buried his tongue back causing her to bury her face into Elizabeth who moaned appreciatively for the three of them as the other two were busy with their mouths.
Alex brought her hand up to rub Elizabeth's clit which was gently poking from its hiding spot. This caused Elizabeth to grind upward on Alex's face with a growl. Alex had remembered this is what made her squirt. The rubbing of her clit while Gavin fucked her with his cock the other night.
Elizabeth nodded her approval as she pulled on Alex's head pulling her deeper with her. Her hips rose off the mattress and Alex smiled as she doubled her speed to help the beautiful woman to her climax.
Gavin continued to probe Alex's anus with his tongue but watched the beauty of Elizabeth as she came. With a squirt. Not a lot. Not a little. Enough. Alex danced in her head happily that she had the power to make Elizabeth squirt. Elizabeth fell back to the bed exhaustedly.
Gavin stopped his soft manipulations of Alex's anus and licked his way from there up her ass, to the small of her back. He reached around and under Alex as she laid her head down on Elizabeth's freshly orgasmed pussy.
Gavin manipulated Alex to her first orgasm as he pressed the bulge in his pants to her anus. Alex loved the feel of it there. She thought she wouldn't, or worse think of her ex and the pain he caused. Instead she wondered if Gavin could fit his size in her ass. What would that feel like, what...the thought cut off as she came on his fingers. How the fuck does the man do that? Make her cum so easily? How? How? HOW?
"God damn!" she gasped, as her body released its muscles from their pleasurable clench.
"God I love the way you cum!" Gavin gasped as he kissed his marks on Alex's back.
"God I love the way you make me cum!" she said back to him searching his eyes and seeing the small glimmer of regret of the marks. "Don't." She warned him.
"Switch!" he laughed breathily.
"I love them, they are beautiful!" she assured him.
"No, you are beautiful!" He smiled kissing them again hoping to will them away. "On the bed." He commanded. He held his hand to her and helped her up as Elizabeth sat there with her secret smile.
"Your head here," Gavin patted near the foot of the bed. Alex turned and laid back. Her head just resting on the edge. He held his hand to Elizabeth who stood with his help. He positioned her to where she straddled Alex's head with her thighs.
"Return the favor," Gavin whispered to Elizabeth who needed no other instruction. She quickly buried her face into Alex's sex causing Alex's body to tighten. For the first time in her life, a woman was fucking her. Granted it was only a tongue but it was skilled. Almost as skilled as Gavin's. When Alex's eyes were able to be opened she looked and found Gavin positioning himself at Elizabeth's entrance. She had an up close and personal view of the marvel of Elizabeth's sex gently resisting Gavin's manhood before swallowing it whole. Much like her mouth had done that first night. All at once, and to the bottom!
Gavin sat there, his cock deeply planted in Elizabeth's sex. The long initial thrust caused her to gasp into Alex's sex which made Alex shiver with excitement as Elizabeth's hot breath washed over her clit. Once he was all the way in, Elizabeth returned with a gusto of hunger on Alex's raw pussy as if it was a buffet meal.
Alex watched Gavin's cock there, nestled deeply within her folds. His balls hung gently down, inches from her face. She reached up wickedly with her tongue and cupped them. This caused him to gasp. Yep, she made him do that!
Alex went from his balls up to where his shaft disappeared into Elizabeth. Elizabeth's clit pushed out by his size. Alex smiled as she watch Elizabeth flinch as her tongue hit it with the tip. Punching at it like a boxer on a speed bag.
"Fuck yeah!" Elizabeth gasped.
"Very talented tongue, isn't it," Gavin said as he kissed the spine of the lovely beauty he was buried in.
"Oh my God! Yes!" Elizabeth hissed as Alex continued to work. First Gavin, then her. Then him, then her. Relishing the held breaths. The gasps. The way Elizabeth's legs shook. Gavin began long slow strokes in her. Each time his cock pulled out, Alex would lick the shaft as it became available.
"That's fucking incredible," Gavin whispered. "Oh, little one! Don't stop!"
Alex reached out. She knew she couldn't touch him, but Elizabeth didn't have such rules. She used Elizabeth's firm ass cheeks to pull her deeper into both of them. Alex was squirming as Elizabeth was bringing her into the throes of an orgasm. Her body stiffened as she held her face into Elizabeth's pussy, as Gavin pushed his cock past her mouth and into the soft sex. Elizabeth came with Alex and that boggled her mind. She had cum with her man at the same time, but for whatever reason, perhaps it was the newness. Or perhaps it was the taboo nature of girl on girl sex but this was hotter!
She collapsed to the bed in a heap as her breathing was erratic and she felt the liquid drip down to her forehead, she looked up to see the liquid dangling on Elizabeth's sex, she lifted her head to clean it from her.
She watched for a few moments, Gavin's rod pushing in and out of Elizabeth. Watching a soft white foam appear around the edges of her entrance. That thrilled Alex to no end. It was all so intoxicating. Gavin pulled out suddenly causing Elizabeth to whimper as she was riding a wave to orgasm again on his magnificent cock. He spun her around to where she was side by side with Alex, then pulled Alex roughly from the bed. Alex liked the manhandling. It reminded her of who was in control.
He positioned her like he had Elizabeth, and then without gentleness plowed right into Alex making her call out.
"Gawd Damn!" Alex gasped as she gripped the sheets on either side of Elizabeth. Elizabeth raised her head and began to lap at Alex causing her legs to tremble with the sensations washing over her sensitive body.
Gavin's steel shaft plowing mercilessly into her. The softness of Elizabeth's tongue on her clit caused to scream out as her orgasm caught her by surprise. There was very little build up. It was just suddenly there. She cried out into the folds of Elizabeth's sex and the vibrations of Alex's passionate scream sent Elizabeth over the edge.
Alex lifted her head and looked back at him and saw the pleasure written all over his face. His fingers dug gently into her hips as he rocked her back to him as he came forward. Their soft slapping of skin on skin filled her ears. Not as loud as the morning fuck he had given her but it was there. She wanted more and it showed in her eyes as they glittered at him satisfactorily. He shook his head at her in warning reading her easily. Her desire.
"Fuck me!" She demanded as she looked back at him. He gritted his teeth to keep himself in control.
"Trying to switch on me?" Gavin smiled as he continued on.
"You either fuck me...hard. Or I'm going to fuck you!" She warned as she started to drive her hips back into him causing him to slam into her.
"Oh little one!" Gavin closed his eyes to maintain the passion that was erupting within him. From his balls outward. He held still and Alex smiled as she began to slam herself back into him with a growl.
"God your cock feels fucking fantastic!" She said between gasps. "I want your cum!"
"You are going to get it!"
"I want it all over me!" She begged as she watched his face twist in the painful pleasure of his orgasm. His growl was unintended but it came out easily. She pushed him out of her and took hold of his cock forcefully as she jerked his cock the rest of the way to Nirvana, his head tossed back, his eyes closed shut tightly as his cum erupted out the head in a spurts as she pulled on it spraying their faces as they lay there, cheek to cheek.
"Fuuuuucckkkk!" Gavin growled as he looked down as she pulled the last bit of cum from his head with a tight squeeze of her fist. The sparkle of approval in his eyes matched only by her smile. Which was coated with ropes of white cum. She pulled gently on his cock causing him to shake his head at her desire.
"More little one?" He asked with a smile.
"Your boundaries..." She grinned. "And a tad more!"
"Fucking switch!" he marveled as Elizabeth pulled her face to hers and they began to clean each other off.
|
The stars are bright tonight. Bob would’ve loved this.
Percy wishes he could show him, sit him down on the neighboring beach chair and let him gaze up at the sky. But Bob isn’t Bob, and Percy won’t be able to be his friend again.
Shut up, Percy. This isn’t the time for thoughts like that.
Percy came to the upper deck to watch for—Well, he actually doesn’t know. A cannonball from Clarisse’s steamship? Annabeth and Grover paddling towards him on a lifeboat? Even though he’s the one who should always know what’s going on, he feels lost. He never imagined he could be lost at sea.
It’s keeping him awake, the plans and back up plans and back up back up plans spinning around in his head. There’s so much he can’t control, an entire ocean of variables pushing up against his ribs and abdomen, and he’s already so tired. But, it’ll be worth it. He has to believe—The future he’s making will be worth this. Worth everything.
It’ll be fine. Luke is different, he thinks. And Annabeth and Grover and Clarisse—They won’t be in danger if Percy destroys every danger before it can reach them.
Annabeth will have to protect Grover from being guinea pig-ed though. Percy’s not powerful enough to do anything about that.
Percy looks up at the stars, the ocean breeze brushing against his cheek. As he waits, all the monsters inside him slowly go quiet.
Footsteps.
“So that’s where my jacket went,” Luke says, amused.
“I’m cold,” Percy tells him.
“Then you should’ve bought a jacket before we left.” Luke plops down on the chair beside Percy. He leans over, tugs the jacket’s lapels closer together, then starts doing up the buttons.
“I was saving up for a skateboard.” Percy bats Luke’s hands away before they can reach his neck, and Luke flicks him in the chin in retaliation.
“It’s not even that cold out,” Luke says, sitting back and folding his hands behind his head.
“I’m a fish,” Percy insists. “We’re cold blooded.”
“Your dad is a fish,” Luke points out. “You’re a half-fish.”
“Do you have to argue with me about everything?”
“I’ll stop arguing with you when you start making sense.”
Percy snorts. Luke’s definition of sense has never agreed with his own. Then again, maybe that can change, too.
The Princess Andromeda is big enough that the waves can’t rock it. Here, underneath the stars with Luke lying quietly beside him, Percy can almost understand why people actually pay money to go on cruises.
Almost.
Still, Percy muses, “Maybe if Mr. D blasts the arts and crafts projects, we can just move everyone here.”
Luke shifts. “We should be moving everyone here anyway. Building an army on enemy grounds isn’t a good idea.”
Enemy grounds? No, wait—“An army?”
“Isn’t that what Kronos wants the projects for?” Luke turns to Percy, bracing himself up on his elbows. The starlight isn’t bright enough for Percy to read his expression.
Percy takes a breath, lets it out, and tries not to sound too annoyed when he says, “We’re not recruiting campers for Kronos’s army. They’ll die.”
Luke tilts his head to the side, not arguing.
The anger shoots through Percy’s veins like poison from the Chimera’s snake head, acrid and sudden.
He sits up and asks Luke. “Why do you want to kill demigods so badly?”
“I don’t want to kill demigods,” Luke says coolly. “I want the gods to fall.”
“And letting demigods die is the only way to do that?”
“Soldiers die in war. That’s natural.”
“We’re not soldiers. We’re kids.”
Luke shrugs. “Kids die in war, too.”
Asshole. What a fucking—“They shouldn’t have to,” Percy argues.
Luke laughs, pushing himself all the way up, and Percy almost punches him in the jaw. “Don’t be naive, Percy,” he says, leaning forward until they’re nose to nose. “Demigods are born to fight their parents’ battles for them. Our lives are messy and violent and cursed and short.” His voice is tight and bitter.
“Then why join Kronos?” Percy says. “What makes fighting his battles for him any better?”
Luke smiles, but his eyes are dark and cold. “At least with Kronos I’ll get to take Olympus down with me.”
Silence. Percy searches Luke’s face.
Nothing but shadows.
“Is revenge really worth your entire life?” Percy says, not quite sure if he’s asking for a real answer or begging for the one he needs.
Luke doesn’t say anything for a long time.
Then he throws his head back, stares up at the sky, and sighs. “My life’s already over,” he mutters. “This is what I have left.”
Before Percy can figure out a good response to that—something besides “Fuck that noise”—Luke asks, “What about you, Percy? Why are you with Kronos?”
Uh. Well. About that.
Percy shrugs and hopes that his expression is as unreadable as Luke’s is in the starlight. “I just want to keep some people alive.”
A pause.
Then Luke snorts, shaking his head.
“You’re such a child,” he says.
Okay, first of all, fuck you. Second of all, fuck you. “I’m not a child for wanting to protect my friends,” Percy snaps.
“You’re a child for believing that you can,” Luke says. And the worst part is that he doesn’t say it like he’s taunting Percy or making fun of him. He says it like he’s stating something as simple as A cyclops has one eye or Zeus is a dick.
Percy stares at Luke’s face, shrouded in darkness. He doesn’t know whether he wants to shout or swear or just grab him by the shoulders and shake and shake and shake until he finally stops saying things that make it seem like this world can’t be saved.
They’ve been in the same boat for days, and yet there’s still an ocean between them.
Why is Luke like this? What can Percy say?
You can’t give up on your family, no matter how tempting they make it.
But how can Percy change someone who doesn’t want to be changed?
Luke sighs again. He stands. “Go below deck if you’re cold. It’s past your bedtime anyway.”
Percy watches Luke walk away, a black silhouette against the dark sky. He wonders if he’ll soon have to accept the fact that the only thing Luke wants from the bottom of his heart is the destruction of everything he hates, even at the cost of everything he loves.
Of course, because Percy’s life is a joke, that’s exactly when the Sirens start singing.
——
Actually, Percy doesn’t realize what’s happening at first.
He just sees Luke stop halfway to the door. For a moment, he’s standing perfectly still. Then he slowly turns in the direction of the railing.
“Luke?” Percy says.
Luke sways.
And then he starts sprinting. At full speed. Straight towards the side of the yacht.
“Don’t—!” Percy leaps off the beach chair and tackles Luke in the legs, downing him right before he can crash into the railing.
Note to self: Luke isn’t just a great sword fighter. He’s also a half-decent wrestler, even when he’s trying to jump into the ocean and drown himself.
While Percy tries to get his hands around Luke’s ears, he takes an elbow to the face and a knee to the gut. As Luke tries to kick his legs free, Percy scrabbles forward and throws his entire weight onto Luke’s stomach, knocking the breath out of him. This gives Percy enough time to put him in a guillotine choke hold.
Not for the first time, Percy is very grateful that Annabeth agreed to spend so much time sparring with him.
Unfortunately, Annabeth learned how to fight from Luke, so Percy actually holds him for about one second before Luke’s rolling and smashing Percy into the deck floor. Luke presses his shoulder into Percy’s neck. It doesn’t take long before Percy’s wheezing and seeing spots.
On the bright side, at least he can’t hear any Siren song over the buzz of blood rushing to his head.
Percy is breathing like a fish out of water, but he can’t let Luke go. He keeps his legs locked around Luke’s waist even as his clamp on his neck weakens enough that Luke pries his arms off. Luke climbs to his feet, Percy still clinging to him like a koala with mild smoke inhalation, and continues stumbling forward.
And before Percy can even think about going for Luke’s ears again, Luke tips them over the railing.
The cool air rushes past them, and Percy can see the stars falling away. The water below is dark and unforgiving, so black that it’s almost indistinguishable from the void that his dreams tend to feature.
Later, Percy will think about this moment and wonder why he doesn’t call up a geyser from the sea to break their fall. He’s done it before, so he won’t understand why he doesn’t remember to do it now. Maybe it’s because Annabeth isn’t with him. Then again, that’s the whole point of this trip.
Percy doesn’t remember to soften their landing. Instead, he remembers to fold and tangle Luke’s legs with his own, so Luke probably won’t shatter his shins on the ocean’s surface. He remembers to tuck Luke’s head under his chin. He remembers to close his eyes.
Protect him. Brace yourself.
The water is cold.
At first, Percy thinks the darkness is from the ocean. But he doesn’t feel the weight of the waves pressing down on him. And his arms are empty.
The panic chokes him worse than Luke did.
Where is he?
“L—”
“Luke?”
Percy’s words break off.
He knows that voice.
“Luke, I’m sorry it took so long, but it’s alright now. I’m here. Where are you?”
That’s...
“Luke?” And the creak of a door opening.
Light floods Percy’s vision.
It’s Hermes. He’s standing in the doorway, framed by the warm light. And he’s smiling down at—
Percy looks to his right. Then down.
There’s a mini Luke curled up on the ground next to him. Percy’s never seen an elementary school edition of Luke in real life before. He’s really small.
“There you are,” Hermes says. He kneels down in front of Luke and holds out his hand. “It’s alright. You can come out now. Everything is alright.”
A pause.
Hermes doesn’t waver.
Slowly, cautiously, Luke reaches out with one skinny arm. He takes Hermes’s hand.
The dark walls around them vanish.
Percy barely recognizes Ms. Castellan’s kitchen. It looks a lot different without all the moldy peanut butter sandwiches stacked on the counter or the trays of burnt cookies on top of the stove or the Hermes collage taped above the sink.
It also looks a lot different with Ms. Castellan from before she tried to host the Oracle standing there in the middle of the room.
Hermes guides Luke towards her, waiting patiently as he hesitates.
When Ms. Castellan spots Luke, her eyes well up, and she drops to her knees. She opens her arms.
For a brief moment, Luke shrinks into himself, eyeing her cautiously. After she does nothing but blink tears out of her unclouded eyes, he glances up at Hermes, who nods.
Then he rushes forward.
Luke’s hugging Ms. Castellan so tightly that Percy’s surprised she even has the breath to speak, but she does. “I’m sorry I scared you, baby. But I’m okay now.” She rubs Luke’s back, presses his head into her shoulder. “I’m okay,” she says softly. “I’m sorry I hurt you. It’ll never happen again.”
Percy doesn’t really remember what Ms. Castellan’s voice sounds like. The glowing eyes made a much deeper impression. But, right now, she kind of sounds like Percy’s mom.
Down to the way she says, “I love you.”
Hermes joins the two figures kneeling in the kitchen and wraps his arms around both of them. Whole, balanced, and bathed in golden light, they look like a perfect family.
Then mini Luke shudders, rippling, and he grows into the Luke who Percy knows. Except he doesn’t have a scar. It makes him look—honestly, sort of weird. Like there’s something essentially Luke missing from his face.
Luke’s parents don’t stop hugging him, but after a moment, he gently untangles himself from their embrace and helps them to their feet. Ms. Castellan beams and pats his hand. Hermes leans close to Luke’s ear and says something that Percy can’t catch.
Then there are footsteps pounding towards them from the living room.
Annabeth and Thalia tumble into the kitchen, smiling, laughing. Luke’s eyes widen. And then he grins, as warm as the sun.
Percy watches Luke hug Thalia before lifting her into the air, spinning her in a circle while she yelps in protest, pounding his back, and Annabeth giggles.
They look so happy.
This is how it should have been, Percy thinks.
Suddenly, Luke meets Percy’s eyes over Thalia’s shoulder. There’s a flash of—something.
And then it all disappears.
Somehow, Percy feels like he’s falling again.
The water is cold. And dark. The waves press down on him with suffocating weight.
But, Luke is still here.
That’s enough.
Percy feels Luke thrashing in his arms, trying to kick them towards the surface, and for a second, he thinks that he’s still fighting to get to the Sirens. Then he remembers that Luke can’t breathe underwater.
Right.
Percy concentrates on summoning bubbles until there’s an orb of air around Luke’s head, like an astronaut’s helmet. Once that’s done, Luke finally goes still.
He’s not limp, which is the only reason why Percy doesn’t freak out about accidentally drowning him. But he doesn’t react when Percy ducks down to check if his feet are broken. And he doesn’t react when Percy hooks an arm around his waist and jets him back to the yacht. And he doesn’t react during the whole time they spend trailing the yacht through the dark water.
At first, Percy’s glad. He doesn’t know what he’d do if Luke began crying in front of him. He’d rather fight Charybdis again, actually. But, after about ten minutes of zero reaction from a guy who just got shown his deepest desire before it was ripped away, even the most heartless monster would start getting worried.
Percy tightens his grip around Luke’s waist, focusing, and he manages to shoot them out of the ocean and onto the gangway. Honestly, it’s not one of his more graceful landings, but Luke doesn’t seem to mind. He just rolls onto his back, taking deep breaths of the night air. After a moment, Percy crawls forward, patting the ground blindly until he touches Luke’s wrist. He dries Luke off.
Luke flinches like Percy’s burning him and quickly shakes him off. He gets to his feet, looming over Percy.
“Luke—”
“You saw nothing,” Luke says. His voice is low and hoarse and brittle. “Nothing. Got it?”
“Okay,” Percy says, raising his hands even though Luke probably can’t see them. “Okay. But, hypothetically,” he adds carefully, “if I had seen something, then I’d tell you that you don’t have anything to be embarrassed about.”
Luke scoffs. “Of course I don’t. Why would I feel embarrassed? That wasn’t my deepest desire. That was—”
He cuts himself off.
A heavy silence, broken only by the crashing of waves into the sea.
Percy wonders if they’d both been expecting the same thing. Luke enthroned in the rubble of Olympus. The gods’s heads on pikes outside of whatever nightmare palace Kronos wants to build in its stead. Hermes, beaten and bleeding, kneeling at his feet.
The reality of what Luke really wants is shocking to Percy. He can’t imagine how Luke feels.
Percy watches Luke carefully. Maybe his shoulders are shaking. Maybe it’s just the boat.
Either way, no matter how much Luke is hurting right now, Percy can’t allow him to deny this truth.
It may not save Olympus. But, it’ll definitely save him.
“Annabeth told me,” Percy says slowly, “that the Sirens show you things that you didn’t know about yourself.” He gets to his feet, facing Luke in the shadows. “I didn’t see anything, but maybe you should think twice about whether you want to stay blind.”
Luke makes a sound that’s caught between a snarl and a sob. Other than Kronos’s voice, it’s the scariest thing Percy’s heard come out of Luke’s mouth.
Percy stays still and silent as Luke struggles to regain control over himself. His harsh breathing grows slower, quieter, until he can say, with his normal amount of dry bitterness—
“And you, Percy? What pretty lie did the Sirens show you?”
Percy blinks.
Right. He didn’t plug his ears this time. So why did he see—
“Nothing,” Percy says.
“Come on, Jackson. Get off your high horse.” Percy can’t make out Luke’s face in the darkness, but he can imagine the sneer twisting up his scar. “Or are you afraid to admit you’re just the blind leading the blind?”
“I’m telling you the truth,” Percy insists. “I really didn’t see anything.”
Luke pauses. Percy wonders if he can hear that Percy is as incredulous as he is.
Then Luke shakes his head, evidently giving up on making sense of any of the impossible things that’ve happened tonight. “Were your ears plugged with the fuzz from your brain?” he mutters, stalking back inside.
“No,” Percy calls, “but listening to your stupid justifications did make me go deaf!”
Luke doesn’t respond. His angry footsteps quickly disappear into the bowels of the ship.
After a moment spent considering if Luke might respond well to being pushed a bit more right now, Percy decides to just let sleeping demigods lie. Luke deserves time to think. Besides, Percy needs to think a little bit, too.
He lowers himself back onto the deck, staring out at the dark sea until light starts creeping up over the water.
Looks like Percy can’t be shown his deepest desire.
Maybe it’s because he’s already living it.
——
After a night spent gazing at stars, dodging Sirens, and watching the sunrise, Percy’s looking forward to getting some shut-eye. Not in a bed, because Percy has a hard time falling asleep in a room where he once saw Kronos’s body recomposing. Fortunately, the captain’s chair is big enough (Or is it that Percy’s still small enough?) to be comfortable.
Unfortunately, as soon as Percy enters the bridge, Luke slams him into the wall. Again.
Between Annabeth and Luke, Percy’s been getting closely acquainted with a lot of walls this year. He doesn’t remember Thalia being so much of a wall slammer. She’s his new favorite now.
Luke pulls Percy out his thoughts by pressing his forearm to his throat. “Kronos didn’t tell you to build cabins,” he says.
“Small houses,” Percy corrects automatically. Then—”Wait, what?”
“You’re not loyal to Kronos,” Luke enunciates carefully. “And everyone knows they’re cabins, Percy. We’re not stupid.”
Well.
Fuck.
Turns out that being busted for not worshiping an evil titan lord is better than coffee. Percy is very awake now.
The sting of alcohol on Luke’s breath helps, too. Percy hates having beer breath in his face. It always makes his heart start racing. Where did Luke even find a bottle? Or maybe it was vodka. Whiskey? Percy doesn’t know. He hasn’t tried a lot of the stuff. In his experience, a drunk demigod is more likely to become a dead demigod. Besides, it’s never fun when Percy loses control over himself.
Hey, wait, focus, Percy! Remember the angry demigod pinning you to the wall!
Should Percy try denying it? Would Luke even believe him? He accused him with the confidence of someone who’s been gathering evidence for a very long time. Then again, drunk Luke.
Bang! Luke slaps the wall next to Percy’s face. Then he leans forward, eyes narrowed. Apparently drunk Luke isn’t patient when he wants answers.
Okay, uh—“I don’t have to be loyal to Kronos to fight for him,” Percy reasons. He’s pretty sure most of the demigods who defected last time didn’t do it because they wanted Kronos to rule. If anything, they were more loyal to Luke.
“But you don’t even want to fight,” Luke smiles meanly. “You’re having us build houses. I bet you’re gonna tell us to hold hands with our parents and sing ‘Kumbaya’ around the campfire next.”
“Hey, how’d you guess?”
For that, Percy gets two seconds of Luke leaning what feels like his entire weight on his throat. Then Luke draws back, watching as Percy coughs.
“You have a lot of secrets, Percy. And I’ll admit it: I still don’t know how you interfered with my connection to Kronos. But, it doesn’t matter.”
Luke reaches behind the captain’s chair and pulls out Backbiter, twirling it in his hand.
Shit. Percy tenses.
“I’ll just beat it out of you,” Luke says.
And then he charges.
Percy doesn’t even have time to grab Riptide from his pocket. He ducks under Luke’s first slash, which gouges into the wall, and rolls closer to the controls, so Luke won’t be able to hit him without sacrificing his ability to sail the cruise ship.
Luke doesn’t seem to care about that, though. He swipes at Percy and takes out the captain’s chair when he dives.
Not good. Luke’s tearing up the floor as Percy throws himself out of the way of his blade again and again, trying not to make it obvious that he’s moving towards the door. It’s harder than it should be, because Percy’s still wearing Luke’s stupid designer jacket and it’s restricting his movements.
Luke is doing just fine, despite stinking like he’s played ten games of poker with Smelly Gabe. He moves with the care of someone who knows they’re drunk and is doing their best to not show it. But, he’s also swinging Backbiter like he doesn’t care about which part of Percy he hits as long as he does actually hit him. That’s different. Even when Luke lashed out before, he always grabbed Percy with purpose: to threaten, to silence, to disarm. Not now. Now he just wants to hit him.
So, this is when Percy really starts feeling scared.
“Undo what you did,” Luke says between blows. “Give me my dreams back.”
“So Kronos can hurt you again?” Percy manages. The door is finally within an arm’s length. If he can distract Luke for a little longer—
Luke hacks downwards, and Percy curls up, using the momentum to roll to his feet so that he doesn’t lose them.
Both of them are breathing hard, the sound harsh and unsteady over the hum of the bridge. Luke’s eyes are red and unfocused. Despite being the one who’s been swinging his sword around here, he looks wrecked. And small. Like mini Luke curled up in the closet, waiting for someone to finally come get him and tell him everything’s okay.
Percy knows he should be grabbing Riptide right now, but he can’t bring himself to fight Luke when he’s like this. If Percy just—runs and lets Luke tire himself out, is there a chance that he’ll forget this ever happened when he wakes up?
Can’t it just be another nightmare?
Percy glances at the door. When he looks back, Luke is already smashing Backbiter’s hilt into his side.
Hard.
Percy staggers, falls, slams his head into the wall. He’s seeing stars again, though they’re not the nice kind this time.
Then there’s a hellhound on his chest and a line of ice on his neck. When Percy’s vision clears up, he finds Luke holding Backbiter against his throat, frustration pulling at his scar.
“Undo it,” Luke says.
Percy hopes he doesn’t look as scared as he feels. He swallows and feels Backbiter slice into his skin. “No. You don’t belong with Kronos, Luke. You’re just gonna have to find another way to get your revenge.”
Luke presses closer. His eyes are moving rapidly across Percy’s face. And—his hand must be shaking, because Backbiter is twitching along Percy’s neck, like Luke is the worst barber in the history of demigod barbers.
“Undo it,” Luke whispers. Then Percy actually feels Backbiter sink into his throat, cold and burning and only deep enough to hurt.
Percy breathes, quick, shallow. The air feels thin.
How did he get here? Is this really how this is going to—
No. Percy refuses. He can’t die here. He can’t.
Fuck, Luke’s hand is still trembling. Percy can feel the itch of blood crawling down his neck and pooling behind his collarbone.
Wait.
Blood.
His blood. Percy can. Percy can use that.
Luke has his arms pinned, but Percy only needs a finger. He is his own weapon.
If this is really Luke’s choice, then—then—
Percy will do it. He will. He knew when he led Luke out of Camp Half-Blood that this was one of the ways this trip could end.
A smarter demigod would have done it sooner.
Just—Why can’t Percy stop thinking about Luke in Ms. Castellan’s kitchen, the second before the vision fell apart, when Luke looked at him, smiling so warmly, and almost called him over?
Why can’t he just—
Why—?
Percy stares up into Luke’s eyes. “I thought you didn’t want to kill demigods,” he says.
The words pierce through the air like an accusation.
Luke blinks the grey morning light out of his eyes. His gaze trails down Percy’s face and reaches his neck, following the little stream of red into the collar of his jacket. For a second, he looks surprised.
And then he just looks haggard.
Lost.
Luke takes a deep breath. And another.
Percy waits. He slowly curls his fingers.
Then—
Luke moves Backbiter away from Percy’s neck. The edge of the blade is stained pink.
He tosses the sword aside, letting it slide into one of the gouges he left in the floor, and then he rolls off of Percy, slumping against the wall next to him.
“Killing you,” Luke says heavily, “won’t fix anything anyway.”
“That’s the spirit,” Percy says. His voice is shaking.
Sitting up is too much work. Percy presses his palm to his neck, and it comes away wet. Now that the adrenaline is starting to wear off, even his own blood feels cold and gross on his skin.
Luke reaches over, like he wants to finish the job with a good throttling or maybe like he actually wants to help. Percy can’t deal with that right now, and it probably shows on his face, since Luke jolts to a stop, then puts his hand down. He looks too shattered for being the one person in the room not currently bleeding out.
Percy needs Luke to stop looking like that. He pinches the cut closed, squeezes his eyes shut, and concentrates on keeping his blood inside his body. And he doesn’t really know if he can make his blood clot faster, but hoping that he can do something crazy has let him do a lot of crazy things in the past.
Ugh. It feels like there are tiny snakes moving through his arteries, which isn’t great, but it seems to be—
Whoa.
Percy’s really dizzy. And weak, like, stomach flu for eight hours and battle with an ancient sea monster weak. This must be why people don’t eat their own legs when they’re starving.
But, hey, the bleeding’s stopped. Cool.
Percy opens his eyes and finds Luke staring at him like he just nailed Kronos in the eye with a blue hairbrush. So, that probably looked pretty weird from the outside.
But, there are more important things they need to talk about right now.
Percy drags himself upright, until he and Luke are sitting shoulder to shoulder. Luke still sort of smells like an open bar, but he seems more alert now. Maybe the sight of Percy’s blood sobered him up.
It better have. Percy hates bleeding for no reason.
Percy spends a couple seconds gathering his words. Then he carefully turns towards Luke. He tells him, “You don’t want Kronos in your head, Luke. You can live a long, peaceful life with the people you love if you just learn to let go.”
Luke keeps staring straight ahead at the bisected captain’s chair, but he doesn’t go for Backbiter again, which is an improvement. “You’re delusional,” he says.
Percy doesn’t even have the energy for frustration anymore. “The houses are being built. Did you know that Annabeth designed all of them? You won’t have to spend the rest of your life in a crowded cabin full of abandoned kids. She’ll jump at the chance to design another place just for you.”
Luke still doesn’t move.
“You don’t need to obsess over your revenge,” Percy continues. “You can just—live your life. And you’re a leader, Luke. Once the other campers see that they can thrive even if they don’t fixate on their parents—especially if they don’t fixate on their parents—more and more of them will turn their backs on the gods. No more sacrifices. No more pawns. Isn’t that what you want?”
Ow. Even Percy can hear the edge in his voice when he finishes. He hopes Luke didn’t nick anything really important in his throat.
He glances up at Luke’s face. Nothing.
Fine. Percy has time. The day’s just getting started.
Percy’s neck itches. Is it the drying blood or a consequence of whatever he did to himself? He reaches up to touch, but before he can brush skin, Luke catches his wrist and returns it to his side.
Luke won’t look at Percy, but he keeps his hand on his.
They sit quietly for some time.
Finally—“Half-bloods don’t live long lives,” Luke says. His voice is hoarse. “There’s always another fight. Another monster.”
“Well, what if all the monsters were gone?” Percy asks.
Luke gives him a tired look. “Monsters can’t die, Percy.”
Yeah, he knows, but that doesn’t mean—“Just humor me for a second,” Percy says. “Please?”
And he must look pretty pathetic right now, because Luke only hesitates for a moment before nodding.
Good. Time for a pop quiz.
“Picture this.” Percy waves his free hand in the air. “No monsters. No gods. If you could just—live without worrying about the next myth who’s gonna show up and screw you over, what would you want to do? Who would you want to be?”
Luke doesn’t say anything.
“A lawyer?” Percy guesses. “A CEO? An Olympic fencer, a cruise ship captain, a preschool teacher, an actor at a Renaissance fair? Oh, wait, I know, a Broadway—”
“Shut up!” Luke snaps. “A social worker, okay?”
Yes! Luke does dream of something besides the destruction of Western civilization!
Wait, what did he just say?
Percy shuts up and hopes his eyebrows are doing a good job at broadcasting his surprise and confusion.
Luke sighs. Then he explains, “Before I knew about Camp Half-Blood, I wanted to be a child protection social worker. So I could help demigods whose mortal parents didn’t treat them well.”
“How?” Percy asks, curious.
“Welfare checks where the kids don’t have to be afraid of being called liars for seeing through the Mist,” Luke says. “Advice for how to cope with their parents and their powers. Removal, if necessary.”
“Removal to where?”
“A community center. A community. A safe place where demigod children can be with people like them and know that they aren’t—” Luke cuts himself off, staring down at the ruined floor.
Percy keeps pressing. “Would you live there too?”
“No. That sort of place isn’t meant to be a permanent residence. The goal is integration, learning how to live in the mortal world and how to live well. I always wanted—” Luke thinks for a moment, then smiles wanly. “Well, a townhouse would be best for us. I’d like an ocean view, but it’d also have to be close to a university where Annabeth wants to study, and Thalia would—“
Luke shuts down again.
Percy realizes that he’s squeezing his hand. Tight.
After a moment, Luke’s grip loosens. Then he takes a deep breath, staring out at the sea.
“But,” he says, “that’s never going to happen.”
“It will,” Percy replies, before he realizes that he has nothing to promise Luke with except his words. And Luke has a good reason not to trust his word right now.
Fortunately, Luke seems too drained to get mad again. He just glances down at Percy, hollow-eyed.
Percy squeezes his hand. “It’ll happen, Luke,” he says. “Just wait. I’ll show you.” |
dream strutted down the hallway and towards the main meeting rooms. he felt the warm shade of red that covered his face, still angry about the fight he had with sapnap earlier. his phone vibrated, alerting him that he had received a message, and he pulled his phone of his pocket, sighing as he read it. callahan, their boss, and the most badass motherfucker of the rebel army, was asking for his presence in the meeting rooms. dream was already making his way there to report of the situation and to mention the visitor in dreams bedroom. that sounded so wrong in his head.
the meeting rooms were like big spaced out areas that had all their essential equipment, thanks to punz, and where they would go to discuss future plans or report on a returned task. when meetings were called, it usually meant it was something important as fuck or something tragic. there was really no in-between. dream figured it was about sapnaps slip up, confused as to how callahan already knew about that. when he made it into the meeting area he noticed sapnap was already there, seated in his respective chair while shooting a quick glance at dream who walked to his.
“i’m assuming this idiot told you about what happened, sir?”
sapnap laughed and shook his head in disbelief.
“shut up dickwad”
from the main seat on the other side of the table sat callahan, about the same height as dream but dressed in a brown sweater with blue jeans. the man definitely had a sense of style.
“boys please don’t fight right now, just give me the gist of what happened.” callahan sighed as he slouched in his chair, flicking his pen around instead of filling out the paperwork scattered in front of him.
“dumbass over there took a shot on a bishop.”
“that’s a good thing!”
“only one of them.”
callahan looked up at dream before turning to sapnap, rolling his eyes at the youngest.
“it is a good thing indeed sapnap, but the point was to take them all at a time. one after the other not just one in a single period.”
“dream was in trouble.”
the room fell silent and callahan stopped playing with his pen, now sitting up fully in his chair.
“trouble?” he asked dream, making the blonde nervous as he shuffled around in his chair.
“uh well, sapnaps exaggerating. i was just fighting the guy cause he was messingwithsomeoneiwaswithandineededhim tobackoff.” he stumbled over his words, speaking fast as to throw off both men listening.
“ok slow the fuck down and speak like you mean it clay.”
“he brought a stray home.”
dream slammed his hands on the table, standing up from his chair, “fuck you nick he’s not a fucking dog!”
“you brought a rook here?!” callahan interrupted him, now fully up from his seat and walking towards dream. the blonde gulped as he sat back down in his chair, showing his respects to his superior. callahan continued walking until he was fully in front of dream, looking down on him with curious eyes.
“why bring a rook home?”
dream looked straight into callahans eyes, never once breaking the tension. even sapnap was beginning to become nervous for his bestfriend. callahan wasn’t a intimidating person, but when he was serious about something he showed a rather aggressive side of himself. he only ever wanted the best for his men, and no matter if dream was the one he had the most faith in, he had to set the blonde in his place at times.
“he was injured. he’s not just any rook sir, he’s the kings rook.” dream said with a straight face. it would buy him some points if he mentioned georges stratus in relation to their target.
“ah i see. well, we can’t fix the bishop situation, you’ll just have to work harder to kill the remaining two sippy cup.”
“don’t fucking call me tha-“
“and as for you dream,” callahan interrupted, “i wanna meet this rook. bring him here later, we’ll gather everyone else to see what we can do. but, be cautious, the king is not gonna be happy.” and with that callahan walked back to his personal room, leaving the two hunters in their seats.
dream was the first to break the silence, getting up from his seat and walking towards the long hallway back to his room.
“hey dream?” sapnap called, still seated in his chair. dream turned around, looking at sapnaps back.
“what’s up douchebag?”
“i just wanted to make sure you weren’t gonna get fucked up man, i didn’t mean to ruin the plan.” sapnap said with a sad tone. he really just wanted to make sure dream would be ok, screw the plan if it meant saving his friend in a time of need.
dream felt a tint of guilt form in his stomach, and he ran a hand through his hair as he continued to walk down the hallway.
“i know nick, no need to apologize. thank you, i didn’t know what i would’ve done without you.”
sapnap smiled as he heard dreams footsteps echo down the hallway until they become distant taps. his smile formed back into a straight line as he looked through the two files in front of him, studying the faces of the two bishops he still needed to deal with.
———
george was in a pickle. he sat in the corner of dreams room, knees to his chest and head down. dreams little outburst had struck him in the chest rather hard, and he felt very much alone in the big dark room. so much had happened in the last 24 hours that his brain could not process it all, and he didn’t know what to expect from just sitting in a room all day, in a big bunker he didn’t know his way around.
george sighed as he lifted his head from his knees, looking around dreams bedroom and trying to find something to occupy himself with. the blondes bedroom was pretty empty, with only a large bed in the middle, closet full of clothes, and the bathroom that george was in a couple moments ago. if it were a meal, it’d be pretty bland. george couldn’t say much though, he didn’t even have his own bedroom when he was with lucien. he always felt like a guest whenever he entered a room, and even though he was living in that apartment complex for so long, it never really felt like home. now that george was thinking about it, he didn’t know how long he sat there waiting for dream to come back. a part of him suggested the blonde would never come back, while the other half said otherwise and encouraged him to sit still and wait. but as minutes passed, feeling like hours, he finally stood up and made his way towards the bedroom door.
george didn’t really hesitate to open the door, taking a step out of the bedroom and into the long hallway he had seen first. there was no one around, and now he was seeing the hallway better than when he was on dreams back. there were rooms across each other on each ends of the hallway, and it resembled that of a hotel. on the other end of the hallway, the roads split to the left and right and continued forward for who knows how long. the brunet walked out of the room fully and continued down the hallway that lead to the big door they had entered from. he passed by the medics room, made of clear glass where one could see everything inside, catching a glimpse of wilbur working at his desk. he scurried across as to make sure the older man couldn’t see him and continued until he was in front of the bunkers entrance.
it had a keypad to the left side, and the door itself wasn’t big, just the space that hovered over it. george stared at the keypad intently, numbers swirling through his head until he could successfully piece them all together. with a single finger he reached over and pressed the combination of numbers into the keypad, getting reassurance that he was correct when it let out a beep, hearing the locks click open. george opened the bunker door slowly, letting the fresh air fill the empty hallway as his hair swayed because of the air that hit his face. it was still dark outside, though by the positioning of the moon and tints of color in the sky, he could tell the sun would rise in a couple hours. he stood outside for a few minutes, admiring the breeze while looking at the city below. he could see the millions of lights that lit up streets and buildings; and the small ants that were people walking down the streets. he could even see the high roller which in its mighty form, was the most beautiful thing in all of vegas.
the rustling of leaves broke george out of his peaceful state, startling the boy as he turned to the side quickly. emerging from the shadows were two figures, and george started to move back towards the door until he heard it lock.
‘shit, i’m done for.’
he turned back around, now being able to see the two figures’ faces as the moonlight shined down on them.
“niki? how did you find me? and, bad?”
———
“you’re a fucking idiot!” dream laughed out loud, wheezing through his words as sapnap and punz laughed with him. all three boys were chilling in punz’s room, relaxing after the big night they all had.
“you should’ve seen his dumbass punz, he sat right back down once he saw boss walking towards him. pussy!” sapnap said in a mocking tone as dream laughed. punz was highly amused, shaking his head with a smile at the two boys.
“ok i had a right to be scared that man is unpredictable sometimes.”
“he’s right, but you’re still a little pissbaby dream.” punz pointed out, sapnap bursting into another fit of laughter as dream bit the inside of his cheek and pouted. they weren’t always working their asses off and sometimes had nice moments like these, where they could all bond and catch up on time lost. they didn’t care about not sleeping, and the most important thing to them was strengthening their bond. they continued to laugh, cracking jokes while also insulting each other in a friendly way, until punz heard a beep come from his monitor.
he quickly turned back to his computer, opting out of the conversation dream and sapnap were still having.
“you’re mad cause you suck at fighting.”
“at least i know how to use a gun.”
“so do i idiot.”
“pistols dont count.”
“says who pussy?”
“your moms a pu-“
“guys..” punz interrupted the two boys. both dream and sapnap turned to look at the white-haired man, raising an eyebrow at his sudden seriousness. punz continued to type away at his keyboard, checking the security logs and inhaling sharply.
“what’s going on man?” dream asked.
punz ushered both men to his monitor and showed them the security log, alerting that the bunker door had been opened. “someone opened the bunker door.”
sapnap sat down in a chair across the room, putting his hands behind his head and sighing in annoyance. “who cares? probably just a rook.”
“no ones allowed to be out right now sap.” dream said seriously, and he started to think of a certain someone, connecting the pieces together.
“and they have to alert me first if they’re going somewhere in the first place. hold on, let me check something.” punz continued to type away.
‘it can’t be. this idiot really couldn’t have. he’s still in my bedroom, probably sitting in the corner...right?’
sapnap stood up from his spot and leaned on punz’s chair, looking through the cams alongside him. he spotted a certain brunet, his small form next to two other figures he couldn’t quite make out.
“no fucking way. how did he even know the code?” sapnap said out loud.
“who the fuck is that?” punz asked.
both men looked at dream, who only stood there processing what was happening before he quickly rushed out of the door, running
down the hallway to reach george in time.
———
wilbur wasn’t an idiot, but he was a doctor. so of course he had seen george sneak away. and like any curious person, he poked his head out of his room, with enough distance so that the boy couldn’t see him. but when george opened that bunker door, he quickly bolted out of the room and towards the younger man. although he had just met him not too long ago, he felt the need to protect george with his life. wilbur was just a natural parent like that.
he quickly punched the code into the keypad and opened the bunker door, george being the first thing he saw when he stepped out of the bunker. the younger man looked at him with a worried look, stepping back closer to wilbur so that he has a source of comfort. when wilbur looked in front of them, he saw two figures; one of a taller man with glasses, wearing a red and black hoodie; and a smaller girl with blonde silver hair who also wore round glasses. she was absolutely beautiful.
“so who might these people be, boy?” he asked george. the younger looked up at him before clearing his throat.
“they’re part of the kings set.” he said. the girl took a step forward before raising her hands in the air.
“george, it’s me niki. we’re not looking for trouble, i need your help please. bad is-“ she was interrupted by the sound of a thud; the man next to her falling to the ground. she quickly dropped to his side, turning him over so that his face was visible.
“bad! please george, he’s badly hurt.” niki looked up at the two men, tears forming in her eyes as she continued to shake the man on the ground. wilbur took a breathe before approaching the woman, kneeling down on the other side of bad.
“here, let me see.”
“are you a medic?” niki asked. wilbur blushed slightly, sweat forming as he checked the mans pulse and head.
“yes, i can help your friend. just help me carry him inside will you sweetheart? gogy, go open the door please.”
george quickly moved to open the door as both wilbur and niki lifted bad up and carried him inside, bits of blood trailing behind them. he let wilbur and niki pass as he stayed behind to close and secure the bunker door. he didn’t know why wilbur decided to help those of the kings crew, but he was grateful because it was bad that was hurt.
bad was his friend, the only other rook that talked to him whenever they saw each other. he was also the only one who stood up to the king, which he figured is why he was so injured in the first place. in the distance, he saw dream running towards him, sapnap and punz trailing behind him. dream looked angry, and he couldn’t really blame him, he was stupid for leaving the bedroom in the first place.
“you idiot! what were you thinking?!” dream shouted, grabbing the smaller boy by the collar as he pulled him up closer to his face. george grunted as he felt himself being lifted off the ground, struggling to keep his balance on his tippy toes.
“hey dream maybe calm down a bi-“
“piss of sapnap. that could’ve gone down way worse! you could’ve jeopardized the fucking base you-you...” dream trailed off, not finishing his sentence as he saw george shut his eyes tightly, his grip around dreams hands tightening out of fear. dream quickly composed himself, letting the boy back down on his feet as he looked away in shame.
“sorry, but you really fucked shit up.” dream said before fully turning around and starting to walk to wilbur’s office, sapnap and punz following.
georges head started to hurt, and he fell on his knees as he clutched his head in his hands. the ringing in his ears wouldn’t stop, and he whimpered at the pulsing pain in his head. he started to see things he’d never seen before; memories of him back in high school, in a field of grass, weird letters across his arms, and what seemed to be a black dragon so vividly real.
dream looked back, seeing george on the floor and quickly running back to him, kneeling down as he held him in his arms. the only response george gave was small whimpers and cry’s as he continued to scratch at his head.
“hey george, i’m here! please, what’s going on?”
“c-clay, it hurts.”
sapnap and punz’s eyes widened, dreams did as well. he hadn’t told george his real name, and he wasn’t planning to anytime soon.
“w-what?”
‘gosh the memories, they hurt
’
|
‘So come out, you have been waiting long enough.
You
’re done with all the talk, talk, talk and nothing on the table.
It
’s time to come on out, there will be no sign from above.
You
’ll only hear the knock, knock, knock of your own heart, a signal.
If you are afraid come out, if you are awake come out,
Come out and level up.
’
-Vienna Teng
Alec
It was strange, this feeling. This loss of control and somehow absolute control of the feeling, simultaneously. I was lost to it, but I had chosen to become lost. Did that make sense? Not really. I was lost to Jace, that was crystal clear. I was absolutely, completely lost inside him and I would never be able to exist without him inside me ever again. It was strange to have his light existing within me and for it to not actually feel anything less than normal.
Where he belonged. Where I belonged. Inside each other always and utterly.
It was strange to feel this happy, even while Sebastian rambled on with insane attention to detail about the longterm plans of the demon Belaphim. Happiness had never really come easily to me.
Jace, the consummate Shadowhunter, was listening intently to Sebastian, pacing every now and then. He was worried and furious. He loved me and wanted to protect me. He wanted to kill things, kill anything that had ever looked at me wrong.
I was starting to realise that when either of us experienced intense emotions, they bled between us, no barrier capable of containing it. Jace’s emotions were mine, mimicked helplessly by the soul we shared. The impulse was unstoppable. I was his mirror and he was mine. I wondered, abstractly, if it was a bad thing. It didn’t feel bad.
You’re not paying attention, he scolded.
I am. I can multitask.
I couldn’t deny the thrill of knowing that this state between us was permanent. I could feel the permanence of it. There was no going back.
‘Excuse me, are you even paying attention?’ Sebastian asked rather irritably.
I blinked, employing my best Lightwood Eyeroll. ‘The limitations of Belaphim’s power, influence and sway, yes I’m listening. How much of this is necessary?’
‘To understand why the demon has operated this way, yes it is. Who ever thought Alec Lightwood would be on the bed distractedly swooning over his lover while Jace Herondale carefully took in all the details?’ He said it slyly, with only a small amount of humour. Really, he was watching us both carefully. Calculating.
I narrowed my eyes. ‘Why are you so interested in the bond between us?’
He snorted. ‘I’m really not.’ But it was a lie, the once-relegated dark voice informed me. His lie did not require immediate attention, though, so I remained quiet and allowed him to continue. ‘As I was saying, Belaphim’s influence is restricted. All demons who are given small glimpses of the future are highly restricted in their actions so as not to cause too many alternate time-lines and parallel universes. Three is considered the maximum and all their actions and interference is controlled accordingly.’
Karine stood by the door, quiet sentinel to the entire conversation. ‘Wait a moment,’ she said, pinching the bridge of her nose. ‘…what?’
I raised a hand. ‘I’m really with Karine in the what stakes.’
Jace’s mind was racing ahead of mine and his understanding was actually rather impressive, but I was still confused even with his help.
Sebastian’s mouth thinned and he clearly exerted effort to be patient. ‘Right then. Belaphim can see the future very rarely. Every six or seven years he sees a flash of his life in the future. Sometimes very far ahead, sometimes only a few years. With me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Six years ago Belaphim saw something in his future he did not like. I don’t know what it was, but it involved you two. Belaphim decided to change it.’ He paused, eyes swivelling to me to make sure I hadn’t wandered back into a passionate internal monologue about Jace again. ‘Through his limited ability to navigate the future, he began to painstakingly plan that one or both of you needed to be dead by this morning. He is now very upset that his plans have failed.’
‘What plans, though? How did he plan this?’
‘Good God,’ Sebastian shook his head, eyes wide. ‘How have you devolved this much? His influence is limited. He can’t just hire assassins. He has to stay very closely within the realms of how this time-line would proceed without his prescience and if there is change, it must be gradual. Very gradual. He can only influence people, be around when bad decisions are made and hope to push them a little more off balance than they usually would have been.’
Jace’s expression was set in stone. ‘He knew I’d bargain to find Alec.’
Sebastian rubbed his neck. ‘From what I now know, Belaphim influenced the decisions that led to Alec being taken in the first place. His scheming dates back years ago and is far reaching.’
Jace and I exchanged glances. ‘How far reaching?’
‘It’s difficult to unravel the entire thing, but I can confidently say that Belaphim aided Nicholas Sang in creating the compound. Sang was desperate to have his wife be human, drowning in insecurity and jealousy of her power.’
‘That’s not what he told us.’
‘Maybe you should have been there while I was cutting through his foot tendons, he was a lot more honest.’
‘So, Belaphim helped Sang create the compound, then what?’ Jace asked tightly.
‘Understand, Belaphim didn’t swoop in and roll up his sleeves. He can’t take corporeal form in this universe. He offered Sang guidance, little more. A nudge.’
‘A nudge to get him to create this thing?’
‘To create something different to what Sang was actually set on inventing, which would have, at best, resulted in a method of draining demonic and angelic power from all humanoid beings. Instead, Sang invented the drug we’ve all experienced.’
I got to my feet, shaking my head. ‘So, this demon has been pulling strings for years, trying to herd us where he wanted? To last night?’
‘Yes. There are many events in which his influence can be traced.’
Jace went very still. ‘Did he… was he involved in…?’
I went to Jace, taking his hand in mine, offering strength and comfort. He was staring at Sebastian, not able to vocalise his question, but Sebastian seemed to understand all the same.
‘Yes,’ he said quietly, avoiding Jace’s stare. ‘Belaphim wasn’t directly involved, but his fingerprints are all over it. That… event,’ he settled on for lack of a better word. ‘was pivotal, apparently.’
A dark, violent anger slowly brewed inside me. This thing had orchestrated every bad thing that had befallen us the last few months in the hopes of pushing one or both of us to suicide.
‘Because it was meant to drive me to kill myself?’
‘Or Alec. Either was fine, both was ideal.’
Jace’s voice was like ice. ‘And you knew about this before, right?’
Sebastian didn’t blink. ‘Yes, I knew the demon wanted you both dead. I was waiting to see how it affected Clary, if at all, before I acted.’
‘I don’t think there’s enough of that drug in the world to make you a good person.’
‘Probably not, but its better than who I am without it, trust me.’
I stroked my thumb over Jace’s knuckles, holding his hand very tight. Without realising, I was slowly pulling him towards me, moving to shield him from Sebastian and his vile revelations. Jace allowed the proximity, but he kept his frontal posture, not once looking away from the silver haired man on his knees.
‘Why does he want us dead?’
Sebastian shook his head, anticipating backlash. ‘I really do not know.’
‘Do you have an educated guess?’ I snapped.
‘Logic dictates one or both of you will eventually kill Belaphim and he is attempting to subvert his own fate, but I genuinely don’t know. Demons are tricky and they guard secrets with violent jealousy.’
‘So neither of us died like he wanted,’ I said, looking around the room, trying to piece everything together. ‘Now he’s launching an all out attack on everyone? How is that not fucking with the time-line?’
Inclining his head, Sebastian said, ‘It’s a brash move, but still relatively calculated. Belaphim knows all the moving parts in your life, he knows your family, friends, enemies.’ He cleared his throat, dark eyes hooded. ‘I believe he anticipated the fact that if Clary was threatened, I might kill you both to protect her.’
Karine chuckled bitterly, but said nothing.
‘Is that why you came here?’
‘I hadn’t decided until I saw you both from outside.’
My lip curled in disgust. ‘Clary deserves so much better than you for family.’
‘Yes, she does. Unfortunately, I’m not going anywhere at the moment, though. I will help you because that is in Clary’s best interests. I’d like to stand up now if that’s all right?’
I glanced at Karine and nodded slightly, letting her know it was fine for him to move. She was incredibly menacing, even in her pyjamas. ‘Alec, I should wake ‘ze others?’
‘No, let them sleep. Izzy hasn’t had a good nights sleep in weeks,’ Jace said. ‘Could you swing by HQ and casually check everything is OK? We need to talk to Sebastian a little more.’
‘Bien sur, cherie,’ the tall woman replied, tossing a disdainful look at Sebastian as she left.
‘I like her,’ Sebastian said with a nod, getting to his feet. His stance was casual and relaxed, but Jace and I both knew how dangerous he potentially was. We didn’t relax, didn’t let our guard down. We were trained killers, after all. ‘She almost executed me, you know? Nearly cut my head off.’
Jace smiled coldly. ‘She’s a keeper, unlike some others.’
‘How long have you been watching us?’
‘I’ve been watching you all for a couple of days, mostly Clary. Look, I’m not remotely affected by how much you hate me so please don’t waste your energy. I’m here to offer my help, not audition for the role of the lovable villain within your little gang.’
Jace made Sebastian go over it three more times. Every single piece of information he knew about what Belaphim had orchestrated, what he was involved with, how Sebastian knew each part of it.
My Parabatai was reeling against the feeling of finding himself in the centre of a complex and insidious spider web, as was I.
When it looked like Jace was going to insist upon going over it again, Sebastian quickly cut across him and turned to me. ‘I have a lead,’ he said. ‘Someone who bargained with Belaphim a couple of years back. She owes him and he’s been letting her pay him back with favours.’
‘What kind of favours.’
‘Influencing people’s decisions.’
‘How?’
Sebastian shrugged. ‘She’s a psychic, a medium actually. She owns a fancy place and operates from there.’
My blood turned cold. ‘Sashinda Morr?’
‘Yes, how did you know?’
Jace’s eyes snapped to mine as he pored over my thoughts and memories.
‘Fuck!’ he swore. ‘That bitch!’
Sebastian pointedly sighed. ‘So this is life as a third wheel. Care to explain?’
‘I went to a medium for advice and she… she told me things.’
‘Bad things?’ Sebastian hazarded.
‘Yes. I mean, it was all technically true, I guess? She just kind of nudged me towards…’
‘Towards killing yourself?’
I swallowed down the shame. ‘Yeah.’
Sebastian either didn’t care or, well no - he just definitely didn’t care. ‘You see, that’s how it has to be. She couldn’t outright lie. Minimal influence, a dozen little nudges off the edge of a cliff.’
‘Fucking hell, Alec,’ Jace muttered, the memory of me out on that ledge was sore and stinging in his heart. ‘A medium, really?’
‘I needed guidance.’
‘And she gave it, just the wrong kind,’ Sebastian said decisively. ‘We start with her, I think.’
He looked ready to leave. ‘What, right now?’
‘While she’s asleep, yes.’
‘We can’t just leave the others,’ I pointed out with a deep frown. ‘Especially not if everyone is in danger because the demon put out a hit-list or whatever.’
‘I’ve erected a shield around the Institute,’ Sebastian said. ‘And around Clary while she’s at Luke’s, of course. It’s powerful enough to hold for a few hours, four maximum. After that, you may want to get your magical ex on the case. I suggest we have concrete information before it folds and we have to involve the others.’
‘You could be lying, using the others as bait to divert attention from Clary.’
Sebastian laughed. ‘If it was just you two, maybe. But Isabelle means too much to Clary and even if it guaranteed her safety, I couldn’t do that to her.’
Jace and I stared, not entirely sure what to believe, but we needed to follow up on the lead. For now, it was the best plan we had.
Suited and booted, I couldn’t help but feel a dark thrill of excitement as we headed out into the night. Maybe it was having Jace by my side, maybe the anticipation of finding the grandmaster who had orchestrated this whole thing… maybe just the way Jace looked in his gear. How many times had we fought side by side? Thousands. It had never affected me like this. My desire for him was usually locked away, kept at bay by self loathing and a rigor mortis-style control.
I did not have that control any more. I didn’t need it.
Sashinda lived close by, which was both helpful and unsettling. The three of us entered her building expertly. Sebastian, for how much I wanted to drop kick him, was admittedly extremely helpful. Izzy was right, he did have some kind of magic. I wanted to ask him about it, but we were more than a little preoccupied.
Morr’s apartment was luxurious and filled with expensive, aesthetically pleasing furniture. We looked around silently, getting a feel for the lay out. In her living room, though, I was surprised to find her sitting on the sofa in the dark.
‘You’re a little late,’ she commented neutrally, turning on a nearby lamp. She was fully dressed, wearing shoes and a coat, her prominent pregnancy bump creating a shadow.
Jace and I looked at each other, but Sebastian didn’t seem fazed.
‘I’m almost impressed,’ he commented. ‘But not quite. Any Medium worth their salt would run far and fast if they knew I was coming.’
Morr grimaced mildly. ‘Running wouldn’t have made a difference.’
‘No, it really wouldn’t.’
We waited for her to talk, confident that she didn’t need persuading, but I remained aware of my weapon at all times. I maintained a level head, despite the knowledge that the last time I’d seen her, she had successfully convinced me of something so monstrous it had forever scarred me, even with the knowledge of it being a lie now.
‘Before you start interrogating me,’ she prefaced. ‘Know that I’m in contract with Belaphim.’
Jace asked, ‘And? What does that mean?’
‘It means I can’t break the terms of our contract and that includes revealing his location. Its a standard clause he invokes when using humans for his own means.’
‘We don’t need his location,’ Sebastian said.
‘That’s good,’ Morr said with a slow nod. ‘He’s going to be all over you soon, anyway. You want information. I can provide that, albeit in limited fashion.’
‘Provide away, then.’
Morr looked at me for the first time, placid eyes unmoved by what she saw. ‘I’m glad you didn’t jump, Alec,’ she said. ‘Though things would have been a lot less complicated if you had,’ she added, looking sadly at her bump.
Jace started forward, but I reached for his wrist and gently pulled him back.
She
’s pregnant, Jace.
I wasn’t going to touch her, he said, but he didn’t fully believe that.
We need her to tell us what she knows.
She
’s a spiteful, manipulative bitch who nearly killed you, Alec!
No, she didn
’t. It was my actions, not hers and my responsibility to undo it. We need information. Stay calm, baby. I’m right here.
Jace took comfort, but he never let his glare waver from the medium.
Morr smiled. ‘How incredible to feel you two talking through telepathically. It vibrates, you know? The link between you is a filament of light; thin and stretching, but unbreakable. Even death would not break it now. You speak like children using tin can telephones. I’ve never seen it before in my lifetime and I’ve actually known Parabatai who’ve consummated the bond. You’re quite something else.’
‘Wasting time is dangerous,’ Sebastian pointed out softly with an edge of malice.
‘Then ask me what you will.’
‘Why does Belaphim want them dead?’
‘That’s not information I, not anyone else, would be privy to. Do better.’
I swept in quickly. ‘Why did he only want one of us dead before? Why not just both us from the start?’
Morr blinked. ‘I don’t know that.’
‘But you suspect something?’
‘I suspect many things, most of them never come to pass, thankfully.’
Frustrated, Jace drew his weapon. ‘What do you know, then?’
‘I know I’ll be dead by tomorrow, torn to shreds by lower demons who worship Belaphim, unless I end my own life tonight or run.’
‘We can help you run,’ I interjected quickly. ‘You and your baby. Help us and we’ll help you.’
For the first time, Morr seemed uncertain. ‘This is dark territory now. At least one of you was supposed to be dead by now. Several times I saw both of you dead.’
I closed my eyes against the pain of that potential future, even though we had negated it. Jace experienced a dizzying kind of terror, the idea of losing me in any world or reality was unthinkable to him. ‘But here you are and Belaphim is furious. His window of traceless interference has closed.’
‘Come again?’
‘Imagine a deer hunter. He stalks the animal, camps out and learns the routine of the creature. He spends time aiming that perfect shot, but when he does fire, he has to hit the target or the creature will run and be wary ever more.’
‘We’re aware of him now,’ Jace said with a decisive nod. ‘And now we’re coming for him.’
‘He will be reckless and stop at nothing to kill you.’
‘He has no form in this universe, though,’ Sebastian pointed out.
‘His followers do, a vast band of lower demons have been actively collecting virginal blood for months now under cover of darkness, some of them even raiding blood banks.’
With a jolt, I thought of the two girls in the back of the van with the demons.
‘I killed a demon who was drawing blood from two girls,’ I blurted out.
‘Yes,’ Morr said gravely.
Jace inclined his head. ‘Demons have always done that, it’s common practise.’
‘Not to this extent,’ Morr said. ‘They’re working overtime, gathering power to make a move on the behalf of their master. That power was intended for consolidation purposes, but now it is being aimed at you and yours.’
‘How?’
‘A siege, I think. An onslaught of demons aimed at your Institute, intended to wipe it off the map.’
My fists were bloodless, fingers tight around the hilt of my blade.
‘When?’
‘Soon.’
Something roused inside me, a part of me latching onto that one word and frowning intently at it. Suspicion and intense mistrust bloomed, though I couldn’t say why.
Jace looked at me fully, his serious expression wiped clean for a moment in recognition of something.
Other Alec, he thought, helpless to phrase it any other way. I felt his pleasure at recognising that part of me which he had come to love, especially as he’d thought it to be lost.
‘How soon?’ Sebastian was asking. ‘Where are the demons now?’
‘I don’t know. How on earth would I know something like that?’
‘You seem to know a considerable amount for a ruthless Medium, actually.’
‘I know nothing concrete. All I know is that things would have been better for your family if you had died, Alec.’
Jace started forward so abruptly, I almost didn’t grab him in time to stop him from hitting her. Just barely holding onto him, I moved him back, arms around his torso. Swiftly, I pulled him outside, into the hallway and released him there to calm himself down.
‘Fucking bitch,’ he muttered, roughly wiping the back of his hand over his eyes. ‘I swear by the Angel, if she makes one more snipe—’
Jace froze, looking down the dark length of the hallway. The bedroom door was ajar. His senses and mine went on high alert. There was something not right in that room and we could both feel it. Silently, I went first, while he provided cover, leaving Sebastian in the living room with Morr.
Flat against the frame, I pushed on the frame and the door swung silently open, nothing but darkness inside, yet the feeling intensified.
‘Alec,’ Jace said slowly, moving ahead of me into the room.
I reached around and turned on the light. My breath caught sharply in my throat.
Sashinda Morr was everywhere.
I was fifteen and I made a mistake.
It was the first time Izzy, Jace and I went on a solo patrol. Jade had been begging for it for weeks, months even. Hodge had given in at last, deeming us ready. I was the oldest and at fifteen, considered more than ready to patrol without supervision, but Jace and Izzy were younger and it had given Hodge pause until now.
Patrol had led to a nest; an abandoned building in which the basement had been taken over by lower demons, draining blood from humans. They even had apparatus, none of that ritual blood letting over a stone bowl for them. Needles, tubes, blood bags and iceboxes.
It was stupid, really. Hand to hand combat had never been my forte, there was no chance of beating Jace - who was talent personified in that area - and so I
’d never really tried to be any better than I was, honing my skill elsewhere. Archery was my skill, always had been.
But when I ran out of arrows, things went sideways.
I was fifteen and I realised for the first time what death really was.
The mistake was so small, so fucking simple. No arrows, bow discarded and in the heat of the moment, I pulled my blade out with the wrong hand. I didn
’t even know how it happened, I’d never done it before. The mistake caused a delay, which triggered an unguarded moment, which led to the demon sensing an opening.
The demon leapt, mouth gaping and murderous. I stared, frozen with a kind of panic I’d been trained out of long ago, except no, I definitely hadn’t because it was filling my entire being.
I was going to die because of a tiny, stupid mistake.
The demon landed on me mouth first, right in in the curve between neck and shoulder. The impact of it rattled my bones, teeth sinking in deeply and it shook its head back and forth, worrying at me like a rag doll. The pain was an unbearable, tone deaf symphony, making me see stars. This was death, then?
Distantly, I heard Jace screaming and a weak surge of panic hit me that maybe he was hurt and needed me, except I was dying and useless. It took me a moment to realise that he was screaming because of me.
Izzy, who was closer, came running and my brilliant sister cut the demon in half. The bite turned lax, teeth leaving my torn epidermis. I fell to my knees and tried to keep steady, eyes latched onto the two halves of the thing that had tried to eat me.
‘Huh,’ I said and pitched forward. Jace came skidding over, grabbing me with frantic hands.
‘Fuck, fuck, no, come on, stop it!’ he babbled furiously, voice cracking. ‘Alec, ALEC!’ he slapped my face lightly a few times as Izzy went to work drawing runes over my chest, over my heart. Izzy handed him something, some kind of material, and Jace pressed it against the side of my neck so hard I could barely breathe. ‘Stay still, stop moving! What were you doing, huh? What were you thinking?’
‘I forgot… what hand to use,’ I explained thickly, throat definitely not right at all, mouth full of blood. My body was turning numb, but that might have been the runes, drawing energy to heal me. I hoped that was what it was.
‘He’s lost a lot of blood,’ Izzy said, dark blue eyes finding mine. ‘Alec, do you feel cold?’
I wanted to tell her that I was fine. I was the eldest, the tallest, the big brother. I was fine and nothing would ever hurt me or kill me.
‘I feel numb,’ I said, barely a breathy whisper.
Izzy swore.
‘It’s torn his jugular, I don’t know what to do.’
Jace
’s hands were drenched in my blood, pressed firmly against my neck. ‘Close the wound!’ he yelled at her.
‘It’s closing, I think,’ she said. ‘Let me see it.’
Jace lifted the material and I could breathe again, but pain flooded in immediately.
‘Shit!’ Jace swore, immediately pressing it back. ‘It’s healing, but not quick enough. He’s still losing way too much blood! What do we do?’
‘We could make a tourniquet if it wasn’t his neck, uh…’ Izzy shook her head frantically. ‘Cauterise the wound, somehow?’
‘With what?’
‘How should I know?! Check it again!’
My vision was swimming, body prickling with pins and needles.
This time when Jace carefully lifted the material up an inch, relief slammed into him hard enough that his exhale shuddered.
‘It’s closing, not bleeding so much.’
‘About time, I drew about ten thousand fucking runes on him!’
‘He’s still lost way too much blood,’ Jace said worriedly. ‘Look at it, it’s everywhere. Alec, hey, look at me, OK?’
I tried to focus, but the world was slipping away.
‘Jace?’ I slurred, seeking him out.
‘It’s gonna be fine,’ he promised, bending over me to press his forehead to mine. ‘I won’t let you leave,’ he whispered, so quiet I could barely make it out. ‘You hear me? You’re not leaving me here without you.’
‘Jace?’ Izzy sounded uncertain. ‘What do we—’
‘Get the tubes over there.’
‘What?’
‘Get them, quickly. There’s a sink in the corner, wash them best you can and bring them here, the needles too.’
I couldn
’t see anything anymore, I was slipping. This was what it felt like to die, I realised. I was just… leaving, really slowly. It was almost nice. I decided that dying in Jace’s arms was a good way to go.
‘Shut up!’ he snapped under his breath and I realised I must have said that out loud. ‘Don’t you dare even think of dying, you understand? Izzy, come on!’
I tried to open my eyes, but the world was a muddle of black and grey blobs, melting together.
‘There was a fresh pack of needles, but the tubes had all been used,’ she said. ‘Jace, this is so dangerous…’
‘We can do a blood cleaning ritual after, whatever it takes, but he’s dying Izzy! I can feel him slipping away.’
I laughed dazedly.
‘Same word I thought. Slipping. Sssss-lip-ping.’
‘Find a vein in his arm,’ he instructed and Izzy was pawing my at forearm, then slapping it. I could barely feel it. ‘Hit him harder, you have to find one!’
Izzy slapped my skin as hard as she could, my arm stinging in a tingly way.
‘Good, now attach the needle to the tube. Quick!’
My poor Jace, he was so fraught. Everything was going to be fine, just fine.
‘Good, now push it into the vein.’
‘Ouch,’ I said, conversationally, my own word echoing around my head.
‘Now hold it steady with one hand and with your other, press down against his neck, right here.’
‘OK,’ Izzy said shakily. ‘It’s gonna be OK, Alec.’
‘’S what ‘m tryin’ to say.’
‘OK, see there? Twist the regulator, let the air bubbles out. Yeah, good. Now close it. Good, that’s good.’
‘Jace, this is so fucked.’
‘No it’s not,’ he insisted. ‘It’s fine.’
For a while, no one spoke. I mumbled words every now and then, reminding myself I wasn
’t quite dead yet. After an undetermined amount of time, though, I started to feel warm. My arm no longer felt numb. Then my shoulder. Then my legs.
The cold, numb feeling was leaving.
But something else was happening. Something wonderful. Something terrible.
‘Jace,’ I rasped, throat hurting like I’d swallowed razorblades.
‘I’m here,’ he said breathlessly. ‘I’m right here.’
‘That’s enough,’ Izzy said.
‘No! He needs more.’
‘You’re going to pass out!’
‘’M OK,’ Jace insisted and I opened my eyes, willing the world to take shape and let me back into it. Let me back in so I could see my sister and my Jace again.
‘Alec? Can you hear me?’ Izzy asked, her face close to mine.
I nodded slowly.
‘What’s…?’
‘Jace is giving you his blood.’
I didn
’t have any words for that. I hadn’t been fully aware of it, but some part of me had. Some part had realised a while back that my Parabatai was gifting me the blood from his own veins, keeping me alive by putting himself inside me and making himself weaker to give me strength.
‘It’s all right,’ Jace told me, sensing my discomfort. He was sitting just out my line of vision, I wanted to turn my head to see him, but it wasn’t possible.
‘That’s enough,’ Izzy said with vicious finality. She yanked the needle from my arm and pressed down quickly. ‘This is so fucking dangerous, we don’t have any idea what it could do to either of you!’
‘What was the alternative, let him die?’
‘We could have given him my blood!’ my sister all but screamed.
Jace fell painfully silent, his emotions radiating vaguely within me. Hurt, shame, guilt that he had wanted his blood to save me, that no other option had even occurred to him.
‘He’s alive,’ he said softly. ‘That’s all that matters.’
‘Fucking boys!’ Izzy snarled. ‘Alec, stop trying to sit up! You just had your throat torn out!’
‘That’s an… exaggeration,’ I rasped, coughing slightly. I heard shuffling and Jace came closer, enough that I could see him and his tear stained face; perfect tracks through the dirt and grime. He was so beautiful.
‘Do you feel better?’ he breathed, hand splayed over my chest, careful not to apply pressure. His arm was bare, a thin trickle of blood leading back to where he’d given me part of himself. Izzy got to her feet, heading up the stairs to seek help probably.
‘Yes,’ I said, wanting him closer, wanting contact with him because we were Parabatai (nothing else, nothing else!) and we would both heal better if we were touching. Everything would be all right if we were touching. ‘Thank you.’
He smiled and shook his head, two more tears falling down the pre-existing track lines.
‘You’re welcome. Thank you for not leaving me.’
‘How could I?’
‘You almost did.’
‘Never,’ I said, meaning it. ‘Never, Jace.’
He stared at me, weighing my words and a million other things about me and us and our bond and what it meant that I nearly went away, despite my best intentions.
‘You can’t do that to me,’ he said, moving closer, moving his hand across my freshly runed and blood-splattered chest. ‘What would I do without you?’
I swallowed painfully.
‘Live?’
‘No,’ he said after a long moment of contemplation. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Guess I’d better be more careful then, huh?’ I said, two tears of my own spilling down the side of my head and into my hair.
‘Yes,’ he said slowly, laying his head against my chest, over my heart. Guardian of my heartbeat. ‘Please.’
I was fifteen and I realised for the first time what death really was. Death was abhorrent and vicious and quiet. Death could come at any moment when I wasn
’t at my absolute best. Death was what we Shadowhunters wielded, but it was also my enemy.
If I died, death would take us both.
‘Fuck. Oh fuck!’
Literally everywhere. Barely an inch of the tastefully decorated cobalt blue room was free of splattered meat. An explosion of blood and gore, hair and bone.
Jace looked at me, fear ringing clearly between us both. We turned and ran back down the hall, bursting into the room where Sebastian was still calmly talking to whatever the fuck was pretending to be Morr.
‘…can’t really expect us to believe — Alec, what is it?’
‘That’s not her!’ I gasped, weapons drawn and aimed at the very calm Medium. ‘Sashinda Morr is dead.’
‘Very,’ Not-Morr agreed. ‘It was quick, though. A rare gift.’
Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. ‘You don’t smell like a demon.’
‘Congratulations, little half breed. You possess the basic skills of a dog.’
‘Are you Belaphim?’ Jace demanded.
‘No,’ it said with a slow smile. ‘That would be pretty stupid, wouldn’t it?’
‘Who are you, then?’
The being shrugged. ‘A friend.’
‘Of?’
‘We have not yet decided.’
‘Why does Belaphim want us dead?’
The thing narrowed its eyes, gazing off to the side. ‘This has been in motion for a long time, but no one knows the reason why. For many years now, we have waited to learn this. We are curious. What powers do these Shadowhunters truly wield for the great Belaphim to sully himself with human endeavours and favours?’
‘Why did you kill her?’
‘Belaphim ordered it. He has ordered the killing of all who helped him, even those who aided him unknowingly. Belaphim is… unravelling.’
‘Why did you wait for us?’
‘We were curious, wanting to see these troublesome Nephilim in the flesh, taste the air around them, see what makes them special.’
‘And?’
It smiled too wide, the first physical slip that indicated it was anything other than human.
‘You are special, more so than either of you realise.’
Jace sneered. ‘How touching!’
‘Belaphim was remiss to not even consider capture. The power of your bond and blood is significant. We would have taken you both, years ago, had we known. Made you consummate the bond. How strange to see little angels with such power.’
A flicker of fear went through me.
‘What power?’
A chuckle that rumbled and purred. ‘Not the kind you assume,’ it said. ‘Not the woven tales spun by the Clave, silly giants and such. Yours is something much more… concentrated.’ It tasted the air, moving forward a little. Jace and I raised our weapons in warning, but the thing wearing Morr’s face did not go any further. ‘Are you related?’ it asked at length.
‘No,’ I said, very clearly. ‘Of course we’re not.’
But the thing didn’t relent. ‘Are you sure? Your blood sings of something similar. Something… shared.’
Jace internally panicked, recalling a memory I had long since relegated to my Folder of Times Jace Saved My Life. The time I’d fucked up and hesitated to draw my weapon or something, it was so long ago. A demon had bitten my neck and Jace had…
The thing was watching us both with a delighted anticipation, eyes wide and still, tongue running over its bottom lip.
‘Yes?’ it prompted.
Sebastian graced us with an irritable look. ‘Out loud, if you wouldn’t mind?’
‘I…’ Jace cleared his throat, back of his neck burning. ‘I gave Alec a blood transplant once. He was dying and there were tubes and needles, I just… I gave him my blood.’
‘Interesting,’ Sebastian said.
‘Very,’ the thing agreed. ‘Though it is not the sole reason Belaphim wants you dead, I believe.’
‘It doesn’t mean anything, anyway,’ I said defensively because Jace’s mind was going to all kinds of bad places about the word related. ‘People give blood all the time, that doesn’t make them siblings or whatever the fuck you’re implying!’
‘Of course,’ it said, shrugging gracefully. ‘But you were already Parabatai. You combined soul, then body.’
‘Make the fucking point already!’ Jace demanded fractiously.
‘Because you cannot say it aloud yourself?’ it teased.
‘The transplant,’ Sebastian said, staring at us both. ‘It caused the bond to intensify?’
‘Massively, we would think,’ Not-Morr said. ‘Could you feel each other, after that? Physically?’
I didn’t want to answer, this had all turned around so fast. ‘Sometimes,’ I admitted grudgingly. ‘I could feel him, yeah.’
‘That means nothing,’ Jace insisted, throwing me a furious glance like I’d betrayed him somehow. ‘A blood transplant means nothing!’
The thing looked extremely pleased. ‘We see now,’ it said. ‘Why Belaphim was so worried.’
‘Oh?’ Sebastian asked. ‘Care to share?’
‘Not really. We look forward to seeing this play out.’
It vanished into thin fucking air, leaving behind the slowly creeping scent of Sashinda Morr’s rapidly decaying body and the start of Jace’s panic attack.
Unable to bear the thought of acting as beacons for possible destruction and death, Jace and I insisted on going to the apartment for the rest of the night while Sebastian lurked around outside the Luke’s, checking on his barrier and keeping his sister safe. He assured us that the barrier was stable outside the Institute until dawn.
‘You decorated,’ Jace observed when I closed the door on the outside world.
‘Oh,’ I said, remembering. My plant on the widow needed water, I realised guiltily. ‘Yeah, just a few things.’
The sofa was a flat as a pancake, but everything else remained the same. Jace wandered into the kitchen and I tried to give him a little privacy, but it wasn’t possible. If he’d really wanted to be alone, he wouldn’t have asked me to come there with him.
‘You got cups,’ he said quietly, examining one. I nodded distractedly, debating whether or not to re-inflate the sofa and ultimately deciding against it.
‘So we could have coffee.’
‘You got them in different colours. Did you… did you choose one for each of us?’
I smiled gently. ‘Maybe.’
He knew for whom each colour was intended without having to read my mind. Slowly, he filled one of them with water and then brought the cup into the living room. He poured the water carefully over my plant, drenching the soil and giving it life with liquid.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he whispered and I knew he wasn’t talking to the plant.
‘Stop it,’ I said, approaching him with barely contained intent to hold him close and never let go. ‘Don’t even say it, Jace.’
‘I have to,’ he said, eyes closed. ‘I gave you this, started it with my blood.’
‘No,’ I said, taking the empty cup from his fingers. ‘I loved you since the day we met. You’re my world, you always have been.’
‘What if…?’ his breath hitched and I twined my fingers with his, skin to skin a blissful life preserver. ‘What if we only feel this way because of the blood? Because we’re…fuck, I don’t know. Attracted to each other because of it?’
I was in love with you before that, Jace. Maybe forever. It doesn
’t mean anything. Unless…
Delicately, I moved into the slipstream of his mind and he let out a sigh, hand tightening. I bit my lip, searching my beautiful Parabatai for any signs of what I feared.
That maybe he didn’t love me this way before the stupid blood transfusion.
‘Alec,’ he said, but he didn’t tell me stop and he didn’t want me to stop.
I went through his memories, the experience enough to make me forget that I was Alec Lightwood. When reliving his experiences and feelings in this way, I was Jace Herondale. His mind was water; a moving river and each droplet was a memory, an experience, a realisation. Some areas were shallow, some deep, some warm and glistening, some dark and treacherous. It was always moving, always rushing onwards towards the ocean.
His hand slipped around the back of my neck, pressing his nose to mine.
‘You are the ocean,’ he breathed, voice thick, skin hot and inviting.
I waded into his mind, into him. He let me search, unafraid of what I would find. A bright, bubbling area of the river; water sloshing loudly over rocks, creating the most perfect sounds.
I loved you since I first saw you, he said simply, and then he showed me.
A thousand times he’d smiled at me, barely restraining himself from touching me. All the moments when he’d wanted to kiss me, tell me things that no friends or brothers could ever say without entering irreversible territory.
As if I didn’t feel the same, I told him, dragging my lips lightly over his, the gesture almost inadvertent, lost in his mind as I was. As if I wouldn’t have kissed you back, touched you back, told you I loved you too.
It was dangerous, this whirlpool. There was a strong, determined undertow pulling us both deeper and deeper. Stay forever, it whispered. Stay inside.
But there were reasons to leave and so, with extreme reluctance, I withdrew.
Pulling out of his mind as gently as possible left me unmoored, lost for a moment and confused to be back in my own body once more.
Alec. I was Alec.
‘I thought I’d infected you with how much I loved you,’ he said, brashly. Then he stopped and smiled, shaking his head. ‘OK, when I say it aloud, it sounds ridiculous.’
‘Just a little. What do you want to do now?’
‘I want to kill this thing, Alec,’ he said. ‘We’re going to do it together.’
I ran my fingers through his shorter, but still oh-so-fucking-painfully-beautiful hair and he let out a sigh, leaning into the contact. It felt like weeks since we’d kissed properly, but in reality it was hours.
‘Yes, we are,’ I promised him. ‘But we’re going to be smart about it. I’m not about to get everything I ever wanted, only to lose it.’
‘Agreed. Is there coffee? I could really use some right now.’
‘What about a stamina rune?’ I offered, a slight edge of teasing there despite my best intentions.
He cocked a suspicious, amused eyebrow at me, heading for the kitchen. ‘I think you only want to draw that on me just so you can wear it down.’
He felt it, threw me a warm, glittering smile that spoke of all the things we might do later. He went about making coffee and I contented myself by wrapping my arms about his middle, resting my chin on his shoulder, watching the mundane tasks. Jace made me a coffee without asking.
‘What were you going to ask me, earlier?’ he asked, very quietly, stirring the hot coffee.
I answered quickly, before my mind tattled on me.
‘I was going to ask you to marry me.’
A broken little breath escaped his lips, hands trembling. He’d kind of known what I was going to say, but hearing it was quite something else. I smiled against the shell of his ear and pressed an errant kiss there.
‘I now realise that was terrible timing. I’ll have to think of something far more impressive. Something you won’t expect.’
He laughed shakily, hands flat against the countertop. His mind was oddly silent, heart spinning and racing and singing loud enough to silence rational thought.
‘I’ll try to act surprised.’
For hours, we sat on the floor together, talking, surrounded by the little things I’d bought in my attempts to make this place some kind of home. We talked about Valentine. For some reason, Jace had been thinking about him a lot lately. Jace didn’t often speak about his past, but with no boundaries between us any more, he was of the opinion that we may as well speak about such things.
No more hiding, no more secrets.
But also, no more surprises. For anything to ever have even a small element of the unexpected, it would have to be completely off the cuff. I didn’t mind so much, but I would like to surprise Jace sometimes with… certain things.
Inevitably, the conversation turned to other things. Darker areas we had not yet had time to broach. With no sleep on the horizon yet again, I carefully asked him about how he felt, even though I already knew the answers.
He told me about this feeling that had come upon him while those men carried him into the old building, one of the few and last things he remembered. It was a feeling of utter worthlessness. That what was about to happen was his fault for getting so drunk, for going out alone, for having a reputation.
‘I felt…’ he paused, searching for the right word. ‘The lowest I’ve ever felt, I think. I’d never felt so worthless in my whole life. Now,’ he said managing a small smile as he reached out and pushed my hair back for the sake of it. ‘Now I can see that I’m not worthless, does that make sense? I think… if it happened today instead of when it did, I wouldn’t feel like that. I’m me again, or like, the better version of me. I know I’m not worthless.’
‘I’m glad you see that,’ I told him quietly, gazing at him.
‘It doesn’t make it better or anything,’ he laughed without humour, looking down. ‘But I can feel that shit is gone and that’s something, right?’
‘I think so.’
‘I know what you plan to tell the Clave,’ he said at length, after a comfortable silence, spent in each others’ minds. ‘I don’t like it, but it might actually work.’
‘Why don’t you like it?’
‘Because you really could have died,’ he said, a small crease between his eyebrows. ‘If I was any later, just a few seconds later… Belaphim would have everything he wanted and I would be… fuck. Probably dead too.’
‘We’re not, though,’ I said levelly. ‘And I don’t want to have to hide how much I love you. I spent long enough doing that already. Pretending one of us died and was brought back is the best way to go about it. We don’t have the runes anymore, they’d struggle to contest that the bond is broken.’
He picked at the carpet, eyes downcast. ‘I would run with you, y’know. If it didn’t work. They could take my runes, I wouldn’t care.’
‘If this works, and I think it will, neither will be necessary, but I know you would. I’d do the same for you. Anything.’
He knew that, but it made him smile to hear me say it anyway.
Magnus called at a bad time.
Well, technically he called at a really, really fucking wonderful time, but still.
‘Fucking hell, Alec, if you answer that I’ll—’
I answered Jace's phone before he could throw it out of reach. ‘Hello?’
‘Jace--oh, Alexander. I was expecting... never mind. Sorry for calling so late, but…ah, I take it you weren’t asleep?’
Breathing like I’d been running a marathon, I swallowed, mouth dry from panting, and shrugged.
‘No, what’s up?’
Beneath me, Jace giggled and mouthed the word, ‘Up?’ He ran his hands absently up and down my back, legs locked around the back of my thighs.
‘Well, like every other instance of us speaking in the last few months, it’s not a social call. One day it will be, though. You can all take me out very socially and buy me things from Cartier.’
‘That sounds nice,’ I said reasonably and waited for him to go on.
‘I don’t want to discuss it over the phone, obviously. Can I portal over to you now?’
Now? Hastily, Jace and I began to untangle from each other. ‘Uhhh,’ I stalled, scrabbling to find my pants. ‘We’re not at the Institute, actually.’
Magnus sighed. ‘I really wouldn’t ask if it weren’t urgent.’
‘I’m not lying,’ I said, almost tripping over, balancing the phone between my ear and shoulder. ‘I’m just… I’ll text you the address and you can portal over here.’
‘All right, thanks.’
The new few minutes were spent rapidly and clumsily trying to dress in time before Magnus knocked on the door. We made it back into the clothes we’d shed earlier, but there was little chance or time to do anything about my hair or Jace’s red, bitten lips.
Running my hands through the messy strands and most likely making I worse, I opened the door and tried to look casual.
‘Hey,’ I said, controlling my breathing. ‘Come in.’
He didn’t look especially impressed, but he strode in with a brief smile and didn’t comment on anything else, seeking to be frank instead.
‘Jace,’ he greeted my Parabatai. ‘I’m afraid I come with bad news and a difficult question.’
Jace and I shared a glance. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I need to ask the question first,’ Magnus said, looking at Jace. ‘Did you know they were dead?’
Jace blinked, seeking out the strand between us for any indication that I knew what Magnus was talking about.
‘Sorry?’
‘Did you know they were dead or… did you kill them yourself?’
‘Kill who?’
Magnus shifted uncomfortably, throwing me a look. ‘You know, I presume?’
I frowned, not liking this at all. ‘Know what?’
‘Alec,’ Jace said quietly. ‘He means… y’know.’
All at once, I felt irrationally protective of Jace, wanting to guard him against having to talk about or deal with it in any capacity.
‘Yes, I know,’ I said stiffly, moving closer to Jace. ‘What of it?’
Magnus took a steadying breath. ‘The perpetrators are dead.’
Jace flinched. ‘What?’
He looked at me right away, searching me to see if I knew anything about it. The idea that I had gone out into the night and killed the men who hurt him was both insulting and pleasing because of course I would have done it (would have loved to do it) but I knew he’d made me - albeit other me -swear not to.
Sorry, he said, offering comfort when he quickly deduced I hadn’t killed anyone recently.
It’s fine, I said honestly. I would happily have cut them into pieces, had you said the word.
Magnus rubbed his eyes. ‘Fiery hell in a hand-basket, that’s really obvious, boys.’
Jace bristled. ‘How did they die?’
‘A corrupted batch of cocaine, or so it would seem to most Mundanes, but a friend has told me she detected a layer of poison beneath it which leads to the Shadow world, more directly to me!’
‘To you?’
‘Yes, the poison is extremely rare and I have - or had - the only known quantity in the United States under my watchful protection or so I thought. So,’ he said, swivelling to look at me. ‘Did you take it and kill them with it?’
Jace shook his head. ‘How do you even know its them?’
Magnus didn’t answer, waiting for my answer first.
‘No,’ I told him. ‘Though I would have.’
‘How romantic,’ he muttered, but he seemed to believe me. ‘And I know who they were because I investigated it and kept a close eye on them, so nothing like that could happen again to anyone else.’
‘So you kept a close eye on them and still didn’t see who killed them?’
‘Whoever it was, knew what they were doing. It was made to look like they had a fight and then died of heart failure from the bad batch, but…’
‘But?’
‘If you say you didn’t kill them, then I believe you both, but someone did and I need to know who. There are others who’ve died as well, people with connections to you.’
Jace and I experienced a bolt of fear. ‘Who?’
‘No one you’d cry about,’ Magnus said, looking around the apartment. ‘Barzo, Lenwig and his boys. Plus, I don’t know if you remember the medium, Sashinda Moor? She’s dead too.’
‘Yeah, we know,’ I said.
Magnus waited, eyebrows raised in an, Oh Please, Tell Me More! kind of style.
I explained briefly about the last few hours. He employed incredible grace and class, not interrupting me the way he so clearly wanted to. When I finished, he magicked up a two sofas and sat on the comfiest looking one.
‘This is really fucked,’ he sighed, conjuring a splendid looking drink with one hand which he downed without even removing the umbrella.
Jace and I sat opposite him. ‘It’s not as fucked as it sounds,’ Jace offered, running his hand along the surface of the sofa; a dark grey velvet Chesterfield. He liked it, hoped it wouldn’t vanish when Magnus left. ‘It’s just one demon. This is all comes from one place, one thing. One head of the snake.’
‘It’s a pretty big snake, Jace.’
‘I take it you don’t know why Belaphim is doing this to us?’
With a grimace, Magnus shook his head. ‘I wish I did. What now, then?’
‘We’re going back to the Institute,’ I said. ‘We need to tell the others and then, I guess we can go from there.’
‘Do they know? About…?’
‘Izzy does,’ I said. ‘But no one else.’
‘All right. Do you want me to Portal you back?’
‘Yeah, I just need to grab a few things,’ Jace said, subtly offering me a moment with Magnus if I needed one.
Magnus, it seemed, did have something to say to me.
‘You haven’t told me about the roof,’ he said, fixing me with a level stare that might have been best suited to a parent. ‘I heard that Belaphim was disappointed no one died, heard that it almost happened, though.’
Despite how much I wanted to, I didn’t look away. ‘It was a misunderstanding.’
‘I know I complain often and loudly about the frequency with which you all trample into my apartment, but I wouldn’t allow it unless I loved and cared for you all. You should have come to me.’
‘I know, Magnus. Everything just got so… dark.’
Magnus sighed heavily. ‘That’s where demons play best.’
Karine made eggs again as well as bacon, sausages and fried mushrooms and tomatoes. She had everything ready on the table for when the others woke up. Fresh coffee and juice, too.
‘Karine, can you please move in here for all time?’ Izzy asked, dropping a kiss on her cheek as she passed, rubbing her eyes sleepily. Max trailed behind her, bright eyed and bushy tailed, staring at the breakfast table eagerly.
‘Wow,’ he muttered. ‘Did someone die? Is this like, a “Sorry Someone Died” breakfast?’
I laughed and patted the seat beside me which he took with a warm smile, wedged between me and Jace, Magnus at the end.
‘Non, cherie,’ Karine said, shovelling a healthy amount of fried eggs onto her own plate. ‘Is nothing but a simple breakfast for everyone I love.’
‘Karine, thank you,’ Jace said, briefly reaching for her hand which she clasped tightly, eyes glittering.
‘C’est rien,’ she said, but kissed his hand briefly before moving her attention back to breakfast.
‘So, Karine,’ Magnus said, pouring himself a tall glass of juice. ‘How are you related to the Alphonse’s?’
‘Ah,’ Karine said with a grin. ‘Well, in official looks, I am la cousine, but truly, I am half sister to Louis.’
‘The defunct heir apparent?’
‘’Ee is most defunct, yes.’
The two of them began a lengthy conversation about French royalty and secret siblings from scandalous affairs.
‘Did you sleep well?’ I asked Izzy. She briefly seemed a little lost without Clary in the face of so much food, but Simon was clearly on it, piling two plates; one for her, one for Max. He asked Max what he wanted on his and then added one of whatever Max had chosen onto Izzy’s plate as well.
‘I did,’ my sister replied, smiling over the rim of her coffee cup.
Once everyone was seated and happily eating, Jace took a deep breath.
Izzy seemed to have been waiting for it. ‘Oh God,’ she said, shoulder sagging. ‘Here it comes.’
‘So, last night,’ Jace said heavily. ‘Sebastian came back.’
‘Came back how?’ Izzy asked quickly. ‘Is Clary OK?’
‘She’s fine,’ he said. ‘And she’s on her way here now, but she’s coming with Sebastian.’
‘With?’
‘He’s escorting her here safely. Look, this is a lot to explain so I’m gonna do it in one go and then everyone can ask whatever they need to.’
Magnus glanced at Max. ‘Should he be here for this?’
‘Yes,’ Izzy and I said at the same time, earning a grateful smile from our little brother.
‘OK. Everything that’s happened in the last few months, specifically pertaining to Alec and me, has been orchestrated by the demon, Belaphim. He’s been moving chess pieces one at a time, years before now, to get what he wanted; Alec and me dead. Two nights ago he almost got it.’
Here, Jace stopped, letting me continue.
‘Belaphim spun a tangled web, hoping to isolate me from Jace and throw misunderstandings at us both to the point where I thought I’d done something terrible to Jace and…’ I swallowed, wrapping my arm around Max. ‘I nearly killed myself.’
Izzy already knew, so did Magnus, but they both looked almost like they were hearing it for the first time again. Max craned his neck to glare at me, so resembling our sister it was almost scary.
‘That night at the party?’
‘Yeah,’ I said softly.
‘I knew something was wrong!’ he said, shaking his head. ‘You should have talked to me; I could have told you you’d never hurt Jace!’
‘You’re right. But this demon, he’s clever. Everything that’s happened to us has been him pulling strings, making his move. He had people working for him, doing terrible things to push us to the edge.’
Izzy’s breath caught in her throat, eyes locked with Jace. ‘Even the… at Sang’s?’
Jace nodded, lips pressed together tightly.
‘Why, though?’ Simon asked, lacing his fingers through Izzy’s. ‘Why does he want you dead? Did you do something to him?’
‘We don’t know,’ I replied. ‘But from what we do know, it’s something that we’re apparently going to do in the future. Sebastian explained what he could, it was very complicated.’
‘And he’s trying to prevent it by killing you both?’ Izzy asked.
‘One or both of us,’ Jace said.
Simon wrinkled his nose. ‘Why one or both?’
‘Again, we have no clue.’
Karine leaned forward, clearing her throat. ‘I might ‘ave an idea about why,’ she said carefully and quietly. ‘’Zere is only one reason I can think why it would be OK to kill only one.’
Jace and I waited, but something in Jace stirred, sensing her suggestion before she even spoke it.
‘Your children,’ Karine said gently.
Her suggestion was met with silence. I felt myself mildly reeling from the two words, which simultaneously filled me with happiness and fear. The fear came from some deeply primitive part, seeking to protect that which did not even exist yet.
‘Oh,’ Izzy said eyes wide. ‘Oh my God, of course!’
Jace closed his eyes briefly, his pain swirling inside me. ‘When I went to him, he didn’t outright offer me the trade for my ability to have children, though.’
Magnus looked at him. ‘It told you to go away and learn the price of Belaphim.’
‘Wait,’ Simon said, throwing his hands up. ‘What?’
‘When Alec went missing,’ Jace said. ‘That’s what I sold to the demon. I offered up my ability to father children.’
‘You came to the conclusion when you saw me,’ Magnus said in a low voice. ‘Then you went back and offered it to him. He never asked you for it.’
Everyone jumped as I slammed my hand down hard on the table. Max wrapped his arms around me and Jace held me tightly in his mind, sharing in my sadness and anger.
I’m so sorry, he told me. Don’t be mad at me.
Mad at you? Never. I love you. Love you, love you, more than life. I
’m just…
I know. I feel it too.
We were played. Like a fucking violin.
‘OK, so,’ Izzy said, shaking her head. ‘If it got what it wanted from Jace, why everything else? Taking away Jace’s ability to have kids should have ended it, right?’
‘Understand,’ Magnus said. ‘Even for a demon such as Belaphim, the ability to see into the future is shrouded heavily. I highly doubt he could see whose child it was, if indeed it was a child he’s aiming to prevent the birth of.’
‘He was being thorough, then?’
‘Why didn’t Alec, other Alec,’ Jace clarified. ‘Sell his ability to have kids? He went to the same demon, right? Sold his memory to free us of the drug? Why didn’t Belaphim demand the same thing?’
‘That would be incredibly dangerous, I think,’ Magnus said. ‘An evident and undeniable amount of meddling to further his own future, which is not permitted of any demon with prescience.’
‘They have to stay close to the original time lines,’ I said, nodding.
‘Yes. Removing the ability from you both would likely be a step too far.’
‘This is so complicated,’ Simon sighed. ‘I’m really sorry, you guys. I’ll help you kill this fucker, however we can.’
‘Me too,’ Max offered staunchly.
Jace smiled in a bittersweet fashion, kissing the top of his head. ‘Damned right you will. Everyone here is crap at research, except you, buddy.’
‘There’s still more,’ I went on. ‘Sebastian explained all this to us and also said that Belaphim is now furious and reckless enough to put a hit out on the entire Institute.’
‘Oh shit,’ Izzy chuckled. ‘I mean, that’s fucking with the time-line, right?’
‘A bold move,’ Magnus said, frowning. ‘I wonder how real a threat it is.’
‘That’s what I said,’ came a new voice.
Sebastian and Clary entered the room. Clary went straight to Izzy, who stood quickly and hugged her friend, whispering to her, asking if she was OK. Clary nodded tightly.
‘Sebastian caught me up on the way here,’ she said.
‘Might I point out,’ Sebastian sighed, lurking close to Clary. ‘That your security here is appalling. I wasn’t stopped once on the way in.’
‘Because I changed security parameters, obviously,’ I said, keeping my eyes trained on him. ‘Albeit stealthily.’
‘So, I’m on the team, now am I?’
Izzy faced Sebastian, her expression hard and cold. ‘I wouldn’t go that far.’
Something in Sebastian’s face softened, there might have even been a splinter of guilt in that otherwise flawless exterior.
‘Isabelle, last time we saw each other, I—’
Izzy drove her knee up hard, right between his legs and sent him crashing to the floor just like every other man who had ever been kneed there.
‘I’m over it,’ she said, sweeping her hair back.
‘Well,’ Clary said, staring at Sebastian coolly, as he got to his feet again with effort, face red and flustered in a way that made me very happy. ‘What’s the plan, guys? It’s broad daylight and I’m not seeing this big ass attack on the Institute.’
‘I believe,’ Sebastian ground out, leaning on the table, eyes closed. ‘That Belaphim was waiting for me to make a move, after all.’
‘To protect Clary,’ Magnus surmised. ‘Even Belaphim wouldn’t risk something so ostentatious as a full frontal attack. The consequences for something so brash would be worse than death.’
‘Which is good,’ Clary said. ‘But doesn’t give us much time to find and kill the thing before it starts trying to poke holes in us one by one.’
‘Safety is paramount, as always,’ I said. ‘No one is to go anywhere alone until the thing is resolved. Our best angle is—’
Mom had just walked quickly past the door, so fast I’d barely seen her. She was wearing the dress from last night, but other than that, I hadn’t been able to discern any details. Ten seconds later, Dad strolled in, also wearing the same shirt, jacket slung over his shoulder. He had huge bags under his eyes, no cocky swagger anywhere to be seen.
When he saw everyone, his eyes widened and I could tell he was considering fleeing, but it was too late.
‘Oh,’ he said, eyes landing on Karine and staying there. ‘Hey.’
Karine suddenly relaxed into a gorgeous smile. ‘Salut, mon bebe. Bon nuit, eh?’
‘No, it was... Can we talk? Please?’
To her credit, Karine laughed gently. ‘Robert,’ she said, making it sound like Ro-Bear. ‘You ‘ave nothing to say.’
‘I do,’ he insisted, swallowing slowly, glancing around at the rest of us. ‘Guys, can we get a moment please?’
Izzy quietly said, ‘Karine?’
‘No,’ Karine said. ‘I am not interested in your moment. You ‘ad your moment last night and I see ‘oo you chose to be with. We are finis. I’m keeping your kids, though.’
Jace barely contained the wide smile desperately tugging at the corners of his mouth. Karine reached for her coffee, unflappable and the height of cool.
‘But…hey, wait! Isn’t that Valmont?’
I took pity on him. ‘Dad, a quick word, please?’
-Jace-
Two hours after the almighty Breakfast of Holy Fuck Here’s What’s Happening, I sat in my room chatting with the other boy Valentine had raised.
Perhaps chatting wasn’t quite the word.
‘So,’ he said, looking around at the room I barely slept in anymore. ‘This is how you grew up?’
‘After Valentine made me watch him die,’ I said, selecting a change of clothes. ‘Or made me think I was watching him die.’
‘Hmm,’ he said. ‘It’s nice. You’re lucky.’
‘Very,’ I couldn’t help but agree. ‘I met the best people in the world. They took me in, taught me to love. I owe them everything.’
He looked at me then, something almost familiar in his eyes. He reminded me of him, of Valentine. Not in features; they belonged to the real Sebastian. Just that edge of steel, the way he scrutinised me. It was a look Valentine would have given me.
‘They owe you much in return.’
‘I guess.’
‘You and Alec have broken the law.’
‘Yup.’ I folded the clothes for no reason, I was going to wear them soon.
‘You’re not worried about that, are you?’
‘No, I’m slightly more concerned with the demon trying to wreck our lives.’
Sebastian - Jonathan - nodded, like he understood. ‘I confess, I… I’m jealous.’
I paused, mid way through the mindless repetition of folding. ‘What?’
He shrugged, eyes downcast now. ‘I’m jealous of you and Alec. Of your bond.’
There wasn’t much I could say to that. ‘Oh,’ I went for in the end.
‘Valentine used to promise me that if I was better behaved,’ he told me. ‘Then one day he would make you my Parabatai.’ I didn’t say anything that time, just watched him carefully, unsure if what he was saying was true. ‘He offered bright things in exchange for supplication, things I didn’t even know I wanted until he voiced them. He told me about you. His golden boy, his little prince. He wanted me to feel competitive with you, expected jealously to spur me on, I think. It just made me long to know you. To dream of a brother.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, because even if he was lying, that was twisted as hell. ‘He never told me about you, but if he had, I would have tried to find you.’
Sebastian smiled tiredly, eyes focused on some point ahead of him.
‘Yes, you would. He spoke often of your bravery and recklessness. I am pleased that you’ve found so much happiness with Alec. Just a little jealous.’
What the fuck could I say to that? I’m really grateful Valentine never chained me to you? I’m sorry he tortured you and made you into… whatever you are, held on the brink of decency only by a drug?
‘I appreciate what you’re doing for us.’
He seemed a little disappointed. ‘It’s for Clary,’ he said, his voice losing some of the wistful softness of moments ago, ‘Clary is my blood. She’s all that matters.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘OK.’
‘Its good that you and Alec are free of the drug, though,’ he said. ‘I will never be free of it, right up until the day it kills me.’
He didn’t seem sad, just accepting.
‘How long do you think it will take?’ I asked after a moment.
‘I’m having to use an enormous amount of it,’ he admitted. ‘At this rate, I calculate less than three years.’
‘We could…’ I said, shaking my head slightly. ‘We could help you.’
He laughed softly. ‘You could try, but failure would be catastrophic and I know exactly where my hand would reach the moment I failed to contain what I am.’
‘It’s not weakness to ask for help.’
He smiled, eyes closed. ‘Weakness is despicable,’ he said, by wrote. The words Valentine taught us both were often inside my mind, stuck there with repetition.
I stared at him, long and hard. ‘Sebastian, you can trust me.’
‘Trust you to save me?’
‘To kill you,’ I said and his eyes flicked onto me quickly; admiring and for the first time, receptive to the help I was offering. ‘If the day ever comes when you lose control, trust that I’ll kill you.’
‘That might be the kindest thing anyone’s ever said to me.’
Alec’s conversation with Robert sat inside me, the knowledge of the encounter full and detailed as though I’d been there. I didn’t need it, though. I already knew what the upshot would be of their little reunion affair.
Maryse had thought they were getting back together. Robert thought it was a few nights of fun for old time’s sake.
Alec was stern with Robert and I was so fucking proud of him. Somewhere over the last few day, Alec had become the parent. Robert came to him quietly and shamefully, asking his advice even. Asking him how to get Karine back, how to apologise to Maryse without incurring her ire.
Alec was honest and told him both were impossible.
After that, he explained the bare basics of what was happening with Belaphim. The story was simply of a demon attacking and how Sebastian had information. Robert didn’t question it, why would he? Something trying to kill his children was par for the course.
When Alec was free of his father, his duties, his shackles to the world where we couldn’t openly kiss and embrace, he came to me in the early afternoon.
‘I’m so tired,’ he said, rubbing his eyes. I opened my arms and pulled him close, contact between us like a balm on a burn. Being apart from him was rough. ‘And you are too.’
‘Mmm,’ I sighed, closing my eyes and luxuriating in the hug, burrowing my face into the crook of his neck. There was no scar, but it was the area that demon from so long ago had bitten him. ‘Missed you.’
‘You too. Are you still in love with me?’
I smiled against his warm skin. ‘Yes.’
‘Magnus has warded the Institute. We should sleep for a few hours.’
I pulled back only enough to look at him, keeping my hands around his neck. He was plainly tired, but it was more than that. An emotional, mental toll of the last few days creeping around his eyes, wearing at his perfect, sparkling blue energy. Under such intense focus, I almost expected him to squirm away but he withstood it, staring right back.
If I looked hard enough, extended myself into him fully, I could slip completely into his body. We had not yet done so, there wasn’t any need for it, but the knowledge of that ability sat between us. There was so much we didn’t know; a vast, shadowy chasm of possibilities and potential worries. Like two water droplets bonding, the worry of that connected with the worry of what awaited us at the hands of a demon who wanted us dead.
A breathtaking twist of emotion wrenched inside me, forcing me to look away.
‘What?’ he asked, chasing my gaze, hands caressing the side of my face. ‘Don’t hide from me, baby.’
I swallowed hard over the lump in my throat. ‘I just…’
He read the feelings I couldn’t verbalise. ‘I would never leave you.’
I nodded, but still didn’t look at him. My nose stung with un-shed tears. ‘You’re everything,’ I managed. ‘I can’t lose you.’
Why would you lose me?
I
’m so afraid of being without you, of something hurting you.
We
’ll protect each other.
Promise me you
’ll protect yourself first.
No.
The worst thing I can imagine in this world is living in it without you.
It
’s the same for me.
I know that, but please promise me you
’ll keep yourself safe. No heroics.
He laughed, despite the situation, despite the face we were both kissing without even realising it, despite the tears he was shedding that weren’t actually his own.
‘I can’t help being a hero,’ he said, pressing dozens of gentle, soft kisses on my lips and all around, holding me like I was something precious, to be cherished. ‘I’ll protect you and you protect me, OK? We can keep each other safe.’
I tried to accept what he was saying, but the gnawing worry didn’t fade.
‘Let’s sleep,’ he said, guiding me to our bed by the hand. He sat down and stood me before him, undressing me gently. I let him, content to watch, pliant under his careful ministrations. He’d always taken care of me. He always would.
And if I let slip two more tears, it was just because I was so tired, or at least that what I told myself.
|
Five found the lecture to be, quite honestly, rather contrived. He knew what Delores would say if she was here with him listening to it. He chuckled at the thought before pushing it out of his mind. He knew he had done the right thing with their parting, but it didn’t make the void in his chest feel any smaller. When he’d left her the first time, it was with every intention of coming back once he was able to make his escape from the Commission. Now…well, that was a matter best saved for contemplating with a margarita in his hand.
“Do we really have to listen to this whole thing?” Klaus asked, slumping further down in his chair. “It’s boring enough listening to you and we grew up together.”
“Shh,” Five hissed.
They sat in the back row of the lecture hall, which was quite large and rather well attended. But with university students, even at a prestigious institution such as this one, there was an expected level of worshipers to flock those deemed respectable by academia. Five didn’t think it was necessarily representative of Fred’s intelligence.
He watched this alternate version of himself carefully, taking in the various details that made up this person before him. At 30, Five had been too preoccupied trying to survive the apocalypse to take much concern with his appearance, but he realized he had never seen himself freshly shaven at this age. The first time he shaved he had been an old man already, wrinkles folding the rough skin of his face as though all the youth had been sucked right out of him. But Fred was youthful in a way Five didn’t remember having the capacity to be—and he knew how to work a crowd. He made all the appropriate little academic jokes, inciting small chuckles from faculty and students alike. He had a soft smile, turned slightly at the corners, which seemed to suggest I am perfectly approachable and betrayed all of the arrogance Five could see so plainly in his eyes.
It was unnerving to Five to think of what he might have done, who he might have been, had he grown up with his siblings instead of transporting himself away. He had told Hazel that he might’ve grown to be emotionally stunted man-child like everyone else, partially joking, but he was for the first time envious. Are had been allowed a childhood, an adolescence. It was not a welcome feeling.
Five recognized the exact moment that Fred saw them—his eyes skated over Klaus without a second thought, but the moment he saw Five’s face a muscle in his cheek twitched, eyes growing fractionally wide. To anyone else, it was entirely unnoticeable but to Five, who had been watching for the slightest change, the recognition was obvious.
“He’s seen us,” he mumbled to Klaus. “Get up.”
“Leaving?” Klaus asked hopefully.
“Yes,” Five said, holding Fred’s eyes a moment longer before getting up.
“Now he’ll come looking for us?” Klaus asked as they stepped into the hallway.
“No. We’ll find him. Let’s find the stage entrance.”
“He was babbling on and on and on about space. God, it was like listening to Luther when we were kids. Space this and moon that and I’m going to be an astronaut.” He used his Luther Voice as he imitated him, and despite Five’s annoyance he had to admit it was pretty spot on.
“He wasn’t talking about that kind of space,” Five said with a roll of his eyes. He scoffed, “Planets and astronomy…He means theoretical space.”
“Right, right theoretical space,” Klaus nodded. It was clear his mind was somewhere else, but Five didn’t have time to consider the stability of the training wheels on Klaus’ rickety mind.
They rounded the corner of the hallway and continued on until they found the door to the stage entrance. Five settled himself on the wall right behind it, crossing his arms as they waited.
Klaus filled the air with his thoughts, outlandish and unconnected as they were, and Five tried his best to entertain Klaus’ growing boredom. His mind was somewhere else entirely though.
He was unsure how this meeting with Fred would go, and he honesty wasn’t sure what he would do if he were unable to unite his family. He wasn’t sure if just meeting them would be enough of a significant factor that the Commission would send agents, and he wasn’t sure if he was doing anything the right way. But he was desperate, and in the desperation, he resolved himself to all down. He had chosen a path, and it would do no good to agonize all of the what ifs. Sometimes in his teenage body, with its adolescent physiology, anxiety he had grown out of years ago manifested in a constricted chest and clenched jaw. Yet one of the many ways his body betrayed his experience.
The sound of the door opening pulled him from his thoughts and Five was glad to find his assumption on how Fred would respond was accurate.
Fred, who burst quickly through the stage door, ready to tear off down the hallway stilled one he saw Five. Surprise showed clearly on his face, and Five, despite needing to get down to business as possible, took some small satisfaction in catching him off-guard.
“Fred, is it?” Five asked.
Fred moved his gaze towards Klaus, who leaned against the wall silently assessing the interaction.
“Yes,” he said. He adjusted his shirt, pulling it down into place before speaking again. “And you?”
“Five. Klaus,” Five threw his head over towards Klaus, who waved his GOODBYE hand and smiled tauntingly. “I’m sure you are wondering what we are doing here—”
Fred cut him off, his features sliding back into place on his face. “Seeing as you clearly look just like me as a kid and all. I’ve been thinking through some theories while I finished the lecture.”
His English accent was prominent, and coated the words as they fell from his lips. It was jarring to Five for some reason he could not quite explain. He crossed his arms and resisted the urge to tap his foot.
“We don’t have time for that, actually.” Five could feel his impatience closing in a round his throat. “We are from an alternate timeline, and we need to find a way back so that we can stop the apocalypse. Or prevent it from happening here.”
“The apocalypse?” Fred asked flatly. His eyes flicked to Klaus, full of flat disbelief.
“That’s right. Now, it will work best if you just shut up and let us explain.”
“I don’t think you understand who it is you’re speaking to—”
“I know exactly who I’m speaking to. You are the alternate version of me. My brother and I have come to you specifically because you are the most likely to help us out of the rest of our family, and I can at least count on your cognitive abilities, having lived through my thirties before.”
Fred was silent for a moment as he processed and then his eyebrows came up, knitting carefully in the middle.
“Got stuck in the future, huh?” It was casual, a soft smile on his face. “Miscalculate time dilation projections or was it something else?”
The condescendence he used as he said it had Klaus curling his lip. Five moved his mouth into a terse smile, all sarcasm and contempt.
“Happen to you as well?”
Fred laughed, and the sound grated in Five’s ears—surely he hadn’t sounded like that at that age. He remembered being thirty, the air of arrogance stronger and that optimism of finding a way back not even close to being beaten out of him. He didn’t remember acting like such a pompous asshole though. Though, admittedly there hadn’t been many people to reign superior over.
“Of course not,” Fred said. “All my theoretical models pointed to disaster.”
“So you live in the abstract,” Five hedged. It was anything but playful, though his tone suggested he was being nothing short of polite. Fred must have recognized it as a move he used often, because his own lips formed a smile that matched Five’s.
“I just prefer not to jump in aimlessly when patience is all that is required of me.”
“Regardless,” Five said. “When I jumped to the future, there was nothing but apocalyptic wasteland. I stayed there well past fifty years before I managed to make it back. The second go around trying to time-travel back was not as successful, and my brother and I landed here, in this version of reality.”
“And your plan is?”
“You’ve heard of the Umbrella Academy?” Klaus asked, interrupting Five.
“I have, yes. Others born on the same date with powers similar to mine.”
“We were part of the Umbrella Academy in our world. And one of them causes the apocalypse. She’s still there in the Academy in this world, and it is likely she will do the same thing. So, we need to stop her. And we also need to find a way back.”
Five looked at Klaus, a little astonished at how well he managed to sum their mission up.
“We want something big to bring the attraction of the Commission. They are like the time police. Took me hostage, tried to assassinate all of us for fucking with the timeline in our world. We were thinking if we do something crazy here in this world, like try to unite all of us, it will get their attention. So we started with you, for the reasons Five already mentioned.”
“That’s a little simplistic don’t you think?”
Five cut in. “I’m sure that with your naive mind, it would seem that way-”
“My naive mind?” Fred laughed lightly. “Feisty thing for a preteen, aren’t we?”
“I’m fifty-eight, as I’ve already informed you, and anyway this body is quite clearly thirteen years old. The implication that—”
“So is this going to be a constant thing?” Klaus interrupted. “This pissing match between the two of you, or are we actually going to figure out how the fuck to get out of this situation?”
Fred spoke first. “Have you considered other avenues? Time is fickle you know. The slightest alteration in events—”
“The butterfly effect, yeah,” Five said. “I haven’t had much time to consider other avenues. Probability mapping is impractical and time consuming. This is the plan and we are sticking with it.”
“The hardly seems prudent.” He looked over at Klaus again. “But I will help you. With this being the last in my lecture series, I’m looking for new inspiration for my next paper. This might be just the thing.”
“Glad we could help,” Five said flatly.
“We should move somewhere more private though, to discuss the finer details.”
They followed Fred out of the building and towards the residence halls.
“So, How is it?” Klaus whispered conspiratorially as they walked.
“How is what?”
“You know, seeing what a prick you are to deal with.” Klaus’ smile couldn’t quite stretch wide enough to contain all of his glee. The image of the Cheshire Cat sparked unexpectedly into Five’s mind.
“Shut up,” Five said, though it wasn’t as heated as he had intended it to be.
The walk back to the the visitor’s flats was short, and as soon as they entered the one room flat Fred made himself busy clearing the surface of the table in the far corner, moving mugs and spread open books and bits of notebook paper off to the side. He put on tea—at his insistence—and then grabbed paper and pen for each of them.
They set to work divulging all of the details of their escapades from the former timeline with Five leading most of the story through his work in the past as well. Fred asked a lot of clarifying questions, and took extensive notes. After what seemed like way too long he finally was ready to discuss the details of what to do next.
“Is it too much to assume you have the names and locations of the others?” Fred asked.
Five handed them over wordlessly. Klaus was strewn across the floor, humming a tune Five was not familiar with, nearly dead with boredom.
“You have this one’s location wrong,” Fred said after reading quickly through the list. He pointed at Luther’s name.
Five felt his eyebrows furrow. “Every news source I could find said he was born in Herefordshire.”
“He was. But he’s in Swindon now at the UK Space Agency.”
“You know him?” Klaus asked, not hiding the surprise from his voice.
“Of course. He’s my brother.”
“Brother,” Klaus echoed as he sat up.
“Twin,” Fred clarified. “Is that not the case in your reality?”
“Twin?” Klaus’ voice cracked slightly, ignoring Fred’s question. “You look so different.”
“Surely you’ve heard of fraternal twins,” Fred said, looking at Klaus like he wasn’t sure he actually had.
“Five,” Klaus said, turning his attention to him. His words were careful. It irritated Five when people spoke to him like this, as though they weren’t sure if he would snap or not. As though they were speaking to a caged and frightened animal. “How we doing?”
“Let’s go,” Five said, standing suddenly. He could sort his emotions later. For now, it was all about moving towards his continuous goal: ending the apocalypse. Things like families and feelings could wait until after they all didn’t die.
|
"Hey you!" Elizabeth beamed as she came out of the plane. Alex smiled a happy smile and hugged the woman.
"How was New Orleans?" Alex asked her.
"Boring!" Elizabeth laughed. "There is only so much statistics a person can handle!" This got Alex to laugh. She seemed to be hovering just off the ground and Elizabeth wondered why. Alex was almost skipping down the walk.
"So what have you been doing with our man?" Elizabeth asked her. She assumed it was Gavin as the girl was just head over heels for him. Her eagerness showing her desire for him.
"Whatever he wants!" Alex laughed.
"Good girl!" Elizabeth nudged. "I take it he is on a call?"
"Yes," Alex frowned.
"You will begin to hate that as much as I do after a while," Elizabeth warned with a deep exhale. She wouldn't miss that at all. Gavin leaving for a call. She hated that he would drop everything and go when the cell phone rang.
"I'm there," Alex huffed.
"How was the dinner with Pavel?" Elizabeth asked with disdain remembering one of the reasons she was happy to be on a business trip instead of here in Chicago. She didn't have to put on a fake smile and tolerate the uncouth Russian! She
the way Gavin was with Pavel! Hated that she had to endure the way the men acted with one another. Hated that Gavin would change completely when the Russian was around. That and the fact the man was just flat out rude!
"Fantastic!" Alex raved. "He was so funny!"
"It must take little to impress you," Elizabeth frowned with a shake of head. Simpleton. How could she like Pavel? The girl may just be one step up from common.
"Come on!" Alex laughed. "The man is utterly brilliant!"
"If you say so," said an unimpressed Elizabeth. "Did he drink too much? What am I saying, of course he did!"
"He doesn't get to do that over there," Alex defended. Elizabeth was ruining her buzz of good news. She was excited for opportunity of the show. Excited she got to see the real Gavin. Excited to have met the two people Gavin loved in his life. That meant the most to him. That was an honor for her! It was like meeting a guy's parents for the first time! "I would let my hair down too!"
"So you didn't have to bail them out?" Elizabeth teased catching the tone of the woman by her side and decided to not to push.
"No, it was actually very educational," Alex shrugged. She could tell Elizabeth didn't like Pavel, and she didn't like Gavin with Pavel either.
"So what else has happened?"
"Gavin has arranged a show of my work at Maole's!" Alex gushed almost dancing on her tip toes.
"Really?" Elizabeth stopped walking and Alex turned. She nodded with a smile that needed its own runway.
"I'm super excited!"
"I can see that," Elizabeth forced a smile.
"What's wrong?" Alex asked when Elizabeth didn't seem to like the fact she had a show.
"Nothing," Elizabeth assured. "Just tired."
That was a lie. What was really bothering her was that she let Royce take advantage of her. Granted it wasn't her fault he was the way he was. That he was a user. That he used her drug induced state to fuck her. Part of her was horrified, part excited. Not about being taken. That she would never approve of. It was a chance to push Royce into what she truly wanted. To move up in the world of power. Royce was a vehicle for that. He used her, she would use him right back. He fucked her for sexual power. She would fuck him for political power. She knew she could twist him the way she wanted.
Still there was a tinge of regret that she broke a vow she made to Gavin. Granted the use of drugs was also a violation but she didn't consider it the same. The drugs were just Gavin's hang up. If he would just try them he would enjoy them. Then maybe he wouldn't be such a stickler about them.
"How was your trip?" Gavin asked kissing her temple as she sat at the dinner table.
"Boring," Elizabeth told him. She had been stewing since Alex told her about the showing.
She wondered why Gavin was helping her when he wouldn't help her in her endeavor of moving up in the lobbyist world. Months ago she wanted Gavin to use his contacts to get her in touch with some of the political elite that Gavin knew and took care of. He had told her at the time that he was a doctor, not a politician. He was there to take care of them not use them for political favors. It would have helped her career but he didn't use his influence to do so. Yet he did for Alex?
"Nothing of note happened?" Gavin asked as he kissed Alex on her temple before running his fingers across her neck. He sat and poured himself a glass of wine. Alex got up and left the table disappearing into the kitchen.
Elizabeth looked to Gavin, and for a fleeting second she worried that Gavin already knew. Knew she had gotten high. Knew she had been fucked by Royce. Yes he took advantage of her while she was out on the heroin. Not able to give her consent. But would Gavin still hold her responsible because she shouldn't have taken the heroin? Would he say if you were clean as I command that would have never came up? He wouldn't have taken advantage of you while you were off her drug induced state in the land of Nod?
Alex came back and set a plate in front of him before sitting down herself to her plate of dinner. Gavin looked to the plate for a second before turning his eyes to Alex.
"What?" Alex asked him noting a tinge of anger in his eyes.
"You don't have to serve me dinner like a common slave," Gavin said brusquely.
"I didn't," Alex told him sharply. "I brought you a damn dinner in." She tried to reel in her anger. Why would this upset Gavin? Why was everyone trying to ruin her giddy buzz of her show?
"I can serve myself dinner," Gavin told her. "I'm supposed to take care of you."
"Jesus!" Alex gasped. "It's a dinner plate!" Gavin closed his eyes before exhaling deeply.
"Sorry," Gavin admitted as he picked up her hand and kissed it before brushing his lips over the knuckles causing her to melt. "I know a lot of Doms treat their subs like slaves, I don't want to get lazy in my obligations."
"Your obligations are more than fulfilled," Alex told him as she went back to her dinner.
"Alex," Gavin began again sensing her anger. This caused Elizabeth to lift her eyes from her dinner plate. Shocked that Gavin would address her so common.
"Alex?" Alex asked not looking at him. She left her head down as she stared at her plate.
"Shit," Gavin laughed as he realized what he said. "I'm fucking up all over!"
Elizabeth looked on with an anger welling in her. Now she could see what Royce meant when he said he would forget her and turn to his new pet. Gavin was letting his guard down with Alex, something he never did with her.
"Alexandria," Gavin began again. "I'm sorry."
"So am I," Alex smiled at him. "I know I used to hate being called Alexandria, but when you say it...it means so much more now."
"I understand," he smiled. "My Alexandria." She nearly danced out of her chair.
So the cleanup effort is making progress?" Gavin asked looking back to Elizabeth who did her best to hide her burgeoning jealousy.
"Yes," Elizabeth frowned. "It's still leaking, but it's under control."
Gavin nodded as he began eating.
"Alexandria seemed to like Pavel," Elizabeth pointed out watching Gavin eat.
She would have to end this arrangement soon. That would make Royce happy. She looked to Alex and the new girl was stealing glances at Gavin through a sideways glance of her eyes. Looking at him but not turning her head to him to look at him.
Part of her was happy she brought Alex in, but this was still her man. They were obligated to one another. He's not supposed to move on until she gave him his out. That was his promise to her. She would always be first, now she could see that position slipping from her. Then she remembered, Gavin hadn't broken his vow. She had. Multiple times.
She liked her business trips. They allowed her the freedom to play with her drugs. She loved the feel of them. She never understood why Gavin was so against them. The worst punishment she had ever received was when Gavin found out she had snorted a line of coke. He threatened to kick her out of the condo, to become the first sub he had ever kicked out. He would not tolerate drug use. She didn't understand it. This went beyond legal worry about drugs for him, but she couldn't figure out why he hated it so much. She figured it was just a power play.
Alex and Elizabeth sat side by side in the submissive position. Gavin looked at them as he came in from doing the dishes.
"Ready to play are we?" Gavin grinned appreciatively.
"Yes," they said in unison. Making it sound like a version of the Stepford Wives,
"Good," Gavin said going to the drawer. "Alexandria, on the bed, face down, ass up."
Alexandria obeyed immediately. Elizabeth fought the tick of jealousy in her stomach. This was not how it was supposed to go. Alex was a pet, she was not the sub. She should be the one getting most of the pleasure. Her jealousy ran rampant through her.
"Elizabeth," Gavin said causing her to lift her head. He winked at her and she smiled when she saw the tools he was pulling out.
"Oh yes," Elizabeth smiled trying to keep her disappointment from him. Gavin was reading her mind.
Sitting down on the bed Elizabeth came and sat on the other side of Alexandria. Gavin put a small silver toy in front of Alex. It had a tapered end that widened at the base. The base of the acorn shaped designed toy had a ruby like jeweled end.
"Well," Gavin said with a smile. "Do you know what this is?" He asked holding it front of him. She shook her head.
"This is an anal plug," Gavin told her. Alex smiled at him. "We are going to start some anal play. I'm going to ask you a question before we get started. It's..." He looked to the ceiling in thought. This was easier with an experienced sub. They knew to prepare for something like this ahead of time. Alex wouldn't have known.
"Have you used the bathroom tonight?" he asked her. She looked at him blankly. "Number two?" He shrugged. "The reason I'm asking is sometimes, not always, but sometimes after anal play it's difficult to go as with the insertions of toys and fingers and other things, it kind of gets packed in."
Alex flushed with embarrassment. She had gone a couple of hours ago, but now she would have to talk about it?
"I have," she whispered.
"Ok," Gavin smiled. "Now, don't worry, I don't play bathroom games."
"Bathroom games?" Alex asked him.
"I don't dabble in Golden Showers or anything like that," Gavin smiled twisting the anal plug in his fingers.
"Golden Showers?" Alex asked him.
"Yes," Gavin nodded. "It's where one person gets a thrill peeing on another, or being peed on.
"That's gross!" Alex said sitting up.
"It's not gross," Gavin said patiently. "Don't think like a Puritan!"
"Have you ever done it?" Alex asked him as he handed the toy to her to examine. He had three on the bed. They varied in size, the one in her hand was the smallest.
"Yes," he smiled. "I like to try it all, then decide if it is for me. There have been numerous things I have done, that I didn't think I would like, but it was something I found after doing it that I enjoyed. Now there are things that I do that I don't like, but I do them because the sub likes them or needs them."
Alex nodded. Try everything then make an informed decision. Gavin had told her that. They weren't just words to him. He lived by them as well.
"Now, if you are willing to try," Gavin told her taking the toy back. "I'm going to insert this in you, it will feel uncomfortable. It may even cause a slight tick of pain but nothing that should harm you." Alex nodded that she understood. Then remembered he didn't like being nodded at.
"Yes Sir," she smiled when she saw him looking at her.
"Better," he grinned.
"As we play, we will go up in size as well," he said picking up another of the plugs. "Not tonight of course. But as you become acquainted with each size, and your body adjusts we will go bigger. The end game, no pun intended, is to prepare you for my cock in your ass."
Alex smiled at the pun but let him continue to explain. The idea of making Gavin cum hard in her body was now the goal. Elizabeth had said that he came harder in her ass than anywhere else. Gavin admitted it as well, being an ass man. It brought him a great deal of pleasure.
"Ok," Alex nodded. "How do we start?"
"We start by playing," Gavin grinned. "First my tongue, then a finger. Then when you are adjusted to those, I will lube you copiously, then slide our little friend in. Now, your body will want to push it out right away, it will think you need a bowel movement. It's important you don't let it out until I tell you."
"Can it get lost in there?" Alex asked him.
"It's possible," Gavin laughed. "But don't worry, I will make sure it doesn't. These toys have this raised flat base. Your anus will close around this shaft part leaving the acorn shape in you, the jewel part outside. The acorn will then force your body to adjust to its size thus making it larger and able to accept more."
She nodded. Gavin was so patient. She loved that. Madelyn was right. He had to be the best Dom. All the things he did were perfect. Even his discipline was perfect. Never going too far, like in the bathroom. When she could take no more he stopped even though she had more coming. The roughness of his fucks were also just right. Rough enough to let her know she was getting fucked and he was in control but nothing to alarm her or harm her.
She resumed the position at his gentle urging with a soft touch of her back in between the shoulder blades. Gavin then pulled on her cheeks opening her tightly puckered hole. His tongue invaded first, causing Alex to gasp. She loved the warmth his tongue gave off. His soft yet hard tongue diving in her. His tongue reaching in her. His hot breath touching, what she was beginning to learn, was the most sensitive of areas.
Elizabeth joined in and pulled Alex's cheeks apart. Gavin continued to work with his tongue causing Alex to squirm backward into his face causing him to smile that she was eager to have his tongue deeper in her.
Elizabeth gently probed a finger in Alex causing her to gasp at the small fingers that Elizabeth was using. Gavin moved down to her sex and licked and suckled there. Alex's hips began to rock. Forcing Elizabeth's finger deeper in her as well as Gavin's tongue.
Alex felt a slight burn to her ass, but only a mild discomfort. Elizabeth's fingers were small, so there wasn't much pain. Elizabeth took a tube of lube and placed some on her fingers before continuing on. Alex couldn't believe the difference the lube made. It allowed her to fully enjoy the invasion of the goddess' fingers.
Gavin's tongue pulled an orgasm from her and she shuddered as it released throughout her body.
"I love the way you cum," he smiled as he licked her liquid up.
"I love the way you make me cum!" Alex whispered as she continued to enjoy the finger in her ass. Gavin sat up.
"Why don't you ladies get in the sixty-nine position, that way you both can enjoy this session," Gavin suggested to Elizabeth with a wink.
Gavin watched them change positions, he watched Elizabeth lie on her back. He could tell she was keeping something from him, his instinct told him it was drug related. He tried to not let it gather a strong foot hold in his mind, but it was there. He could tell by the way she wouldn't look him in the eye for fear of her secret coming out.
Alex looking back at him had him smiling again. He was really loving this new girl in his life. At first he was so dead set against it, now he was wondering why it was such a problem. Alex was so different than Elizabeth. Alex was indeed a challenge to him. One he was relishing. He loved the way her blue eyes drank him in. The way her mouth would tilt with her smile as he could see her mind wander through the things he had done to her, and the things she wanted him to do to her.
He loved that she was always so eager to please him. Like a child with a new toy. She was just a child in this world. He was constantly reminding himself of that. Like last night when she invited the wolf out. She had no idea what she was asking for, but she was willing to let the animal out to devour Little Red Riding Hood.
Then her demand of him to take her ass, that took a great deal of restraint. He didn't just want it. He
wanted it. Her use of the safe words saved him from a world of regret. He had to caution himself. She was a novice, and needed to be brought along slowly. That was a delicious torture for him. Like being tied up without the rope. He was a Dom, but he liked it when she bound him. Right now she did it with her words. Sometimes it was with her innocence. It was all a form of bondage he decided.
He could tell Elizabeth wasn't happy with what was going on. He was trying to keep her first but with Alex pushing things to accelerate he was losing sight of her. That weighed on him. Although he knew she was leaving. He knew she brought Alex into their lives to allow herself to leave. She still had his vow.
Gavin put some lube on his fingers. He looked at them glistening in the light of the bedroom. Slowly he pushed his index finger in Alex causing her body to stiffen. Slowly he pushed, feeling the resistance of her virtually untouched anus. It was very tight and as soon as his finger breached her ass it clasped at his finger. He reveled at her tightness. He also knew by the feel it would take a great deal of time to bring it to being ready for his cock.
He watched as his finger slowly pushed her ring, he felt her muscles tighten as he invaded her. Stopping just at the second knuckle he left his finger there relishing the feel of her tight warm body holding his finger.
Pulling his finger out slowly he watched her ring pucker and pull out with his finger. He squirted more lube on his finger as he pulled it out slowly. Then before he pulled all the way out he pressed it back in her causing her to whimper with satisfaction. He began a slow thrust with his finger.
The feel of her ass and her body response made his cock harden in his pants. God he wanted to take her. The wolf on his shoulder begging for it. Using the logic that she said it was alright. That she wanted it! Then his Dom side reminded him that she sometimes didn't know anything. He didn't want to give her another bad experience. He wanted to make sure her pleasure kept her doing this long term. He wanted to be able to fuck her ass forever.
He paused. Forever? What the hell was that about? He never thought forever. Not in this life. It was always in the future. Never set. He liked his relationships to last right around a year. Long enough to enjoy one another and explore one another fully but not long enough to become trapped in the mundane. Or worse. Trapped in love.
He pulled his finger all the way out and it caused Alex to whimper with disappointment. This made him smile. She liked anal play. He brought the small acorn shaped plug up and coated it with lube.
"Ok, little one," he smiled at her as she looked back at him. "I'm going to put this in." She nodded as she blew out a breath for bravery. "It will be ok, this won't hurt, but it's important that you communicate with me. Anything more than mild discomfort and I need to know. Understand?"
"Yes Sir," she said with a breathy sigh.
"I mean it," he warned. "No forcing your body to accept what it can't just to please me. Do you understand?"
"Yes Sir," she said a little firmer now. "I will tell you if I feel pain."
"Good girl," he winked and she smiled.
Slowly he put the stainless steel acorn against her anus. He felt her tense up.
"Ok," he smiled. "That is not going to be helpful! I need you to relax as much as you can. I know it will be impossible to relax fully but I need you to concentrate on trying to stay relaxed. If you tense up, it causes more pain."
"Yes Sir," she said with a deep exhale as she tried to relax her muscles. He felt her glutes relax under his fingers as he had placed his hand there. Once she had taken another calming breath. He could see her concentrating.
Elizabeth waited under her and her hands pulled her cheeks apart as Gavin pressed gently with the toy. The tip disappearing in Alex, she tightened up and he withdrew. Slowly he continued with his pressing and pulling it back when she tightened. He saw her mind fight with her body as she tried to relax.
Each time he was able to push it a little farther in. He was enjoying seeing the toy fuck her ass. Watching her tight ring fight then release to its invader. Then with a pop it was in. Only the ruby jeweled end was visible.
Alex looked back at him when she felt it go all the way in.
"It's in," he smiled with a wink. She smiled.
"Your right," she told him. "It feels weird, but it doesn't really hurt. And it does feel like I need to use the restroom."
"Ok, but don't let that happen, the longer it stays in the more adjusted to it your body will become," he smiled as he ran his fingers across her ass.
"How long can we leave it in?" she asked him.
"As long as you want," he smiled. "Right now let's just leave it in for this session, then in the future I will make you wear it around as you go through your day."
"Seriously?" She gasped. "I will wear this around?"
"Some people wear it all day, never remove it unless it's to apply lube," he shrugged. "The longer it's in the faster your body will adjust, the faster I can take your sweet little ass!" He winked at her.
"How does it stay in if I'm walking around?" she crinkled up her nose and it made him smile at her cuteness.
"It just does," he shrugged. "Your body has enclosed it within, as long as you don't relax too much or your body doesn't push it out, you should be able to keep it in with minimal effort."
"Now what?" she asked.
"Now, I'm going to fuck you," he laughed as he stood up.
"Please!" she smiled as she turned around and began her tonguing of Elizabeth again.
Gavin lined up his hard cock with her sex as Elizabeth licked his shaft. Putting his thumb on the ruby he held it there to keep it from being pushed out by his cock entering Alex. Pushing into her took some effort as her body wasn't used to having two intrusions in her supple young body.
She grimaced slightly with a hiss as he filled her.
"How do you feel?" he asked her once he was all the way in.
"Full!" she gasped.
He began a slow thrust in her and enjoyed the way the toy pressed down on his cock, tightening the space around it. Alex came with a shudder as he held the plug in place as her body tried to press it out as her muscles convulsed under the pleasure of her orgasm.
Gavin would pull out from time to time to lower his cock down Elizabeth's throat where she sucked him down greedily. He would then slide his cock into Alex causing her to gasp. Back and forth he went. Four or five strokes in Alex's sweet tight sex, then down Elizabeth's exquisite mouth, into her throat where her muscles guided him in. All the while, he was staring at the ruby under his thumb, a tick of jealousy that he couldn't be there himself. The desire to take her ass was overwhelming him. Time to satisfy that desire, to succumb to it was the only way to relieve that desire he found long ago. He pulled out of Alex.
"Alex, move to the side here," he said with a strained voice and a pat of his hand on the bed.
Alex moved carefully to the side and sat on the toy with a gasp. Gavin watched her and shook his head.
"I don't want it to fall out, my body is still trying to get rid of it!" she told him with a satisfied smile that she was pleasing him again.
"Elizabeth," Gavin smiled at her. "Assume the position, I need your ass tonight!"
"Yes Sir!" she smiled as she sat up and presented herself to him. She looked at Alex and knew she was going to please Gavin in a way Alex couldn't. Not yet at least. She wondered if Royce would be as patient with Alex as Gavin was being. She decided he wouldn't. That's the part she liked about Royce. He took what he wanted, when he wanted, with little regard for the sub. Some may find that unacceptable, Gavin being one, but she loved that!
Gavin put lube on Elizabeth's ass and then his cock. Alex reached out to stroke his cock to coat it with the lube and it caused Gavin to shudder with pleasure. Alex continued to stroke his cock as she watched his face. She wondered if Gavin would let her just stroke him off. She had never just given a hand job, she had jerked Gavin off as he came, but would Gavin let her do that just that? Stroke his cock? In the car maybe? Or better yet, someplace public? A new fantasy to explore!
Gavin moved his cock to Elizabeth's anus and Alex watched on in interest. She was insanely jealous now. If what Elizabeth and Gavin said was true, Elizabeth was about to get a very strong orgasm out of Gavin. Something she couldn't do herself. How long would it be before he took her this way? Weeks? Months?
Alex pushed those thoughts from her mind as she realized this was what Gavin was warning her about last night. The jealousy. She wanted to show Gavin she was ok with this, because if the worst happened and Elizabeth decided not to leave, she wanted to be a part of Gavin's life. She would have to share with Elizabeth if she was to stay. If she couldn't handle it, then she would be left in the cold. Gavin had made his commitment to this dark headed Goddess. It didn't keep Alex from hoping that Elizabeth would move on soon.
She watched as Gavin's bulbous purple head pressed on the tight ring. It puckered open slightly as Elizabeth reached back with her own hands to pull her ass apart giving Gavin free reign over her backside.
Gavin slowly put the head of his manhood in Elizabeth. Gently pushing in her as it closed in around his head. Alex watched the glistening lube gather at the entrance of her hole. Pushed off Gavin's cock by the tightness of her ring. She watched as inch by inch Gavin disappeared. Half way in, Gavin stopped and pulled out. The ring being pulled out drew her attention in awe. The way her body caved and released his cock as he pushed in and out of her caused her to shudder with excitement.
Gavin began long slow strokes at first, each time disappearing a little further into Elizabeth. Then his groin was resting against her cheeks and Alex gritted her teeth in jealousy. This was killing her. She wanted this!
Gavin began to fuck Elizabeth and she was grunting under her thrusts.
"God! Yes Sir," she gasped. "I love your cock in my ass!"
Alex bit the inside of her lip to keep her anger in check. Was Elizabeth intentionally driving her anger with her words, 'my ass'? The emphasis she heard on 'my'? Was she taunting the pet? Or was it just Alex's jealousy and paranoia? Alex tried to force it from her mind. This was what Gavin was trying to avoid. Alex then frowned inwardly, this was human nature she surmised. Jealousy. As old as time itself. Cain fell Able for such emotion.
"Fuck my ass Sir," Elizabeth encouraged. "Fuck it hard! Make me scream!" Gavin began to pound. His hips causing Elizabeth ass cheeks to ripple from his collision with them.
Alex knew she was doing this on purpose now. Driving her insane with jealousy. She had to be careful to make sure Gavin didn't pick up on it. He would address it and that might include pushing her out until Elizabeth made her decision.
Gavin put some more lube on his cock after a while, that caused Alex to marvel that he would remember that while in the heat of the moment. The pleasure of what he was immersed in caused his eyes to close with a flutter. His body strained against its skin as he pummeled Elizabeth. Hitting max depth with his thrusts causing her to rock forward. The bed to shake with their fucking.
Gavin pulled on Elizabeth's hips as she looked back at him with her satisfied grin. One Alex was hating at the moment. Elizabeth was giving Gavin what he wanted. Perhaps even what he needed, given last night as his wolf was about to take her ass, but she stopped it from happening by using one of her safe words. One she regretted saying now.
Then with a full body shudder and an animal growl, Gavin thrust into Elizabeth to his maximum depth as she pushed back into him.
"God I love the way you cock feels as it spurts its hot seed in my ass!" Elizabeth whispered in satisfaction. "I can feel it bucking in me, filling me with your precious cum!" Alex watched Gavin's body shudder under his orgasm. In her mind it was shuddering more than usual making her feel inadequate.
Gavin collapsed on top of Elizabeth and he kissed and nibbled on her back. Alex knew she had lost him for the time being. His afterglow of his strong orgasm evident. Alex knew then and there. This was not going to work with the three of them. Again she feared the music would stop and she would be left without a seat in this game of musical chairs.
"Ok, little one," Gavin said coming to her after bathing Elizabeth. "Let's take that out now."
"Do we have to?" she asked him. This stopped him in mid thought. He was already preoccupied with what was wrong with Elizabeth as she seemed to turn her body away from him when he was doing her legs. Normally she stood there, just letting him turn her. This time she turned and then laughed when he began to wash her feet. She wasn't ticklish before, he put it off as she was just tired from her trip.
"We could," Gavin shrugged. "I think your body would push it out in the night."
"Oh," she frowned.
"What's wrong?" he asked her tilting her chin up.
"Nothing," she tired as convincingly as she could.
"Green is not your color," he warned her of her jealousy.
"She got to do something I'm not allowed to do," Alex pouted.
"In time you will be doing it as well," Gavin assured her with a frown. This is was the headache he was trying to avoid. This is why one sub at a time is his policy. Divided, no one is pleased.
"I'm sorry, Sir," Alex said seeing what she had done to him. The guilt. "Like you said, human nature. I want to be the one that pleases you."
"You do please me," he assured her with a soft smile.
"Not like Elizabeth," Alex whispered. He took hold of her chin firmly. His eyes flashing at her causing her to swallow hard.
"You please me in ways Elizabeth hasn't even begun to fathom," he told her. "You do things for me that make me...,"
"Make you, what?" Alex reveled in the words, the passion in them. The sincerity.
"Want," he whispered as he nibbled on her lobe of her ear.
"Want what?" she gasped.
"It all," he said in her ear breathily. "I want it all, forever, from you."
"Forever?" she got out before she melted under his kiss. It was firm. It was commanding. It commanded her to be silent. And she was. Lost in his
Alex paced nervously in her apartment. She was dressed sharply in a tight fitting black skirt that Elizabeth had picked out and white blouse. The heels she wore clicked on the floor as she paced.
"For the love of God!" Lena growled again looking up from her Kindle. "Sit down!"
"I can't!" Alex gasped as she sat down for a second then sprung to her feet again. Trying to do what her roomie asked but unable to sit still for fear of being stuck there like a statue.
"You are going to wear yourself to a frazzle!" Lena cautioned tossing the electronic device to the couch beside her in frustration.
"I know!" Alex again sat down. "I know!" She put her face in her hands and blew out what was supposed to be a calming breath. It failed. Nothing, short of medication, was going to get her to be calm tonight!
Lena was about to say something when there was a knock at the door.
"Thank God!" Lena laughed getting up and running to the door. Gavin smiled at her as she opened the door breathlessly with a roll of her eyes. "You have to get her to calm down! She is driving me crazy!"
"Nervous?" Gavin laughed as he came into the living room and smiled at her.
"Don't," Alex warned with a firm shake of her head. She was not in the mood to be the butt of jokes. Not when her world was spinning out of control!
"It will be fine," he told her. This was almost a mantra. Something he said just about every five minutes as the show approached.
"So you two keep saying, but it's me that's going to be out there naked!" Alex told them. This caused them to laugh. She moved to the window to keep her anger from them. And hopefully control her knees from knocking.
"Well," Gavin began with a flick of his eyebrows. Alex rolled her eyes. "It's just a little show." Gavin said coming to her and putting his arms around her. "It's going to be fantastic, they are going to love your work."
"And if they think it's shit?" Alex asked him as she rested her arms around his as they enveloped her.
"Well," Gavin sighed keeping his smile hidden from her by burying it in her permed hair. "Then you're fucked." This caused Lena to burst into laughter as he said it like it would be the end of the world.
"I hate you two right now," Alex told him, pushing his arms from her and grabbing her purse. Lena and Gavin followed her out of the apartment elbowing each other satisfactorily.
The Gallery was teeming with people. Alex tried her best to keep from throwing up. Each time Maole, the owner of the Gallery came to her, she would beam her smile and he would introduce a client to her.
Gavin hovered around, talking to various people. Any time she would look at him, she would smile, as he was
looking at her. Something she found very comforting. It reminded her of the party at Madelyn's. She was safe even though he wasn't near her.
"You look really stressed!" Elizabeth said to her as she tucked her arm in Alex's.
"I'm about to die," Alex admitted softly to her. "I feel like they are dissecting me!"
"Well," Elizabeth whispered. "Would you like to know what they are saying?"
"Yes!" Alex gasped. Her eyes pleaded for information but her stomach churned at what they might say.
"They said it looked like a kindergarten class did them," Elizabeth said softly with a comforting pat of her arm. Alex almost died until the laughter made her look to Elizabeth.
"Sorry!" She pleaded with a smile. "Gavin made me do it!" she said with a point of her chin at Gavin at her teasing. Alex turned and glared which made Gavin hide his laughter behind his hand.
"Now, do you want to know what they are really saying?" Elizabeth tried again.
"I'm not sure anymore!" Alex said with tightly closed eyes.
"See the lady in the bright pink?" Elizabeth asked pointing at a woman with her nod. Alex nodded. "She owns three Galleries, she has already spoken to Maole about taking some for display in them!"
"She is?" Alex gasped, stunned. The room began to spin.
"Yes," Elizabeth smiled.
"The fat man in the plaid coat?" Elizabeth again pointed out with her chin. "Has already begun negotiations with Maole for two of your paintings."
"What?" Alex asked her in disbelieving whisper.
"You, my dear, are a hit!" Elizabeth gave her a hug. "Now relax!" Elizabeth shifted onto one foot uncomfortably.
"Is your foot still bothering you?" Alex asked her looking down at it.
"Yes," she hissed as she lifted it off the floor. It was always on fire now. It felt like someone had lit a match and stuck in in between her toes.
"Have Gavin look at it again!" Alex insisted.
"No, because Gavin would drop everything right now, and right now we are super concerned about you!" Elizabeth told her. "So after the show, maybe."
"No, no maybe!" Alex growled. Elizabeth smiled.
The foot had been sore for days. Ever since she got back from New Orleans two weeks ago. It was infected and a doctor had given her medication but it wasn't helping. She didn't dare tell Gavin as he would inspect it and she feared he would figure it out. But it wouldn't be long before he figured it out anyway. She hoped it would have been cured by now, but it wasn't.
With the Gallery showing for Alex, Gavin had been busy trying to get Alex's career off so all his free time was pushing Alex to work. She was happy about that. If he was distracted by Alex, she could get the wound to heal. The only problem with that was, it didn't heal. It actually felt worse! And tomorrow there would be no distraction for Gavin.
Maole came up to Alex at the end of the night. Alex attempted a smile but it came out as more of a relieved grimace. He rubbed her outer arm in comfort.
"Feel like you are standing naked in a room?" he asked her. She nodded. "Well, you have done very well tonight. You will be going home empty handed and with a full wallet!"
"What?" she asked him shocked.
"I have sold all of your paintings!" he said patting her arm. "Congratulations! They love you!"
"Oh my gosh! Thank you so much!" she beamed letting out a relieved exhale.
"There is someone I want you to meet," he said guiding her from the back of the room where she had been hiding.
"Who?"
"Gabriella Battera," Maole told her as he tugged her pulling her reluctant feet into motion. "She is...well...very important!"
"Ok, should I be nervous?" Alex asked finding swallowing very difficult.
"I don't think you have a choice," he laughed at her. "You have been that way all night!"
"I know, I'm sorry!" she said for the hundredth time.
"No worries," he smiled. "This woman, isn't a critic or anything, she is a mover and a shaker in Chicago. She knows everybody worth knowing."
"What does she want?" Alex gulped.
"Hmm," he laughed. "Not going to tell you, I'm going to let her tell you."
"Arrg," Alex growled as her stomach heaved.
"Gabby?" Maole called out bringing the woman's attention to Alex from a painting of Alex's she had been admiring. "This is Alexandria."
"I love your work!" Gabby smiled extending her hand. The woman was sharply dressed in a charcoal business suit and her smile was friendly. By the way she shook Alex's hand she could tell it was something she did a lot. It was firm and short. Taking up the minimum amount of time before the next step of negotiations. Whatever they might be.
"Thank you," Alex said with an embarrassed smile as Gavin came up. She looked to him and he took her hand in his to provide some needed strength.
"I'm in charge of the Chicago Expo that is coming up in October," Gabby smiled at her.
"Oh wow!" Alex nodded. The Chicago Expo was a big four day festival. It brought in a thousands of people from all over the world. It showcased all Chicago had to offer, from live entertainment, to foods to arts and museums. "That would be stressful!"
"It is," Gabby admitted. "But the biggest headache I have had, I'm hoping you can help me with."
"Really?" Alex said with a furrowed brow. "How is that?"
"I want something dramatic," she smiled at Alex. "Something that will explain the city of Chicago. Something that people will notice, and will know what we represent."
"Ok," Alex said apprehensively. She wondered how she was going to help this woman out.
"I want a mural," Gabby told her. "One of Chicago's many faces. You capture people. I would like for you to come up with something that does that."
"What?" Alex asked her, stunned into the one word question as the rest of her vocabulary escaped with her shock.
"I want you to paint me a mural," Gabby told her again. "Something dramatic! Something that people will be talking about for months afterward."
"Uh," Alex gasped.
"Can you do a mural?" Gabby asked her sensing her hesitation.
"I probably could," Alex stammered. "I mean I've never done one but, I could."
"Of course she could!" Gavin assured Gabby. "Just where were you thinking of putting this mural?" Taking over for the speechless Alex.
"At the entrance to Centennial Park," she told him realizing Alex was overwhelmed. "The first thing people will see as they enter the Expo."
"Holy shit," Alex whispered.
"Can you sketch me some ideas?" Gabby asked her. Alex could do nothing but nod. "Fantastic!" Gabby winked at her happily. "So you will take the job?"
"Of course! It would be an honor!" Alex gushed.
"Great!" Gabby exhaled deeply. "I hate to rush you, but I'm getting hammered by the mayor about final touches. So I need something really quick if you can, not a final draft or anything just something to pacify him for the time being!"
"Oh my God," Alex shook her head and looked down. "I'll try and have something in a couple of days!"
"That would be great!" Gabby exhaled. "Have you ever met the mayor?"
"God no!" Alex laughed. "I mean, I haven't had the honor!"
"Well, that I can fix, I have a meeting on Thursday. Can you join me?" Gabby asked her.
"I...I...," Alex was flabbergasted.
"Of course she can," Gavin said for her. Gabby nodded and began to walk away.
"Anything in particular you want?" Alex asked her.
"Well the theme is Chicago then, now, and forever," Gabby told her. "So impress me!" Alex nodded with a weak smile as her mind went blank. "I get the feeling you won't disappoint!"
Driving home after the show, Alex looked at the check in her hands. It was the most money she had ever earned in a year, let alone one night. It was more money than multiple years! She felt this was all a dream, Gavin, the showing, the money. The Expo! The last thought made her stomach flutter with excitement.
"You ok?" he asked her with a smile.
"I don't know how to thank you!" Alex said with reverence.
"You just did," he smiled. "I told you that you would be great."
"Sometimes it's hard to believe that anyone likes my stuff!" Alex told him turning to him.
"You shouldn't doubt," he said kissing her hand. He held it after doing so making her weak in the knees at his subtle loving gestures.
"I have doubted everything since you entered my life," Alex smiled. "It's all so overwhelming!"
She frowned as he was driving to her apartment instead of his condo.
"Why are you taking me home?" she asked him.
"Because, Gabby needs you to work," he smiled. "If I take you to my place, you won't be working!" he teased with a bright smile.
"Well, not on art anyway!" she laughed with him.
"Exactly," he smiled with a nod. "You have any ideas?"
"A million," Alex nodded. "None of them good enough to be on a mural at the opening of the Chicago Expo!"
"You'll be fine," he said with a shake of his head.
Walking her up to her apartment she unlocked the door. She turned when he didn't follow her in.
"You're not coming in?" she asked him disappointed.
"No," he said firmly. "You need your sleep. You haven't slept all week because of the worry for this show. I don't want you wearing yourself down and getting sick. You have a great opportunity. It only comes once in a lifetime, so we can't be having you sick."
"But," she began. "I need you." She said with a naughty smile.
"Not tonight, little one," he said with a gentle hand to her face. She knew when he used his pet name for her that it wasn't to be argued with. "Try and get some sleep." She nodded with a frown.
He could feel the disappointment in her. He sighed.
"I'll make a deal with you," he smiled. She lifted her eyes to his. "Get some sleep tonight, and I'll take you to a party tomorrow night. Deal?"
"What kind of party?" Alex asked hoping it was similar to her last party.
"A good one," he smiled kissing her lips gently. She gasped into his lips.
"Deal," she smiled into his lips. "Hey," she said pulling back. "I don't think the antibiotics you gave Elizabeth are working."
"What antibiotics?" Gavin asked her his face hardening.
"The antibiotics for the cut...on her foot," Alex said slowly, reading his angered expression. Elizabeth had told her that Gavin had given her antibiotics to help her injured foot. Now she was wondering if that was the truth. Why Elizabeth would lie to her, and what that meant to Gavin?
"I didn't know anything about a cut," Gavin growled.
"She cut her foot in New Orleans when she was there," Alex told him causing him to look to the hallway ceiling. "She said she told you." Alex whispered.
"No, she most certainly did not," Gavin told her firmly. "Don't worry, I'll look at it when I get home."
"Don't be angry," Alex tried to save Elizabeth from what was going to be a severe reprimand. "She knew you were busy helping with this showing!"
"That is irrelevant!" Gavin barked.
"Shit, I should have just kept my mouth shut!" Alex hissed.
"No, you guys do not get to keep things from me," Gavin said firmly taking her by the chin for emphasis. His eyes were hard and angry. "Is that understood?"
"Yes, Sir," she swallowed hard. He kissed her goodnight and left her standing in the doorway. She closed the door and leaned against it. She thought of warning Elizabeth but she wondered why Elizabeth would lie to her? She said she had shown it to Gavin, that day when she noticed the limp in the kitchen there in the condo. Now it appeared she had lied about it. Why?
Gavin walked into the condo and found Elizabeth in bed working on the computer. He pulled the sheet down and she smiled at his demeanor thinking he was in the mood for a rough fuck by the way he ripped the sheets from the bed. Her smile vanished when he looked to her injured foot.
"It's infected," Gavin growled examining it. The wound had a honey colored crusting of the skin, surrounding the bright red dot in the center. "What antibiotic are you taking?"
"Just a cream I got at the walk in clinic," Elizabeth whispered. She feared this. Alex must have said something. "It's nothing. You were busy with getting Alex set up."
"Fuck you," he told her. "This is an injection site." Elizabeth closed her eyes. "Do you take me for a fool? I have dealt with addicts before, I know the secret places to inject yourself to keep it hidden!"
"No," she whispered. "Of course not."
"Then explain," he demanded. "Because now, you have a staph infection."
"I'm not sure I want to," Elizabeth whispered setting her computer to the side. "I'm sorry, I made a mistake."
"By taking drugs or not telling me?" Gavin asked her, crossing his arms across his chest. His temper was spiraling out of control. Flashbacks of his past flooded his mind as this conversation was had before. Different girl. Same words.
"Both," she said looking at the foot.
She wanted to hide if from him and make this all go away. He walked out of the room and she shook her head. Here it comes. She had been dreading it for weeks now. He had been so wrapped up in Alex's showing that he hadn't paid a great deal of attention to her. Part of which angered her and part of which relieved her. If he wasn't paying attention to her she had time to heal her infected toe. But it wasn't going away.
He came back in with a glass of water and handed her pills. She took them without questioning them.
"Penicillin," he told her as she handed the glass back to him. She nodded.
"I'm sorry," she said again.
"What did you take?" he asked her sitting on the bed and putting his face in his hands. This is why he wanted only one sub, his focus was on Alex and he lost sight of Elizabeth. Something that he was angry with himself about.
"I told you," she said softly. "A cream that the clinic...,"
"No," he cut her off. "What did you inject?"
"H," she whispered dropping her head. This kicked him in the stomach as all the memories flooded him and he wanted to run from the room screaming like a mad man! His heavy legs would have made that impossible.
"Get out of my bed," he barked harshly. "Sleep in the guest room."
"Yes, sir," she whispered. She winced when she stood. He saw the wince so he scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the guest room. He gruffly put her in the bed and she couldn't look him in the eye. He turned from her and stalked away angrily.
"Elizabeth," he said from the doorway. "You need to make a decision. You know you aren't allowed to do drugs. It is forbidden. If you stay, there will be consequences. If you are more interested in the drugs, be gone."
"I have made my decision already," she whispered. She might as well get it all out at once.
"Fine," he told her knowing that already. "I will help you get set up in an apartment."
"Thank you, Sir," she whispered as the tear fell.
"Is there anything else I need to know?" he asked her.
"No," she told him wiping the tear away as it streaked down her face. "Nothing that needs to be said." He turned to her.
"You fucked someone," he stated with cold eyes. She nodded.
"I release you from your vow to me," she whispered before he could launch into his tirade. "I am no longer your sub."
"Then I release you from your promise," Gavin whispered back. He expected it, her infidelity to him, but it still took his breath away. "But it seems that promise was only semi intact."
"That's not fair," she whispered.
"No, what's not fair, is the way you are ending this," he said to her firmly. "I hope you make a better decision than Royce." She looked up to him with a mixture of shock and fear in her eyes.
"Please," He said a disgusted growl that she would even begin to believe that he wouldn't know. The surprise on her face angered him.
|
Gavin kissed her goodbye and Alex and Elizabeth hugged.
"See you in four days," Elizabeth said to Alex. "Enjoy him!"
"Like I could do anything but!" Alex smiled shaking her head. "I've never been to New Orleans, so send me pics!"
"I will," Elizabeth waved over her shoulder. Gavin draped his arm around Alex's shoulder and they waved at her as Elizabeth looked back from the gangway.
"I have a question for you," Alex said as they watched from the window.
"Uh-oh," he teased with a grin. She slapped his flat stomach for it.
He seemed to be in a very loose, and very good mood. Not that he was grumpy before, but before he seemed to be all business. Today, he seemed like he was on vacation. Gone was the dress suits, the tie. Now it was back to his designer jeans, and sneakers. Both of which still looked brand new but which he told her he owned for just about a year.
It told her that he rarely wore them. She wondered why that was. Was it because he was always so busy? Today he abandoned he suit for the casual dress. Why? Was it because Elizabeth was leaving? She doubted that. She figured it was because Pavel was coming to town and he was already getting ready for a good time with him.
Whatever it was, she was enjoying it. He teased her and Elizabeth unmercifully all morning. His laughter was like it was on the phone last night. Easy to let out. He joked with her. First about the fact she was whining about waking up without him again. He mimicked her voice then told her to stop being a sleepy head and get up before noon.
"Well actually, I have a litany of questions, but there are two that are pressing on my mind right now," Alex said as the plane was moved out away from the terminal.
"Go," he encouraged.
"Do you think I'm bi-sexual?" Alex turned to him.
"What do you think?" he asked her with a chuckle, gently touching her face with a contented smile.
"I really enjoy Elizabeth," Alex told him with a half shrug.
"That doesn't make you bi-sexual," Gavin sighed. "Look, don't let the puritans cloud your brain!" She looked up to him for explanation.
"There was a time, in ancient Rome and Greece, where male on male and female on female was considered normal. You were able to do whatever pleased you, especially in the sexual realm. Somewhere on the way to becoming 'civilized' we decided to label everything and then judge whether it was good or bad."
Gavin turned her as the plane taxied away. They began to walk out of O'Hare airport, his arm still draped around her, hers around his hip.
"It used to be, if it felt good, do it," Gavin continued. "Now, we have to judge if it is appropriate. We are the only country with all the sexual hang ups! The only country that will judge you for what you do behind closed doors. Be it the LBGT community, our lifestyle, or even those who just like to have sex. If you have it too little, you're a prude. Too much? You're a whore."
"So much for the land of the free! Now if you do something like what we do, you are labeled a deviate and shunned. Our lifestyle is about going back to our roots. Back to doing what brings us pleasure. Back to where, if it feels good, do it!"
Alex nodded as she thought about it.
"I guess I have a lot to learn," she admitted out loud.
"No," he smiled. "You have a lot to experience!"
They walked on as she enjoyed the moment of tenderness. His arm around her. Hers around him. Not quite what someone on the outside world would consider a Dom/sub relationship. If you would have asked her a few weeks ago, she would have thought it involved leather outfits and the woman walking head down a few feet behind the Dom.
This looked more like a burgeoning relationship. And it was, but it wouldn't have been her first thought, looking from the outside.
"Let me ask you this," he continued. "Would it bother you to be bi-sexual?" Alex looked to her feet as they walked in thought.
"No," she finally said. "I mean, I don't mind the way I feel when I'm with Elizabeth, I love the feel of her softness. It feels different than a man's body. It's very erotic to look at. I've always enjoyed sketching or painting women. The soft features are very pleasing to the eye!"
"Something tells me," Gavin said with a reassuring squeeze of her shoulders, "that it's new and exciting. You're exploring something you have never had. Once the newness fades you will have a better idea. But there is nothing wrong with being bi-sexual. It was one of the things that alerted me to you being a switch."
Alex looked up at him.
"Oh yes," he smiled. "You will have to come to grips with that someday. You won't ever be truly satisfied unless you do."
"I want you," she said firmly, not wanting to go down this road again. "You won't be a sub."
"I'm just saying, if you don't try it, you will always be left a little unsatisfied, then that alone may lead you to leave me anyway," he said carefully. Alex shook her head refusing to believe that.
"Ok, next question," he sighed, smiling at how easily she gets wound up on the subject of her moving on from him.
It was something new for him to deal with. He had never had a sub so dead set on having him be their Dom. All of his subs enjoyed him, but none were as possessive as this one. Deep down, when he would allow himself to admit it, he liked it. His other subs had been in the life, he surmised, so they knew the deal. This one hadn't been. She was still confused with what the defined roles were.
But for him, these relationships weren't about what he liked. Bringing pleasure to his subs is what he ultimately strove for. It was what brought him the most pleasure. The orgasms for sure. But he really enjoy taking them places they hadn't been. Having a complete novice was a new challenge, one he was embracing. One he had to sacrifice on. Sacrifice an absolute. Alex was worth it he was finding. He loved the way she dove in head first. Wanting it all, not later, but right now.
"Why doesn't Elizabeth like Pavel?" She asked him.
"What makes you think she doesn't," he asked her with a grin.
"Seriously? Why are you playing dumb?" Alex gasped.
"She doesn't like Pavel because he finds her shallow," Gavin smiled. "And he told her so, to her face, rather bluntly."
"She works for an environmental lobby," Alex pointed out. "She is trying to save the world."
"No, she isn't," Gavin laughed. "She doesn't work for an environmental company, one that is trying to clean the environment or come up with a way to fix global warming. She works for a lobby, she works for politicians. She is in the politics of it. Money. Power. There is a lot of money to be had in lobbying. She is trying to gather some of that, and power. Which is why she is so hung up on Royce. She thinks he is going to be somebody. Somebody with power!" He said sarcastically showing he disagreed.
"You know about that?" Alex frowned. He looked down at her with a bemused smile.
"She wants what he can provide," Gavin shrugged. "I just hope she is good at protecting herself."
"I'm sorry," Alex told him.
"For?"
"Her foolishness," Alex shrugged.
"Again, it's all about desires," Gavin sighed. "I would hope she would choose better but that is what she desires. I don't own her in that way. Once she decides to end it with me, I can only be there for her if she needs a friend. Once another Dom claims her, she is off limits. Just like she is now to anyone else. Just like you."
"I hate to tell you this," Alex drawled out slowly with a frown. "But that thought makes me wet!" This made him laugh and shake his head at her. Yeah, Alex was not a normal sub. It was definitely going to test him.
Alex stood in front of the mirror putting the finishing touches on her mascara. Her blue eyes radiated in the light. She was trying to look her best, not just for Gavin. But for someone who was important to Gavin. She hoped she was as successful with Pavel, as she was Madelyn.
Gavin leaned against the door of the bathroom and watched her appreciatively.
"May I help you?" Alex teased in the mirror.
"Let me count the ways!" Gavin said with a wink.
"Am I dressed ok?" she asked him leaning back from the mirror.
"Damn," was all he said. But it was the way he said it that told her she was.
Alex looked down at herself, it was a simple black dress with spaghetti straps. It hung low on her, her cleavage provocatively available. The dress was short enough to stop mid-thigh, and the stockings were a perfect shade of black.
Alex loved the fact that her undergarments made her feel sexier in the dress. She never was much a garter girl, but knowing that Gavin liked them, she made sure she bought plenty of different lingerie for him when they went shopping.
She would wear short heels tonight, not like the heels she wore at the party, those were much taller than she was comfortable in. She was also thinking of the fact that Pavel was not into shallow people. She wanted to dress nice, but not look like she was spending five hours trying to get ready. The three she was on right now would be enough.
It wouldn't have been that long if she could decide what look she wanted to present. Did she want to go elegant like Elizabeth, down home like she normally dressed, or something in between?
In between is what she went for, she wanted Pavel to realize that Gavin had a lady who could be classy. But she didn't want to look like she was a girl afraid to get her hands dirty either. She assumed this man was beyond upscale nonsense and was more about down to earth do gooders. But it didn't hurt to turn a few heads as well.
The way Gavin was looking at her was all the compliment she needed. Her mission was done.
"Are you wearing panties?" Gavin asked her as she stood there applying a shade of lipstick to draw his attention to her lips. He was staring intently at her ass. He lifted his eyes and looked at her in the mirror. She slowly shook her head with a wicked smile.
"Ouch," he smiled. "Be careful, or I will have to use our safe words myself!"
Gavin and Alex entered the restaurant. They were barely in the door when Gavin was accosted by a tall thin man with brown hair and grey tints. His deep, dark tan told Alex he spent a lot of time in the sun. His skin showing the damage the sun can do, with sun spots and a leathery look to his skin.
"Gav you old dog!" the man bellowed picking him up from behind. Gavin burst into laughter as he pushed at the hands around his waist.
"Pavy put me down or the people here will think we are lovers!" Gavin teased.
"Dumping me after all these years?" Pavel raged, dropping him causing Gavin to laugh heartily. "For this trollop?" Pavel continued loudly drawing stares from the uppity crowd, as he looked to Alex with a wink.
"Well what did you expect? You disappear on me for a year at a time, a man needs tender touch!" Gavin said as loudly causing Alex's mouth to drop that he would participate in this raucous comedy. He had been so reserved!
Pavel took him in an embrace warmly.
"God you look good," Pavel said with a normal tone.
"I know," Gavin agreed. "You look alive, thank Christ. When I heard the war had spilled over into your province again...I was scared shitless!"
"How do you think I felt?" Pavel returned. He drifted his eyes to Alex. "Wow." He smiled at Gavin.
"Pavy," Gavin backed up and reached for Alex who took his hand. "This stunning young lady is Alex." Gavin said introducing them with a broad smile. "Alex, this is Pavel...don't believe anything he says."
Alex furrowed her brow slightly at the way Gavin introduced her. Alex? She didn't know how to take that. It never bothered her before, she preferred it. When Gavin continued to call her Alexandria, she began to only want to be called that.
"Alex," Pavel kissed her on each cheek, "Ti sahmahyah kranvahyah!" Telling her in Russian, that she looked beautiful.
"Spahseebah," Alex tried, but butchered the pronunciation. Which meant, thank you. Pavel giggled at the attempt. She shrugged but continued, "Vi tozhe khahrahsho vigleedeetyeh." Which meant, you look good as well.
"Close enough to survive in country," Pavel laughed at her attempt, thoroughly appreciating the attempt to speak to him in his native tongue. "Although you sound like a drunk Russian!"
"She would fit in perfectly then," Gavin laughed as he nodded at her appreciatively, his eyes aglow at the effort she was putting on to impress his friend. He couldn't think of one person in his entire life that made an effort, even as simple as that, to welcome a man he loved like a brother.
"You speak Russian?" Pavel asked, her still holding her hand from the handshake.
"No," she laughed. "Google."
"Google?" Pavel shook his head. "Damn. Where did Gavin get lucky enough to find you?"
"Coffee shop," Alex smiled.
"Gotta start drinking more coffee!" Pavel flirted.
"Uh," Gavin tried to interrupt the leer. "That's my girl you are drooling over." Gavin pointed out pulling their hands apart.
"Oh," Pavel grinned. "Now you get jealous? After all we've been through?" Pavel turned to him. "You didn't mind sharing that red head in med school. Or that brunette in residency. Or those two blonde nurses from that fertility clinic!"
Gavin shook his head and bent at the waist laughing. It was a hearty laugh, not the controlled laugh that Alex had witnessed.
"Alex isn't something I'm willing to share," Gavin told him firmly with a shake of his head.
"Ohhhh," Pavel drawled, as they were escorted to a table. "Alex is the one?"
"Don't be daft," Gavin growled. "We've only known each other just over a week now."
"For this beauty?" Pavel smiled, as he beat Gavin, to pull out her chair for her. "That's long enough!"
"Look," Gavin said getting close to him drawing the Russian's laughing eyes from Alex. The closeness of the two men reminded Alex of two men getting ready to fight. Her eyes lit up at the playful nature Gavin was displaying. "I don't like you that much."
Pavel took the closeness to stare at Gavin with a furrowed brow. Before Gavin moved away, Pavel took him by the head with both hands, and kissed him on the mouth.
"If I can't have her, I can still have you," Pavel said, with all the dramatics of a soap opera star, as Gavin burst into laughter.
"Pavy," Gavin laughed. "You...are a mad man!"
"So there we are," Pavel continued to regale Alex with another embarrassing story about Gavin. "Both in the dumpster, the cops slowly driving by...," Alex had her hand up by her face in disbelief, covering her disbelieving smile. Gavin? Running from the law?
"Pavy," Gavin interrupted with a huff, but the smile told her he wasn't angry, just embarrassed. "Have I told you yet that I hate you?"
"All the time," Pavel smiled undaunted, never taking his eyes off the laughing Alex. "It was at this time, that wonder ass there, decides to tell me that he was sleeping with a cop's wife, that's why we were running! See, up until that point I just took off because he took off! I didn't even know why we were running from the law this time."
"Yeah, this time!" Gavin exhaled deeply. Embarrassed. "Most of the time it was you who had the reasons for us to be running!"
Alex looked to him with a gasp and a set of questioning blue eyes.
"She was hot and needed a friend," Gavin defended with a shrug and drink from his scotch.
"The Chief of Police's wife?" Pavel queried. Gavin turned away. "Right as the squad car is in front of the dumpster, a rat...," Pavel continued, drawing her laughter, as she took Gavin's hand in hers.
"The size of a dog!" Gavin interrupted again with a laugh.
"It was the size of a horse," Pavel corrected. "Crawls up to say a friendly hello!"
"I don't know who got out of the dumpster faster! Me or you!" Gavin chuckled.
"Did they catch you?" Alex asked.
"Boy, did they ever," Pavel laughed as he shook his head.
"Don't," Gavin warned.
"I think she should know," Pavel argued.
"Tell me," Alex demanded, shifting her eyes from one man, to the other.
"They didn't catch us that night," Pavel smiled. "They caught us the next weekend as we both had a go at the Chief's wife...at the same time. Greedy little minx!"
"Damn you have a big mouth," Gavin shook his head. "Did you ever think, for one second, I might be trying to impress this young lady?" Gavin asked his friend, as he tilted his head towards Alex.
"Best she knows now, what kind of scoundrel you are!" Pavel laughed over his drink.
The dinner continued with laughter, some embarrassment for Gavin, and alcohol. Lots of it for the boys. After dinner they made it to a local bar for more.
"So tell me about Africa!" Alex pressed. "I hear it's beautiful!"
"Oh my," Pavel nodded. "There are places there that can make you forget all the ugliness in the world! It can make you forget about all the blood that is being spilt all over the savannah."
"I would love to go there," Alex smiled.
"There are mornings, when you wake up and stepping out into the morning sun, and it's so quiet. You look out and see animals, a lion or a rhinoceros, standing no more than twenty feet from you. You are in awe. Then you realize, they could kill you in a blink of an eye! That's what it's like over there, dangerously beautiful...like you."
"Amazing!" Alex marveled with a shake of her head at the compliment. "Gavin said something about a civil war?"
"Africa, is always in some sort of civil war," Pavel frowned. "From Joseph Kony to Boko Haram, it's always the same."
"Aren't you scared?" Alex asked him.
"Always," Pavel nodded. "I have to walk a fine line, Boko is the worst to deal with, Kony is not much better."
"You know them both?" Alex gasped.
"Yes," Pavel nodded. "Nothing gets done without dealing with the warlords. If you want to help the people, you play both sides. It's what it is."
"I thought Kony was wanted for war crimes in The Hague?" Alex asked him leaning in.
"He is," Pavel nodded. "I don't do politics." He told her with shrug. "I do medicine. I have to sacrifice a few values to do the most good. It's the innocent people there that are important. Those who don't care about power. Those who are caught in the middle."
"Kony is an awfully fucked up man, but he is someone I have to appease so I can move about to help the people," Pavel said with a heavy shrug of his shoulders.
"How is he fucked up?" Alex asked his with a furrowed brow.
"The man believes he is a profit of God," Pavel laughed. "He's a madman, a murder, and a monster. That's the cross I bear. I deal with monsters."
Alex like this man. She loved his sense of humor and his care about what he believed in. Gavin liked this man as well, that was certain. She could tell by the brotherly barbs, the care in which Gavin took care of him.
"What are you doing back here?" Alex asked him.
"Oh, every once in a while I have to do a dog and pony show for the donors. The group I work for, well is non-profit. We need donors, both financial and medical," Pavel sighed.
"See these civil wars have been going on since forever, I have to come over once and awhile to talk to groups to keep the money coming. It's so tight now, it's getting harder to get supplies. It used to be I only had to go to the black market every once in a while for meds, now it seems that's all I deal with. It can get expensive, but everybody here is wrapped up in ISIS and Afghanistan. That's all the press here talks about. Nobody remembers that there have been civil wars going on since the eighties...hell even earlier than that if you want to look. Africa is put on the back burner so I come back to beg for money basically."
"What do you need?" Gavin asked him.
"You know what I need from you," Pavel said sternly, letting Alex know this request had been made several times before. As was Pavel's demand of Gavin.
"I can't just leave," Gavin said shaking his head.
"You are the best God damn doctor in the world!" Pavel hissed. "These rich fuck ups don't deserve you, and you aren't doing anyone any good being their private physician! But you could do a hell of a lot of good there! More good in a year than a lifetime here! Don't tell me it's for the money, you have never cared about money!"
"Pavy," Gavin sighed.
"I know my brat," Pavy nodded with an exhale.
"Brat?" Alex asked him.
"Brother," Gavin smiled. "In Russian. How is your father?"
"Misses you," Pavel shook his head. "I think he likes you more than me! He likes that you call him more often than I do, especially after mother passed. Thanks. It's good he's proud of one son!"
"That's because I cause him less headaches!" Gavin teased. "And the man is very proud of you!"
"That I don't doubt! The headaches I mean, the rest is a bit doubtful," Pavel shook his head. "So how long have you been seeing this piece of shit?" he asked Alex.
"Not long," Alex smiled. "Couple of weeks."
"Run now," Pavel warned her. "While you can!"
"Hey, don't be running Alex off just yet!" Gavin growled playfully.
"You aren't good enough for her!" Pavel told him.
"Tell me something I don't know," Gavin agreed with his drink to his lips. "But Alex will figure that out all on her own."
"What she needs is a good looking Russian!" Pavel told him taking her hand and kissing it.
"That's a contradiction in terms," Gavin laughed. "And I know for a fact you aren't talking about yourself! Besides, Alex...has taste! She doesn't do bottom feeders!"
Pavel excused himself to go to the restroom and before he left the table he kissed Alex's cheek again.
"Stop kissing my girl," Gavin warned. Pavel swayed a bit with a broad smile before leaving.
"Why do you keep calling me Alex?" she asked testily when Pavel was gone. Gavin shook his head and giggled at her anger.
"Easy," he smiled. "I remember, not too long ago, you corrected us that your name was Alex, you didn't like Alexandria!"
Alex hung her head and smiled. That was before he showed her how glorious it could be to be Alexandria! That was before he made her cum double digits and made her think of nothing more than the ways she could please him.
"Pavel isn't in the life," Gavin explained. "He...doesn't know I'm in the life. My one and only secret from Pavy."
"Oh," Alex smiled, nodding that she understood.
"To those in the life, you are Alexandria," Gavin told her kissing her lips. "Everyone else can have Alex, I own Alexandria."
"Thank you sir," she smiled, her body tingling at the name.
Leaving the bar, Pavel had his arm draped around Alex as she guided him to the car while Gavin paid the check. She leaned him against the car and made sure he wasn't going to fall.
"I'm fine," he winked at her. "Not often I can get like this." He told her apologetically.
"You're fine," she smiled.
"You like him?" Pavel asked her as she watched her open the door. He liked the way she smiled. He liked the way her eyes sparkled when she looked at him. She nodded.
"Very much," Alex agreed. "He is unlike anyone I have ever been out with!"
"I can tell he likes you very much too," Pavel smiled as she guided him to the seat and then he basically fell in.
"I hope so," Alex told him as Gavin came up behind them.
"If you throw up in my car, you, will be, cleaning it up!" Gavin warned.
"I know," Pavel slurred. "I throw up one time in the car, and you won't let me live it down! Remember that night with Carla?" Gavin lost his smile for the first time. Alex didn't miss it.
"Shut up you drunk Russian," Gavin said, carefully pushing his legs in the car and closing the door. Alex watched him but could tell there was something there. He smiled at her.
"I'm sorry, we got a bit carried away tonight," he told her.
"No," Alex smiled. "I loved it! He's absolutely fantastic." Her eyes and mind searched his face for clues to the mysterious Carla.
"Yeah," Gavin nodded.
"He wants you to go to Africa?" Alex asked him as he escorted her around the car.
"Yeah," Gavin frowned. "I would love to go someday, but I have my practice here."
"Why don't you go for a couple of weeks?" Alex asked him.
"Pavel did that," Gavin smiled. "And never left." Alex nodded as he pulled the seat forward so she could get in the back.
Driving home Alex thought about the name Carla. What was that about? What caused Gavin's demeanor to change immediately. Gone was the light hearted smile. The hearty laughter. The darkness washed over his eyes. It screamed danger at her. Danger to bring it up. Danger to cause pain.
Holding Pavel up, more or less, in the hallway as Gavin unlocked the door. Pavel kept kissing her cheek and telling her that she was the most beautiful woman in the world. He proposed twice on the elevator ride up.
Laying him in the bed, she let Gavin tend to him. She squeezed the drunk man's hand when he thanked her. She started to make her way out but Pavel saying her name stopped her as she was just outside the door, she was about to go into the master bedroom. As she turned just outside the guestroom when she realized Pavel was talking to Gavin and not her.
"She's spectacular," Pavel complimented.
"She is," Gavin agreed pulling off his friends shoes.
"Much better than that last bitch you had," Pavel continued watching the ceiling fan. "What was her name? The lobbyist?"
"Beth," Gavin smiled.
"God I didn't like her, she was bad for you," Pavel pointed out.
"No," Gavin shook his head. "She was, what I needed at the time."
"And Alex?" Pavel asked him.
"A quandary," Gavin sighed. "It's all new right now." The pain washed over his eyes and Pavel didn't miss it.
"You have got to be fucking kidding me," Pavel growled angrily.
"Don't," Gavin warned.
"Fuck you," Pavel bit. "You don't get to tell me, of all people, that! I know you my brat," Pavel hissed.
"It's new," Gavin tried again.
"You're eyes," Pavel smiled as he touched Gavin. "Say otherwise."
"Two weeks," Gavin smiled, reminding him gently that the relationship was still in its infancy.
"Still keeping everybody away?" Pavel asked as he shook his head. "Just me and Madelyn, that's all you got. That's all you will ever have, if you keep intentionally picking the shitty ones, and keep the good ones away!"
"That's all I need, you and Maddy," Gavin told him sitting on the bed next to his drunk friend.
"No," Pavel shook his head. "You need a good girl, one that deserves to be by your side! You can't keep letting Carla force you to push girls like Alex away!"
"Girls like Alex?" Gavin smiled.
"Good ones," Pavel slurred. "Ones that make you smile like you did once, with Carla!"
"Carla was so long ago," Gavin pointed out softly.
"Yet," Pavel frowned. "She still haunts you."
"No," Gavin said, shaking his head. "She doesn't."
"Liar," Pavel said with a shake of his head as Gavin shut off the bedside lamp.
"It wasn't your fault, you know? That was a train wreck that was going to happen despite all that you tried to keep it from happening. Gavin, some people can't be saved. Remember what Dr. Masterson always said. In an emergency, you must decide quickly who can be saved, and who can't. As much as it pains you, you have to let go those who can't be saved! Carla, she was going to wind up in a box, no matter what you did!"
Alex listened to the conversation before quickly walking back to the master bedroom before Gavin came out. She was taking off her makeup when Gavin came in and took her in his arms from behind.
"Thanks for coming tonight," he smiled into her neck.
"Thank you for taking me!" she said closing her eyes as he put his lips to her neck. "Do you think he liked me ok?"
"I think so, he proposed to you twice," Gavin laughed as he kissed her neck gently causing her to wash in goosebumps.
"Drunk proposals, don't count!" Alex told him as he began to leave.
"Are you staying the night?" Gavin asked her as he was leaving.
"Do you want me to?" she asked him in the mirror.
"I told you," Gavin said turning to her. "You come and go as you please."
"It would please me...to stay," Alex told him with a smile.
"As it would me," he smiled closing the door leaving her to get ready for bed.
She walked into the bedroom and Gavin was already in bed. She dropped her silk bathrobe revealing herself to him. He whistled softly at her. She smiled and went to the bed. For some reason her heart was beating fast. Even though she had been with him several times alone. This was going to be the first time in his bed. The first time at his place...alone.
She wondered why that was a big deal to her right now. Like it was some monumental step in their relationship. She had him in a hotel, she had him at her apartment. But here, in his home, Elizabeth was always around. In the chair, like the first night, or the bed last night. She slowly crawled into bed as he lifted the sheet, inviting her in.
He was in his sleep shorts, but she could tell by the way they hung to him, they were the only thing on him. She laid there looking up into his eyes. She loved the way he looked at her. Like he was devouring her.
"Thank you for going tonight," he said again, "for gracing us with your beauty!" he whispered as he ran his fingers down her face, tracing a line down her jaw to her neck. Lower he went causing her to shiver as he went across her breast. She convulsed slightly.
"Sorry," she smiled. "They are still sensitive from last night!" She told him as he circled the nipple causing it to tighten. He nodded. Of course he knew that she reminded herself. She gripped the sheet beneath her. He smiled at her recognizing it. She was determined to follow his wishes. So she gripped the sheets to keep from touching him.
"I really am happy I went," she smiled at him. "I got to learn a lot about you tonight!" She smiled happily.
"I told you not to believe anything that drunk Russian says!" Gavin teased as he lowered his head to her nipple and took it between his lips. She gasped softly as the sensations of his tongue across her nipple made her shiver with pleasure. She couldn't believe her nipples were still that sensitive! All day they rubbed against the material in her bra and would harden without any other stimulation any time she moved. She was reveling in it.
Moving to the other nipple caused her to let go of the sheet and start to move to his head. She caught herself after being lost in the moment and rewrapped the sheets in her fingers to trap them. He smiled at her ongoing fight.
"I'm so impressed with you," he said releasing her nipple.
"Why?"
"I'm having a hard time believing that a complete novice is able to fight her instincts," he smiled, nipping at her throat with his teeth, working his way down to her areola and nipping it causing her to gasp and convulse.
"I have a good teacher," she smiled. "A patient teacher." She hissed as he tugged on her nipple causing a sharp pain then a doubling of her pleasure as his tongue circle the sensitive nipple. She couldn't believe the sensitivity.
"So," he smiled as he slipped his hand beneath the sheet and cupped her sex softly. "What did you learn tonight?"
"I learned you are afraid of rats!" she teased.
"Rats the size of dogs," he corrected with a grin.
"Horses," she corrected with Pavel's description.
"I learned that you and Pavy have shared girls," she raised his eyebrows as she knew this was not possible now with his absolute.
"Yeah," he nodded as he ran his fingers on the outside of her labia causing her hips to move with his hand. "Pavy and I were younger then."
"You won't share with him now?" she asked.
"No," he smiled as he licked her nipple. "I don't share anymore."
She wanted to ask about Carla, that was what she truly wanted to learn tonight. Why his demeanor changed as soon as her name was mentioned. She knew better than to bring it up. She could tell by the storm that was in his eyes. Like a hurricane coming in to shore. It was foreboding and would be destructive.
"I learned that you aren't yourself but once a year," she said causing him to lift his head and looked at her.
"What?" he asked her confused that she would come to that conclusion.
"I saw the real Gavin tonight," she said with a shrug. "Not that I don't like the Gavin that has brought me into this world. But I wonder why the real Gavin only shows up with Pavy?"
"This is the real me," he smiled as he put a finger in her.
"Bullshit," she gasped.
"That little mouth is going to get you in trouble," he warned her gripping her pussy from the inside.
"Then don't lie to me," she said back gritting her teeth not allowing him to dominate her. "Tell me, this Gavin, is the same as the man laughing today at the table. Tell me that, this Gavin, is the same as the one that carried on with Pavy with the whole restaurant watching."
"Maybe that is the fake Gavin," he told her as he began to work her again.
"No," she shook her head. "I could tell."
"How," he asked her as her hips began to rise against his hand as her orgasm began in the pit of her stomach.
"I'm a switch, remember?" she told him with a smile. "I can see you, I can tell by the way you laughed. The Gavin at the table...that was the real Gavin!"
He watched her lift her hips repeatedly, driving herself into his hand as her orgasm spread from her stomach to her legs. Outward it ran, her body warming under it. Her muscles tightening under it.
"May I cum, sir?" she asked him, her voice under duress as her satisfaction built.
"No," he told her, causing her to open her eyes.
"Please?" she pleaded with her eyes.
"No," he denied once again.
"I don't know if I can stop it! Not with your magical fingers!" she warned him.
"You had better figure out a way," he said calmly. She began to bite her lip. She stopped moving her body against his hand drawing a smile from him. He only increased his speed causing her to whimper.
She tried to think of things that would keep her from cumming. She thought of her drawings. She thought of the weather forecast. She thought of a random soccer game as she was flooding her brain with anything and everything to keep herself from thinking of the pleasure he was bringing her.
"Please Sir!" she begged with her voice and her eyes.
"No," he denied again calmly, softly. She saw his secret smile come out and knew she was pleasing him but she forced that from her mind because that would make her cum for sure. Pleasing him was what really caused her body to betray her. Alex gritted her teeth and tried to think of other things.
A grocery list for her apartment. She thought of the last episode of Mad Men, although the fantasies of Don Draper reminded her of the fact he looked a lot like Gavin! She quickly changed her thoughts to shopping. Unfortunately that brought the way he looked at her as she modeled for him.
"Are you going to edge me, Sir?" she asked him as it felt like she was trying to keep back the ocean with a broom.
"No," he chuckled diabolically. "I'm denying your orgasm, there is a difference!"
"Why?" she pleaded. "I thought I was a good girl!"
"You are a very good girl!" he whispered breathily in her ear. The words almost sent her over Niagara Falls in the barrel.
"Fuck!" she barked as she turned her head from him to keep his hot breath from her. Back to thinking about what the Bears needed for the upcoming season. They needed a new quarterback, a wide receiver...she couldn't think anymore!
"Pleeeassseee!" she begged as her legs shook. He shook his head softly, never taking his approving eyes from her.
The Blackhawks won in overtime, she told herself. Sharpie had the game winner. Fuck this wasn't working she told herself. Thinking about hot, hunky hockey players was not going to keep her orgasm at bay.
"Please!" she begged as her face reddened under his manipulations.
"No," he said calmly watching her struggle with it. He was impressed. He didn't have another sub that lasted this long! She thrashed her head from side to side tossing her brown locks wildly about her.
She turned to him and pleaded as she bit her lip hard, he could tell she was going to bring blood if he didn't release her soon.
"I love the way you beg," he smiled as he kissed her lips as she bit them. "Cum for me!" She released her muscles and the cum flooded from her as she barked out a short scream of pleasure into his mouth.
His eyes sparkled their approval at her.
"Such a good girl," he teased as he kissed her sore lips. He continued to work on her and she worried he was going to do that excruciating exercise again. Could she put the animal back in the box once it was released? Or was it like a road map, unable to be folded up and returned?
The next one was already building, she pleaded with her eyes to not have to go through that again.
"Going to cum for me again, little one?" he smiled. She nodded but was afraid to see what he would make her do. Would he edge her, driving her mad? Or would he tell her she couldn't cum again, which would drive her mad? Whatever he did, she assumed madness would be involved.
"I love watching you cum," he told her with a smile. "You are so beautiful when you cum for me."
"May I cum?" she asked with a shaking voice. She knew what the look on his face meant.
"No," he told her. She wanted to cry. Back to baseball she screamed in her head.
She tried to remember the scores from today's game. She thought about calling her folks. She wanted to tell them she had met a new guy. One that was capable of driving her mad. That before he was done with her, her new address would be the local mental institution. Between the edging and the withheld orgasms. The mind boggling sex, and emotions she was cascading with. They would have to visit their little girl in a rubber room! With one of those strait jackets.
This caused her mind to snap to bondage. How much she like being tied up. She liked Gavin's hands. Shit! Stop thinking about that! She scolded herself as she buried her face in the pillow. It's supposed to rain on Thursday, she would have to remember her umbrella when she went to get Elizabeth.
Elizabeth! Oh my god, the Goddess! Her sweet pussy and how it tasted! NO! NO! NO!
"Please sir!" she begged. He nodded at her and she gasped as she flooded his hand. Now she could smell it. She could hear it! That was only going to push her to the edge faster.
"I would like to keep doing this to you, but I can tell, that would be impossible!" He giggled. She nodded with a look of desperation. "Cum for me, cum for me little one. Show me what a good little girl you are!"
This sent her rocketing to space! Her body lifted from the mattress as she pressed against his hand and she cried into the pillow to keep Pavel from hearing her. She collapsed into the soft mattress. Her breathing coming in short gasps as he slowed his fingers in her.
"Thank you, Sir," she smiled at him with adoration in her eyes. He kissed her gently as he pulled his fingers up and licked them in front of her.
He reached out to her hip and turned her over. Moving in behind her she pushed up and presented herself to him. Her face resting on the sheets of the bed. She felt him move behind her. His fingers on her hips.
She felt him at her entrance, as soon as she felt his bulbous head pierce her wetness, she drove her hips back in a gasp as her pussy gobbled him up.
"No, no, no, little one," he said griping her hips with his steel fingers. "I'm going to fuck you, not the other way around. I'm the Dom, save the switch persona for Elizabeth!" He warned her. She nodded her head into the silky sheets with an evil grin. She waited for his manhood to drive her into the sweet madness he was so capable of.
She felt him moving around behind her, the angle of his cock changed. It went from more or less straight in, to move of a downward angle. She looked over her shoulder at him and saw him squatting behind her. His feet on the bed as he hovered over her. She felt him rock forward, pushing himself deeper into her being. Shocking her that he found a way to push his impossibly wonderful cock further in her.
"Fold your arms across your back," he told her. She obeyed immediately. Gripping her forearms with her fingers. He took hold of both her small wrists with one hand. The other he gripped her hair, lifting her off the mattress.
From this position she was fucked. His cock pounding against her cervix bringing a pleasurable pain. He was impossibly deep and with every thrust she grunted a pleasurable gasp.
He pounded her. This was harder than he had taken her before. He was deeper than he had ever been. She couldn't believe the pleasurable feelings he was raining on her from his squat.
"God I love fucking you!" he growled as he pounded her from behind.
She wanted to respond, but the words came out in a babble as her orgasm squirted out the edges of her quivering sex, around his cock, and dribbled down the inside of her thigh. If he wasn't fucking her into oblivion, she would have reveled in the fact he made her squirt again!
"I love the way your body responds to me," he continued to tell her gruffly as his rod slammed her. "I love the way your pussy feels! It's tight velvet like feel sucking on my cock!"
Talking dirty to her was driving her mad again. Bellevue! Here I come! Literally. She screamed as her orgasm washed from her. She wanted to collapse to the bed, but couldn't. He was holding her up by her wrists and hair, her legs folded under her. They spread wider, the joints keeping her upright as they would not spread any farther without coming out of their hip sockets.
Her muscles quivered in her legs. Her stomach ached from the power of her orgasms. She felt her neck crane back as he pulled her hair more, tilting her head to the side so he could kiss her open mouth. His tongue swirling in it like a snake in a bag. She tried to respond but her mouth was absolutely useless! Her body was useless!
He reveled in it! He let go of her hair and her face plopped on the mattress as her ass was driven further up into his assault. He let go of her arms and took her hips with his hands. If she had any strength left, she could have pulled her arms under her but she was beyond that! Gavin had taken her there...again!
With a guttural growl he drove his hips into her causing her to collapse to the bed, his cock bouncing off her cervix again as he was driven impossibly deep within her womb. She felt him buck inside of her. His warmth spreading out in her as his seed shot from his cock, filling her.
"Holy shit," she gasped as he bit into her again. She hoped he was marking her again, her first marks were fading. She was enjoying seeing them in the mirror. A welcome reminder. They reminded her of all that pleasure. He released her skin and she frowned as she knew he hadn't marked her. He was back to the old Gavin. Controlled. Protective.
He covered her body with his and nibble on her ear.
"You are absolutely incredible!" he whispered in her ear.
"Thank you, Sir," she said her favorite three words. "You bring it out of me!"
Gavin woke her with soft kisses, she smiled at them.
"I could go again," she whispered.
"So could I," he laughed alluding to their sex. "But I got a call."
"So, again, I won't wake up with you by my side," Alex frowned. "It's becoming my dream to roll over and see you in the morning light!"
"Sorry," he said softly with a kiss. "I need a favor."
"Anything," she told him turning over.
"I need you to take Pavy to the airport if I'm not back," he said brushing her cheek gently.
"No problem," she smiled. "What time?"
"10," he said kissing her lips.
"Better get up at six then, to roll him out, how grumpy is he with the hangover?" Alex teased.
"Pavy doesn't get hangovers," Gavin laughed. "He's Russian!"
Gavin kissed her deeply as he let his hand drift below her waist and rub her sex.
"You aren't going to be leaving if you start something now," she warned him.
He eased a finger in her.
"Not fair," she whispered enjoying the feel of the invasion.
"I wish I had more time," he whispered against her lips. She whimpered slightly as he pulled his finger from her.
Alex watched him smile at her from the door, once he closed it, she set her alarm on her phone. She then slid over to Gavin's side and inhaled his scent from his pillow. She clutched her arms around it and held it tightly, before returning to sleep.
She was making breakfast when Pavel came in.
"Dobroye utro!" he said cheerfully, walking to the coffee pot. "What the hell is this?"
"Dobroye utro!" she returned. It meant good morning. She laughed as he looked at the coffee maker.
"It's a Keurig," she laughed. "Take a little cup from the wheel there, pick a flavor, and then put it in here." She said showing him how to operate the machine.
"The little bitch can't even make a pot of coffee anymore?" Pavel groused shaking his head at Gavin's toys about the house.
"I think it's more for everybody else," she told him going back to cooking. "He's been drinking herbal tea."
"You don't have to cook for us! Let's make him take us out!" Pavel said coming to the beauty near the stove.
"He got called out," she told him with a frown.
"Damn rich people," Pavel grumbled as he matched her frown. "I guess I'll take a cab to the airport then."
"No you're not," Alex said with a shake of her pony tail. "I'm driving you!"
"You don't have to do that!" he scoffed.
"It would be my pleasure," she assured him.
Sitting down after serving him, something Gavin would never allow her to do for him, she smiled.
"So, how did he trap you?" Pavel asked her.
"More like I trapped him," Alex smiled over her coffee.
"You are much too good for him," he told her as he enjoyed the taste of her cooking.
"No way, it's the other way around!"
"Like him, do you?" Pavel asked, he smiled when Alex nodded. "He likes you, a lot."
She shrugged, but hoped it was the truth.
"I can tell," Pavel continued. "He will try to push you away, don't let him."
"I know," Alex frowned.
"He has tried already?" Pavel asked her. She nodded. She knew she couldn't say too much as Pavel didn't know about Gavin's lifestyle. "He gets scared, I wish..."
"What?" Alex asked him when he stopped talking.
"Nothing," Pavel smiled falsely.
"Pavy," Alex began slowly. "Who is Carla?"
Pavel looked her.
"Me and my drunk mouth," Pavel said closing his eyes and shaking his head. "I know it had to be me as Gavin would never speak her name."
"Yes," she nodded that it was him that let the secret name of Carla out, driving her wild in wonder. "Is she why he won't let anyone close?"
"Yes," was all he said.
"Why?"
"Alex," Pavel shook his head. "If you like him, don't. This conversation will cause him to end it immediately. Carla, is an atomic bomb."
"I need to know what I'm up against," Alex whispered.
Pavel exhaled deeply as he thought about it.
"Does Elizabeth know about her?" Alex asked him causing him to roll his eyes.
"You know that snooty bitch?" Pavel snarled.
"Yes," she smiled at the anger the mere name invoked from the Russian.
"No," he told her. "I doubt anybody but me and Madelyn knows."
Alex shook her head. Madelyn would never tell, so that left Pavel.
"Please," she begged.
"I must caution you," he said leaning forward. "If you bring it up to him, in any manner, it will be over. There will be no fixing it. Not this." Alex looked to the table. "Are you sure?"
Alex nodded fearfully. Would he end it if he found out Pavel and her were discussing it? That's what caused the nauseous fear to form.
"Carla was on her way to being a brilliant doctor," Pavel sighed. "She was every bit as good as Gavin. Pushed him in ways no other could. That's what drew him in, she pushed his boundaries. God he loved her!" Alex felt the sharp stab of jealousy.
"We were at a party," Pavel continued slowly. "Some drugs started going around, she did some. Soft stuff at first, little pot, then a little mushrooms, coke. Then she got hooked on heroin." Alex closed her eyes.
"Gavin almost got kicked out of med school," Pavel frowned. "He would spend all his time looking for her, or taking care of her. Missed a ton of classes, missed out on an opportunity to do his residency at the Mayo Clinic because of her."
"He would spend his days frantically looking for her from drug infested house to drug infested house," Pavel sighed.
"More than once, we almost had the shit beat out of us by the thugs there. We would never take money in our pockets, guys would rob us at gunpoint if we did." Pavel told her. "He started carrying a gun, just to rescue her."
"She was kicked out of med school," Pavel told Alex as she had her breath taken from her as the pain in Pavel's voice told her this was something that hurt Pavel too. "What a waste!"
"I tried to get Gavin to give up on her, she was dragging him down with her." Pavel explained. "Had multiple fistfights because of her. But he loved her. Gavin is so loyal, that he won't give up on someone like that, even though it could mean his own destruction."
Alex took his hand as he stopped talking. It was encouraging him to continue.
"We lost Carla, for about a week," Pavel explained. "We found her being sold for sex, guys lined up to use her. Some paid in drugs, some paid in cash. The dealer was using her to get the money she owed him."
"Oh my God!" Alex gasped.
"Gavin was crushed," Pavel whispered. "I thought that would be the end of it. Should have known better. Gavin just doesn't quit. He took her from there, with his gun out, to defend ourselves. This of course after beating the dealer almost to death. That case was never solved. Thankfully the police didn't give a damn about a beat up drug dealer. I think that still weighs on Gavin as well, the guilt of knowing what he got away with. It took me hours to convince him not to turn himself in."
"He put her in a rehab facility," Pavel continued. "She spent six months there, got cleaned up."
Alex nodded.
"Then she got the diagnosis," Pavel frowned. "She had contracted HIV." Alex blinked rapidly. "I was so worried about Gavin, but he told me he hadn't been with her for almost two years. Since she started disappearing."
Alex's jaw dropped.
"He's been thoroughly tested," Pavel assured her. "It's been almost two decades, so he's clean!" Pavel assured her. He didn't want Alex to think she was in danger.
"No, I know he would never endanger me," Alex assured him.
"One night," Pavel began again. "We were at the library, studying for exams. It was the first time I could get him out of the house. He was afraid to leave her."
"She was gone when we got back," Pavel frowned. "We found her two days later, needle in her arm. Dead."
"Oh my God!" Alex gasped without air.
"Gavin, has never, been the same," Pavel told her with a soft hand to her face. "Until last night."
"No way," Alex shook her head.
"Oh don't," Pavel smiled. "I know better than most, I love him. I would die for him. He cannot fool me!"
"Pavy," Alex tried. "We barely know each other!"
"I know," Pavel smiled. "You know what makes people fall in love?"
"Their heart?" she asked.
"No," Pavel shook his head. "It's more than that, it's deeper. Instinct."
"Instinct?" Alex asked confused.
"Look deep in you," Pavel told her. "Yes your heart beats for him, but it's something else that tells you to try harder for him. I hope you are as tenacious as you appear to be!"
Alex stood with Pavel at the gate, he gave her a warm hug.
"Thanks for the ride," he smiled. "The offer still stands."
"What offer?" Alex asked him with a confused smirk.
"To marry me," he teased with a wink.
"You were drunk, I didn't think that was serious," Alex laughed.
"Tell the asshole I love him," Pavel told her.
"I will," she smiled. "Pavy?"
"Yes?"
"Will he ever let someone close to him?" Alex asked him. Pavel exhaled deeply and studied her. "Maybe I don't want to know. The illusion is good now." She said quickly changing her mind by the way he looked at her.
"Alex," he smiled. "It really depends on you."
"Me?"
"Yes," he nodded. "He will push you away. That is inevitable. I'm sorry." He told her gently. "You just need to be strong enough to not leave him when he tells you to, and you need to find a way to keep it from happening when he tries. Regardless of what he believes is best, if you want him, claim him."
Alex almost laughed. Claim him? That's what a Dom does, he is not a sub. She wished she could tell Pavel that. Make him understand.
"Be safe," Alex told him. "If you need anything, call us!"
"I like the way you said that...us," Pavel told her. "I hope I see you again."
"Me too," she smiled. "One last question."
"Ok,"
"How long does his relationships usually last? How long do I have to convince him?" Alex asked him.
"They average a year," he told her. "Seems like every time I come back for the dog and pony show, he has a new girl. Clock is ticking Alex. I hope you are like another Chicago legend. Michael Jordan knew how to come up clutch! I hope you do too. I want the man to smile all the time like he did last night with you!"
|
Alex walked into the condo with a happy step. She had gone to the bank to deposit her check and now her bank account seemingly breathed a sigh of relief! Never before had her checkbook possessed the number it now had. She even opened a savings account. Just because she had the money to do so!
Turning the corner she stopped in her tracks. There were boxes neatly packed and stacked in the middle of the floor. Each one tightly shut with tape. She saw the names on the side. Kitchen, bedroom, bathroom and other descriptions were written in Gavin's handwriting in black marker.
"Gavin!" she called out staring at the boxes. She went to the bedroom, the bed was made and there was nobody in the room. "Elizabeth!" she called out but she received no reply. They weren't home.
She went back to the living room and the boxes. Her heart began to race in her chest as she thought about what the boxes meant for her. Was Elizabeth done? Was the fight last night for the lies so bad that this is the result? Part of her was cautiously happy. Happy that the fear that had been built in her that Elizabeth leaving wasn't the forgone conclusion Gavin said it was. Part shamed that Elizabeth had brought her into this world and she owed her some measure of loyalty.
Pulling out her phone she hit the speed dial for Gavin but the slamming of the front door made her realize she didn't need to. Gavin came around the corner and stopped when he saw Alex in the living room. His face hard and angry. Part of both melted away upon seeing her there.
"What's going on?" Alex asked after taking a deep swallow. The moment of elation now gone from her banking visit.
"Elizabeth is moving out," Gavin said harshly his eyes flashing danger.
"What?" Alex asked. "Why?"
"Because she would rather do heroin than be with me," he barked angrily. She could see he was trying to keep from yelling it, but only half managed.
"Oh my God baby!" She said softly coming to him. "I'm so sorry!"
"Why?" he barked pushing her hands away from him. Not wanting her soothing embrace. Not wanting to let go of the anger. He needed it to steel himself from being slammed with pain of regret. If he was angry, he wasn't thinking of the pain of Carla. Or the pain of Elizabeth. Alex touching him would break down the anger. Break down the hate. Rip through the steel wall. She would break him.
His moving away from her at the same time brought her worst fears into play now. Any happiness she had was drowned in the fear that Gavin would do what Pavel said and push her away. She could feel the invisible slap at her from the tone of his voice and the way he moved away from her.
"Don't do this," Alex argued softly. Pavel's words came flooding back to her mind. That he would try to push her away. Would this be it? To keep from being hurt by anyone.
"Do what?" Gavin asked closing his eyes. Alex saw through it. She knew that he knew exactly what she was talking about.
"Push me away," she said softly as she finally got her arms around him. He sighed deeply and put his arms around her.
"I'm sorry," he whispered in her hair. "I'm so angry right now."
"I know," she whispered pulling him tighter. "You can't stop her from making a mistake. You can only counsel her that she is making one!"
"She leaving me for drugs and Royce!" Gavin growled.
"No," Alex said taking his face in her hands. "She is leaving because she is a fool!"
"She is leaving because of drugs and Royce," Gavin repeated.
"Which makes her a fool!" Alex said with a disbelieving laugh. "If she can't see what I see, she doesn't deserve you." She guided him to the couch and sat him down. She then maneuvered herself in behind him and straddled him with her legs. She began a massage on his tense shoulders.
"What are you doing?" he asked her looking over his shoulder and taking her hand to stop her.
"Go with it," she ordered him. "You take care of everybody else, let me take care of you for right now!" She saw the fire in his eyes. He didn't like being spoken to that way and she could tell he was thinking of ending everything to protect himself. So she was really pushing her luck.
"It would please me, Sir," she said softly. He smiled a tired smile and let go of her hand. "Thank you." He nodded.
"You can only protect those who let you," Alex said softly. "You have done that with her up till now. Now she needs to learn the lesson. Sometimes the only way to learn it is the hard way."
"And if it kills her?" Gavin asked bluntly. The tear that fell, Alex saw, but said nothing. She wondered if that tear was for Elizabeth or Carla.
"You have done all you can," she whispered pulling him in tighter. "You can't make her let you protect her!"
"Where is she?" Alex asked carefully.
"I needed her gone," Gavin whispered. "So I got her a place in Chicago, I can't go down the road she is going down....not again. So I got her a place fast, just to get her the hell out of here. I was up all night packing her stuff. She is there now signing the papers. I've also checked her into a hotel until she gets her furniture bought and delivered."
Gavin leaned forward and put his face in his hands and blew out another breath. He was exhausted and she could see it. She continued to knead his tight back. Starting at his shoulders, then working her way down to the small of his back.
Then back up to his neck. She traveled slowly down his spine making rivets of goosebumps wash across his skin. He looked back at her over his shoulder with a half grin. One she figured was the best he could muster given the circumstances.
"What is that grin for?" she asked him kissing his back and wrapping her arms around his chest as she laid her head on his back and listened to his heartbeat.
"You really are good with your hands," he told her.
"See," she smiled against his back. "You should let me use my hands more often!"
"Something to consider," he said rubbing her forearms as they stretched around him.
"Really?" she asked.
"Absolutely not," he chuckled. "I like driving you crazy by not letting you use your hands. One of my petty tortures."
"What goes around, comes around my love," she smiled. Then she thought about what came from her lips so easily.
Alex coaxed Gavin from the couch and led him by the hand into the bedroom. He shook his head as she pulled him to the bed. Pulling back the covers she pushed him to a seated position and he plopped with a bounce on the bed.
She knelt at his feet and untied his shoes and pulled them from his feet. She guided them up into the bed and he let her. A soft smile on his face with the way she was pampering him. A return of what he did for her. Something he normally didn't allow. Something that Alex seemed to get away with. Something he couldn't understand why.
She pulled the covers over him and kissed his temple.
"Sleep," she whispered into his ear. "You are exhausted."
She started to move away from him but he stopped her by taking her hand. She looked back at him with a smile.
"Thank you," he said with a frown. "I'm embarrassed."
"Why?"
"Because you have to see me this way," he said softly. "I hate my weakness."
"You can call it whatever you want," she said kneeling at the bed near his face. She rested her head on her arms as she peered into his eyes. "You can call it an arrangement. You can call it submission. You can call it a friendship. But it's a hard thing to get over when you spend day in and day out with someone for a year."
"Our life isn't like that," Gavin whispered. "I don't love her."
"Bullshit," Alex told him as softly. "You do. Not enough to marry her as you have built up this wall around you to keep you from being hurt again. But make no mistake. You love her. You don't spend that much time with someone without falling in love to some degree."
Alex began to stroke his finger with hers. He seemed so vulnerable right now and that in itself made her excited. She was seeing another side of Gavin. A softer side. A side that wasn't the façade of being a Dom. It clicked. This world he had immersed himself in was a form of insulation. Protecting him.
All the girls in his world were from the life. They were all aware of the arrangement. Maybe that is why he is so confounded by her, she thought as she drowned in his eyes. Maybe that is why he is so taken with her. She could see that he didn't treat her like Elizabeth. She could see that he talked to her differently as well. She hoped that what they had going wasn't an arrangement.
"I can't go down that road again," Gavin whispered as he closed his eyes. She stroked his hair and it soothed him.
"You may not have a choice," Alex whispered. He opened his eyes to her. "I'm sorry, but there is no way you can shut off that desire to protect her."
"I won't go," he said firmly.
"Yes you will," Alex whispered. "It's who you are."
Gavin closed his eyes. She stroked his hair and watched him fall asleep under her soft touches. Her protection.
"But you won't have to do it alone," Alex whispered as she kissed his lips when she knew he was asleep. "You won't be able to push me away!"
Alex was laying on the couch now, her feet pulled up on it as she used her legs for a desk while she laid on her back. She was sketching various designs. Ideas to present to Gabby. None were any good so as soon as she was done she would rip it from her book and toss it haphazardly to the coffee table and start again. She was drawing a blank. Nothing helped her.
Now she was staring at the ceiling trying to come up with one idea. Just one worthy of the Expo. One worthy of thousands of people. One worthy to be talked about for months. Nothing was coming.
The scent of Gavin's cologne wafted around her and brought her from her frustration. She used her head to arch herself on one of the cushions on the couch and peered at him from an upside down cock of her head. She smiled at him as he sat there, his hand propped up on the arm and his face in his fingers as he watched her.
"How long have you been sitting there?" she asked him with a smile.
"A while," he said still watching her. It was as if he was both undressing her and devouring her at the same time with his eyes. It made her stomach butterfly.
"I love the way you look at me," she smiled turning over on her stomach and dropping her sketchbook to the floor.
"I love the concentration you have when you draw," he smiled back. "Any ideas?"
"Several," she smiled wickedly. "But nothing that the Expo could see." He nodded appreciatively.
"I see the movers came," he said with a nod to where the boxes once sat.
"Yes," she nodded, her smile dimming. "About an hour ago."
"For the best," he told her. Again she nodded as she pushed herself off the couch and went to him in the chair. She crawled into his lap like a cat, her legs draped over the edge of the arm of the chair. Her head resting just to the side of his chin on his chest.
"Thank you," he whispered as he placed a kiss on her forehead as she closed her eyes and inhaled his magnificent scent.
"I just opened the doors," she told him softly. "I didn't carry any boxes!"
"I'm not talking about the movers," he said into her hair.
"I know," she smiled under his lips. "I'm going to tell you something. Something you already know but I'm going to say it aloud so there is no chance at misunderstanding." She pulled her head out and looked at him.
"I'm a stubborn bitch," she said without a smile. "You won't be able to push me away. I know that is what you do, to protect yourself from your past. But you try that with me, I'm going full on stage-five cling on!" This got him to chuckle at the threat. "I'm talking rabbits in boiling water type stuff here." She smiled alluding to the movie
"You know nothing of my past," he said to her. He then looked deep in her eyes and saw something that made his stomach flop. "What did Pavel tell you?"
To lie or to tell the truth. That's what Alex needed to decide right now. If she lied and he found out that would be bad. To tell the truth could be worse. Would he become furious? Would it be the atomic bomb that Pavy warned her about? Would it destroy what she was falling for?
To lie or to tell the truth? To lie to the Jedi?
"Everything," she whispered.
"Everything?" he repeated. The sound of his voice was strained. She couldn't tell if it was anger or regret. She got a taste of both.
"Everything," she repeated with her head down. She heard his heart speed up. His breathing increased. His body tensed under her cheek. Oppenheimer was right. He became the destroyer of worlds with his invention. This was going to level her. But he had been lied to enough. She wouldn't do that. Trust.
"I see so much of her in Elizabeth," Gavin whispered. "So much so that it scares me."
"Elizabeth is not Carla," Alex lied. She knew better. Elizabeth was traveling down a road Gavin had seen. If he was this worked up about it she knew he knew better.
"It's going to happen," Gavin said after getting his breath back from the way Alex hit him with the name. Like a baseball bat.
"That's not something you can control," Alex whispered. "As much as you want to, you can't control people." She lifted her head. "This is why you hide in the illusion of BDSM. You think you are in control. But you said it yourself. You don't have control, unless I give it to you. Therefore your illusion is based on my control."
Gavin tilted his head at her.
"Oh my," Alex gasped. She realized he had believed the lie. The illusion. "Sweetheart," she shook her head. "The sub gives you that control. I give it to you willingly. Open eyed. Freely. But I decided when it ends."
She leaned into his lips.
"I surrender my control to you," she whispered against his lips. "I submit to your will. Your demands. I submit to your control. Freely. Willingly. Lovingly."
"I accept that responsibility," he whispered back as his lips brushed against hers. "I will protect you. I will care for you. I will provide for you." She let her tongue slide into his lips and traced the inside of his mouth. Pulling his top lip into her mouth and sucking on it.
"I own you," he said at last.
"I accept," she whispered. "Gratefully!"
She adjusted her collar in the mirror. It's soft blue lace matched her eyes. The pendant lock that dangled on the end she played with as she adjusted it to make sure it was centered. In full view for everybody to see. She was owned.
Gavin's form filled the doorway and her eyes drifted to him as she bit her lip to control her giddiness. He was dressed in a black shirt and charcoal pants. His collar open. No tie tonight which surprised her. Semi relaxed like with Pavel. Semi Dom.
"I wish I could wear this all the time," she smiled at him holding the lock on the lace.
"Why?" he asked her.
"So everybody knows," she said turning to him and leaning against the counter.
"Everybody already knows," he said coming to her.
He pressed his body to hers and moved millimeters from her lips with his. His breath on her. She felt him against her hip. His hand moving to her face as his magical fingers gently brushed against her skin. Her body began to tremble with excitement as his fingers moved lower. Down the side of her red dress.
"Take hold of the counter top," he whispered with a smile.
"No hands," she smiled as she gripped it as instructed.
"No hands," he repeated as he lowered to his knees.
"Fuck," she gasped as he lifted her dress and put his lips to her sex through her undies.
"Later," he chuckled. "Now I need a snack."
He pulled her panties to the side and let his tongue trace the outside of her hood protecting her clit. The feel of his soft, hot tongue on her caused her leg to shake as he had put one over his shoulder and the other now held her up.
He recognized this and lifted her up with his hands gripping her ass and setting her on the counter. He then returned to his knees and pulled the panties aside unveiling her sex to him again.
He ran his fingers over it lightly causing her body to quiver under his soft touch. He just sat admiring it for a while. Watching his fingers trace the outside. Watching her body react to his light touch. A jolt every now and then as his fingers hit her most sensitive spot bringing a smile to his face. One of loving reverence.
Looking up at her as he lowered his head to her, his mouth just a scant distance where his lips just barely touched her. She held her breath and that made him smile wickedly. He let his tongue come out slowly. Letting her see it. His eyes locked on her face so he could revel in her expression when he finally gave her what her eyes were begging for.
He waited. That drove her mad and she wanted to move her hips to his mouth but she willed herself not to. Enjoying this maddening torture he was giving her. The moment when she knew he was going to satisfy her, but when he was ready.
Then his tongue was on her. Softy there. Right on her clit. Gently flicking at it causing her to gasp. Her eyes fluttered closed, her head dropped back as she felt like she could cum right then. That joyous rapture of elation that he was touching her most intimate of intimates.
His tongue moved about her sex slowly. Tracing the outline of her lips, before running up the center causing her to jump when he hit her super sensitive bud. Down slowly on the outside, then back up the other. Then down the center once more, down to her spot in between her sex and her anus. That sensitive area being flicked at by the tip of his tongue. She gasped each and every time his tongue hit her.
Back up he went, up the center and on top of her clit. Her body began to shake. Her muscles straining to keep herself in check. He loved it. Her attempt to control herself.
His fingers came into play now. Gently pulling her apart to reveal more of her to his tongue.
"Thank you sir," she whispered.
"For what?" he smiled.
"For making me cum," she smiled. "Just in case you make me forget myself!"
"You're welcome," he whispered as he kissed her lips. Down there.
He began to work her lower lips like he did with her mouth. Kissing and probing with his tongue like he was French kissing his lover in a passionate kiss. Finishing with a suck of her lips that pulled them out.
His tongue probed in her, the feel of it caused her legs to shake on his shoulders. He suckled her clit with his mouth. Sucking in the soft piece of flesh, holding it there with his suction while flicking at it with his tongue while it was in his mouth. She gasped as she began to rotate her hips to his mouth. Gently fucking it with her slow grind.
Her hand pulled on his head as she lost herself in her budding orgasm. It was building in her and she wanted to hurry him along.
"Uh hmm," he said softly never moving him mouth from her causing the vibrations from his voice to ripple through her sex. Her eyes flickered open and she looked down at him and saw her hand in his hair. She didn't even know she had let go of the counter! She quickly removed her hand and gripped the counter again with a naughty smile.
"Sort of sorry," she gasped as he continued to work on her. Never stopping his gentle mouth loving of her sex.
"You and your hands," he whispered sending hot breath across her wet sex causing her to shiver uncontrollably. She said nothing, lost in his manipulations. Her hips beginning to rock on his mouth. Her orgasm building in the pit of her stomach. Slowly building, like an old fashioned tea pot.
Her face reddening under the pressure that was building. Her body beginning to shake as her orgasm gained total control of her. Or maybe Gavin was being the puppet master. Guiding her to her orgasm so easily with his mouth.
The cum came in a rush as her hips lifted off the counter as the muscles tensed in her stomach and legs causing them to lift without her knowledge. He suckled her through it as it gushed on his face. Not quite a squirt, but close. Her ass hit the counter after it was over and it was then and only then, did she realize she had lifted off of it.
"Holy shit," she whispered approvingly. He slowly rose and she pulled her legs off his shoulders as he did so. His mouth found hers and she greedily ate him. His tongue. His lips. Everything.
She felt his fingers enter her causing her to gasp at the gentle insertion. First his middle finger. Then his ring finger as well. He began slowly at first. His fingers pistoning in and out of her. His speed building as she rocked her hips against his strong hands as her second orgasm built. She loved the fact he didn't ever stop with just one orgasm. For him it was always multiples. Anything less than that was unacceptable and she was fine with that!
She wrapped her arm around the back of his head unknowingly again as he suckled her ear. Breathing into her ear causing her to become lost in her descent into her pool of orgasmic bliss. The second one coming stronger that the first one.
This one did squirt a little onto the counter. He didn't stop. His fingers continued to push her over and over. Riding another wave of cum causing her to grip him tightly to her. Her muscles in her arm flexed tightly around his head as she lifted herself off the counter once more before collapsing again.
His fingers slowed. Carefully. Gently bringing her down from her high. She opened her eyes and saw her hand in front of her face as he gently nuzzled her neck.
"Goddamn hands," she laughed as she wiggled them in front of her face. She was working them to get the blood flow going again as she had clinched her fist so tightly during her orgasm that her nails dug into her palm.
"God did not damn those hands," he smiled. "He blessed them!"
Gavin sat up after she released him. His smile was one of satisfaction. Gone was the turmoil of Elizabeth if only for the moment. She pressed her lips to his mouth and gently let her tongue probe his lips.
"I love the taste of me on your lips," she whispered softly.
"I love the taste you anywhere," he returned.
|
Chuck hasn’t had a vision in weeks, so when he finds himself on his knees in the kitchen praying that the spike of pain through his head will either stop or let him die, he’s kind of surprised.
He comes to on the ground, spilled water and a broken glass in front of his face (and Jesus he’s lucky he didn’t fall face first on to that) and he discovers that he’s lost an hour. Sam must still be in the basement with Castiel and is probably not likely to come upstairs, so Chuck leaves the glass and water on the floor, frantically tearing Castiel’s study apart for paper and a pen so he can commit this latest vision to paper before it bursts out his skull and kills him.
When he’s done, he reads over his scribbled, torn pages, ensuring he doesn’t miss anything. Then he checks the clock again, calculating against the time frame of what he’s just written.
It seemed like it was early in his vision. Early morning, maybe six or seven. It’s one in the morning right now, and assuming that his vision is for today, that leaves only five or six hours until it happens.
Once he found out his visions were real, and then later became part of them himself, he was never sure how much he was responsible for what happened. Does it happen because he’s already seen it? Can he change it? Should he change it? Would he get another vision, a different vision if he did? It’s a mind fuck for sure.
But this vision is different. He runs over the details in his mind again as he cleans up the glass and the water. He feels a sense of calm descend over him, settling his heart and his mind. He doesn’t fear the future, but instead sees it stretched out before him and he feels content.
All he has to do is make one phone call.
He dials a number he’s never used before, fingers sure and steady as he punches the buttons.
She answers the phone on the first ring. Even though it’s one in the morning, she’s been waiting for his call.
“Chuck Shirley. You’re right on time.”
“Hello, Pamela.”
***
It’s more than a little strange to have a conversation with someone who’s entombed in a sarcophagus.
Not that it’s much of a conversation, but still, Sam finds it weird.
“Castiel? It’s Sam.”
He’s started off everyone of the last eight check-ins identifying himself and it always makes him feel ridiculous. There are two people who know where Castiel is: Chuck and Sam, and he’s pretty sure Castiel knows his voice. It’s his medical training though, that kicks in and the need to identify himself to his patient is a reflex.
Even if that patient is a vampire who’s now forty-eight hours post-feeding.
Castiel had noted that he never really felt the hunger until the second day, but Sam had insisted on samples and measurements at four hour intervals starting twelve hours after Castiel last fed.
It’s the ninth check in and the start of day three.
Sam’s tired. Medical school and his internship trained him to live off of minimal sleep interspersed with coffee and food, but those days are long past. He has managed to catch a few naps in between check-ins, sleeping at either the small desk or bed that Chuck set up.
He won’t eat in the cellar, though. It seems beyond wrong to eat in front of someone he’s effectively starving. Chuck discretely comes down the old stone steps and lets him know without words when there is a meal waiting upstairs. Sam usually only makes it up the first two or three steps before he hears Chuck start in on some rambling conversation, keeping up a steady stream of chatter while he keeps Castiel company. Sam’s pretty sure that Chuck has narrated most of the Iliad and the Oddessy, Frankenstein, the Scarlet Pimpernel, one Hardy Boy Mystery, and parts of what Sam is sure is a Danielle Steele romance.
Castiel doesn’t speak unless asked direct medical questions by Sam.
His answers started off precise and efficient, almost bored. His arm remained close to the small opening that had been carved into the coffin, the butterfly IV that Sam had inserted easy to access and attach a vial to.
Sam always stuck to the same questions, in the same order, and explained the rating system, detailing the one to ten scale when required.
The first five check-ins were basic and didn’t deviate.
Castiel? It’s Sam.
It’s been four hours since our last check-in. How are you feeling?
Do you know where you are?
Do you know why you are there?
I am going to take a blood sample and your blood pressure now. You’ll feel my fingers on your arm. Try not to move too much.
Are you hungry?
On a scale of one to ten, ten being the most hungry you’ve ever been and one being satiated and not hungry at all, how would you describe your hunger?
Are you in any pain?
Anything you wish to add?
I just want to remind you that at any time if you want to stop the test, let either myself or Chuck know. Do you wish to continue?
All right.
By the sixth check-in, he started asking additional questions.
Are you in any pain?
Where?
On a scale of one to ten, ten being unbearable and/or excruciating and one being negligible at best, how would you describe your pain?
At the next check-in, the interview became slightly longer.
On a scale of one to ten, ten being unbearable and/or excruciating and one being negligible at best, how would you describe your pain?
That’s quite an increase from last time.
Would you like to stop?
Anything you wish to add?
No, there isn’t anyone else here.
Yes, I’m sure.
No, Dean isn’t here.
Castiel, your sister is dead. Do you remember at the beginning we talked about where you were and why you were there?
What did you think you saw?
It’s only me right now. Would you like me to get Chuck?
Who was broken and bloodied? What do you see?
Predictably, it got worse.
Castiel, you’ve got to stop pushing against the lid. I can… I can smell… Your hands are burning. Stop. Stop.
No, Dean isn’t here.
No, you didn’t kill him.
Castiel, please, listen to me. You’re in the cellar of Collinwood. Do you remember why you’re here? We’re looking for a cure.
I don’t know but I’ll keep looking until we find one.
No, Dean isn’t dead. He’s just…he’s not here.
Ruby is dead, Castiel. Remember?
I… I don’t know anything about witches. I’m sure… She’s dead, she’s…. She died a long time ago.
Do you want to stop?
Sam feels like he’s been shoring up his courage for the ninth check-in ever since silence descended after the eighth.
Chuck had come downstairs sometime around hour forty-six and sent Sam up for a bite to eat and a coffee. Sam wolfed down the sandwich and java Chuck left him, still chewing as he went back to the cellar. When he got there, Chuck was just at the part where Luke and Han try to rescue Leia, only to end up in the garbage chutes where they’re about to be pressed to their deaths. Chuck absently waved Sam away as he perched on the desktop, feet swinging slightly. Sam vaguely heard small sounds of acknowledgement coming from Castiel; soft ‘hmms’ and ‘ohs’ and it made him wonder if the silence he maintains is doing more to harm Castiel than he thought. Certainly it felt somewhat calmer when Chuck’s in the cellar, which is bizarre because Chuck himself is like a live wire sporting a hard current of electricity.
Sam had gratefully escaped back upstairs where he took refuge in the relative normalcy of the kitchen until it was time to descend to the cellar once more for the ninth check-in.
By the time Sam descends again, Chuck is wrapping up the final battle on the Deathstar, describing Han’s last minute arrival and Luke’s use of the force. Sam wonders how much gets through to Castiel in his hunger-soaked state. Chuck doesn’t falter as he speaks, his high-strung personality seems strangely suited to the task.
“… and I mean, no one really asks where the rebels got money for the medals they gave Han and Luke and seriously, like that part of the movie didn’t stick out like a sore thumb. They can’t be handing out medals every time someone does something for the Rebellion. They should be saving their money for actual weapons. Plus, Han left. He fucking left and then comes back at the eleventh hour and they give him a medal? And Luke, don’t even get me started. Whiniest kid in the galaxy although when I get around to telling you about his old man Anakin, you’ll see he comes by it honestly. Oh, hey. Sam’s back. Must be time for your checkup. I’m gonna head up stairs for a little bit but I’ll be back later.”
Chuck slides off the desk and his eyes slide over to Sam once before he makes his way quickly toward the sarcophagus. Sam watches as Chuck kneels down and puts his face very close to the opening where Sam draws blood from. Sam takes a step forward, concerned, but Chuck holds him off with a raised hand, eyes never leaving the hole they had excised from the stone. Sam can see Chuck’s lips moving and faintly here the soft sound of his whispers but he can’t make out the words. After a few more sentences, Chuck stands and steps over to Sam.
“Sorry, but I had to tell him something.”
“Uh, that’s okay,” replies Sam, not really sure he wants to know what secrets are between Chuck and Castiel.
“I’ll leave you to your work, but I’ll be back in about an hour and you can have another break then.” Chuck rubs his temples absently.
“That’s really not necessary, Chuck. I mean, I’m grateful, but you should have a break too. Why don’t you take off for a while?” Sam takes in the pinched look around Chuck’s mouth, the slightly pinkish tone to his eyes. “You look like you’ve got a headache or something.”
“Yeah, it always happens after.”
“After what?”
Chuck straightens slightly. “I’ll be back in an hour,” he repeats.
“Chuck, it’s fine. Take a break.”
“I’ll get a break. Later. I get a break later.”
Sam furrows his brow. Dean always said Chuck was twitchy but he never really appreciated how accurate that description was. “Okay,” he drawls out.
Chuck is already climbing the stairs and leaving Sam to his work in the darkened cellar. While he doesn’t have to keep the lights dimmed, he finds it works best when he can’t see every stark detail of the sarcophagus.
He takes a deep breath and steadies himself. He gathers his supplies and steps toward the coffin.
“Castiel? It’s Sam.” |
"Toby- ah- s-so good Toby ♡!!" Ranboo moans, the grip on sheets next to his head becoming tighter.
Ranboo's trip to the UK was going fantastic for him, he got to meet so many of his internet friends, he got so many new experiences (yes, even beans on toast), and finally confessed his love for his two closest friends (and they loved him back :D). But, one thing he doesn't think he could ever prepare for: was the amount of sexual encounters he was going to experience while here.
So, right now he's laid back on Tubbo's loft bed, wearing nothing but Tommy's 'Sunday' sweater, Tubbo's sitting between his legs. Ranboo's legs were over Tubbo's shoulders, the other man had his head stuffed between his legs, licking vigorously at the soaking cunt in front of him. Tubbo was fully dressed, wearing some blue jeans and some random blue hoodie. Tubbo earlier had told him to cuddle with him in bed.
He's not quite sure how it turned to this.
Tubbo pulls his head back slightly, blowing on Ranboo's enlarged clit, watching the man under him twitch. "Look at you, all fucked out. You're moans sound so pretty for me baby, think you can make some more noise for me?" Ranboo nods before moaning out yet again as Tubbo licks a long stripe up his lips, before diving back in.
"Love you- ah- s'much! I love you sososo much. Love your tongue, love it, love you so much-" Ranboo continues to babble as Tubbo licks at the inside of Ranboo's walls, groaning at the taste.
Tubbo doesn't think that he'll ever tire of seeing Ranboo like this, all numb-brained and drunk with pleasure. He would die happy if it meant he could spend the last couple of his days fucking Ranboo's brains out. Even when he's out in public with his friends, even when he's streaming, all he can think about ever since the dark blonde got here was making him cum over and over an-
A wanton moan tears him out of his thoughts as he sees Ranboo arching his back, eyes rolling back into his head. "Tobes- Toby- 'm close- so so close please- lemme cum this time pleaseee! 'll make pretty noises please!" Ranboo begs. Tubbo continues to eat at the hole, rubbing Ranboo's hip with his free hand, and stroking his cocklet with the other.
Ranboo's thighs shake with pleasure as he feels the pressure he's become familiar with rise yet again for the fourth time tonight. "Tobyyy, need you t' say I can- please say I can! Please- nee' the permission ♡~" Tubbo's heart warms a bit as he hears the pleas, he then smirks against the hole and pulls back, cutting off all pleasure.
Ranboo sobs into the air as his head thrashes against the pillow underneath him. The feeling of having an orgasm cut off yet again becomes more painful as it is refused to him. Ranboo feels his eyes start to burn as fat tears begin to roll down his cheeks, hiccups accompanying the tears. "W-Why, I was so c-close that time… Toby, it hurts, p-please.." Tubbo shushes the crying boy and let's his legs down, keeping his legs hooked over his arms.
"I'm sorry baby, I can't help it. You're so pretty when you get sensitive, I just gotta tease you some. But you're doing so, so good for me baby." Tubbo leans forward, keeping his knees hooked over his arms, and kisses Ranboo, folding the tall boy in half. Ranboo moans into the kiss and presses back into the other male. Tubbo takes one of his hands and trails it back down to Ranboo's pussy, spreading the lips apart with two fingers and rubbing up and down. Ranboo breaks the kiss by letting his head fall back against the pillows, eyelids fluttering. Tubbo takes this as an opportunity to duck into Ranboo's neck and suck marks into the clean canvas of skin.
"Tobes, please-"
"Ey, quit fuckin' teasing him will you?"
Tubbo turns his head to look over the edge of the loft. Tommy is sitting in the chair in front of his desk. He was editing a vlog of his trip to Bognor, but a certain someone decided to get horny and mess with a certain someone else. A large Tubbo hoodie covered him, simple black pants matched with the outfit.
Tubbo's been like this ever since Ranboo got to the Uk. He swears, he loves Tubbo, but he needs a fleshlight machine or some shit. For god's sake he was supposed to make breakfast this morning but got 'distracted' and started fucking Ranboo over the counter. And, don't get him wrong, it was hot as fuck, but he was hungry. Tubbo eventually just ordered some ready meals from Tesco's.
Ranboo whines as Tubbo pushes his fingers into the boy, teasing the entrance by dipping his fingers in and out. "But Toms, did you hear him? His noises are so cute, c'mon, you know I'm right. Just listen to him." Tubbo stuffs three fingers into Ranboo, making the blonde yelp and squirm. "Tommyyy, Toby's being mean again." For added effect Ranboo hiccups and gives a small sob.
Tommy awes and gets up from his chair, climbing up to the loft and sitting on the edge of the top of the bed. He cradles Ranboo's red and wet face, watching him nuzzle into his hand, kissing the palm of it. Tommy feels a warm heat fill his stomach before it turns into a burning heat as he watches Ranboo take Tommy's thumb into his mouth and sucks on it, his eyes fluttering shut. "God…" Tommy mutters, Ranboo whining and taking more of his thumb into his mouth as a reaction.
"Pretty little thing isn't he? C'mon Tommy, just let me do it a bit longer, he's so cute like this." Tommy is seemingly hypnotized at Ranboo's actions before snapping himself out of it and giving Tubbo a look. "No, what you're gonna do is let Ranboo cum. He's been good, and he's been wanting to since this morning." Tommy adds. "Cause I ain't having you fuck him any later than now, it's late."
Ranboo finally lets go of Tommy's thumb and nods. "Yes, please- mah-mm~ P-Please fuck me Toby, please please please." Ranboo whines, grinding down on the fingers sitting stagnant in him. Tubbo hums and looks up as if in thought before getting a slap on the shoulder from Tommy. "Alright, alright, fine. I'll fuck you nice and good to make up for the teasing, how about that?" Tubbo pulls his fingers out of Ranboo, making him give another melodic whine.
"Y-Yes! Yes, yes please, I would like that, yes please." Tubbo chuckles. "And what do we say to Tommy?" "Ah, thank you Tommy! Thank you s'much!" Ranboo begins kissing at the hand still caressing his face, making Tommy laugh fondly. "You're welcome Ran, now, gonna keep being good for Tobes, yeah?" Ranboo nods and giggles when Tommy leans down and kisses him on the nose.
Tommy wipes some of Ranboo's tears away before standing up. "Well, I'm gonna go and take a shower now, but you two have fun ok, and Toby?" Tubbo looks up at Tommy. "Be nice." A soft flush covers Tubbo's face and neck as he mutters a 'ok'. Tommy nods and gives him a kiss on the top of his head then gets down from the loft and exits the room.
Tubbo hums watching him leave before returning his attention to Ranboo. He lets the boy's legs drop as he begins to undo his pants and boxers. Once off, he leans over to the bedside table and reaches into a drawer, pulling out a bottle of lube and a condom. Before he can even open the packet, Ranboo grabs his wrist. "W-Wait, wan you inside. Inside inside, wanna feel you, I'm clean still, an' on the pill." Tubbo inhales sharply through his teeth. "Baby I'm not sure that's-"
"I don't care! Please Toby, I need it," Ranboo sniffles. "need you to breed me, please."
Oh? That was new.
Tubbo gives a grin that only means the reckoning for Ranboo and throws away the condom. Once he lives himself up, shivering from how cold it is, he re-grabs Ranboo's legs. Once he pulls himself back between his legs, he slides his dick against the slick folds, making Ranboo squirm with want. "Tobyyy, you said you'd stop teasin'!" Tubbo gives a breathy laugh.
"Sorry, sorry, couldn't help myself." Ranboo gasps which then turns into a soft moan as Tubbo slowly pushes himself inside the boy. "Fuck, could stretch you out for days would still be tight." Tubbo finally bottoms out and leans down, kissing the blonde boy deeply, tasting every part of his mouth. Ranboo moans into his mouth, hands still clenching the sheets under him.
Tubbo notices this and pulls back. "You can touch me if you want, baby." Ranboo immediately wraps his arms around Tubbo's neck and pulls him back down into a kiss, nibbling at his lips. Tubbo chuckles against his lips at the enthusiasm and slowly begins moving his hips, slowly fucking into the boy. Ranboo pulls back and moans brokenly, voice sore from crying out so much earlier. "Mm, feels nice Toby, feels really good, love it so much. Love you so much ♡~"
Tubbo's heart melts at that. Ranboo's eyes are glazed with welled up tears, but he can see the love shining in the boy's eyes. Tubbo couldn't ask for a better lover, and god is he happy he got to keep Ranboo with Tommy.
He really is a lucky guy.
Tubbo passionately reconnects the two's lips before trailing the kisses down and tucking his face in Ranboo's neck. The thrusts begin to pick up pace, Tubbo feeling the pleasure in him grow as Ranboo grows tighter. "Ah! ♡ There- please- keep hitting there Toby! Fuck- so good ♡!!" Tubbo nods and bites down on Ranboo's neck again as he begins to truly fuck into the boy, pace becoming bruising.
Ranboo can feel all his thoughts fading away. All he can think about is Toby. Toby's cock pounding into him. Toby's mouth biting and sucking marks into his skin. Toby's hands gripping his legs, keeping him folded in half. Toby's breaths. Toby's low moans. Toby's groans. Toby, Toby, TobyTobyTobyTobyToby-
"Toby! 'Mm close, 'm close please lemme cum- wnna cum- I'll cum so pretty please! Please can I cum- pleasepleasepleaseplease-" Tubbo leaves one final mark before moving away from Ranboo's neck and pressing their foreheads together. "Yeah? Alright you can, but look at me when you do, I wanna see those pretty little eyes roll into the back of your head when you do."
Ranboo nods, tears of joy and pleasure trailing down his cheeks, making him start to hiccup once more. "Y-Yes, I will, thank you- thankyouthankyoutha- AH! TOBYY !!! ♡♡~" Ranboo's legs shake in Tubbo's grasp, cunt squirting and splashing on Tubbo's stomach. Tubbo moans at the sudden tightness as his thrusts become sloppy, becoming closer and closer to an orgasm.
Ranboo's afterglow is crashed into with overstimulation, forceful pleasure coursing through him. "Toby please cum in me, please, pretty please, wanna be full of you, let me be full of you Toby please. Cum in me please, please-" Ranboo continues to ramble as Tubbo becomes rougher with his thrusts. "Yeah, gonna fill you up baby, don't even fuckin' worry."
The taller whines and grips at Tubbo's back with the remaining strength he has left. "Please cum in me Sir."
The dam broke.
Tubbo gave two more harsh thrusts before pressing himself as deep as he could go and released inside the boy. Strings of cum paint the inside of Ranboo, making him sigh in relief, arms falling to the bed. Tubbo continues to gently thrust into Ranboo, riding out his orgasm. "Thank you Toby, I love you ♡" Tubbo waits until he catches his breath to respond, he then gives Ranboo a peck on the lips. "I love you too Ranboo."
"Ok, you two done?" Tommy comes around the corner with his boxers on and a loose black t-shirt, he's drying his hair with a towel. Tubbo nods and slowly pulls out of Ranboo, hissing at the over sensitivity. Cum slowly dribbles out of Ranboo's now puffy and battered hole, making him rub his thighs together. "Yeah, we're done Toms. Sorry for interrupting your editing."
Tommy shrugs and throws his towel in the clothes bin up in the loft. "You're good, but you're not pulling that shit tomorrow, it's gonna be a busy day." Tommy opens a dresser nearby and pulls a towel out, walking over to Ranboo, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Now you," He points at Tubbo. "You go and shower, you smell bad. I'll clean this cutie up, cause he already showered this morning."
Tubbo nods lazily, gives Tommy a kiss on the cheek and Ranboo a squeeze on the thigh. He then gets up and rummages through the dresser before pulling out his pajamas and going to the bathroom. Tommy reaches into the bedside dresser and pulls out a bottle of water. He pours some on the towel before raising it to Ranboo's lips. "Hey boo, can you drink some of this for me?"
Ranboo nods and let's Tommy tip the bottle, pouring water down his throat. After about four mouthfuls, Tommy closes the bottle and places it back on the bedside table. "Thank you bugga-boo, you're doing so well right now." Ranboo gurgles, brain warm and fuzzy as he's finally able to enjoy his afterglow.
Tommy takes the damp part of the towel and begins wiping off Ranboo's sex, making sure to get between the folds as well.
Ranboo hums in discomfort and squirms against Tommy's cleaning. "I know, I know boo, but I gotta clean you up, it's dangerous if I don't. I'm almost done, promise." Tommy coos, and begins to wipe the dry part of the towel over Ranboo's body, finished with cleaning his downstairs. "Aaand done! There you go Boo-bear, we're all finished." Tommy tosses the towel to the clothes bin and misses, making Ranboo laugh softly.
"Still have bad aim?" Tommy gasps dramatically. "How dare you! My aim is amazing, I'm better than fuckin', uh, Michael Jordan! Yeah, I could take him in a game." Tommy proclaims, making Ranboo laugh again, body finally coming down from his high. "Yeah, yep, sure you could."
"I could! And I'm insulted that you're insisting otherwise! I mean I-" Ranboo cuts him off by pulling Tommy down by the back of the head and kissing him. He pulls back with a soft smile on his face. "You're so dramatic.. Hey Toms?" Tommy hums, keeping the close distance with having their foreheads pressed together. "I love you," He briefly connects their lips again. "Love you so much Tommy."
"I love you too baby." Tommy pecks the boy on the lips. "Love your smile," Tommy kisses the skin right under Ranboo's eyes. "Love your voice," He kisses Ranboo's cheek. "Love your laugh," He kisses Ranboo's jaw, then lips again, letting the kiss simmer for a second before pulling back. "I just love you so much."
Ranboo hums out a giggle and wraps his arms around Tommy, pulling him close so they can cuddle. "I love you too Tommy." Tubbo comes around the corner wearing gray sweatpants and a white undershirt. "Where's all my love huh?" Ranboo laughs. "Maybe if you were here earlier you would've got some." Tommy spits with fake venom, making Tubbo flip him off. "You were the one that told me to shower!" "Your fault for being stinky."
"Ladies, ladies, you're both pretty." Ranboo says jokingly, making the two of them laugh. Tubbo turns off the lights and goes and gets in the bed with the other two boys, settling himself behind Ranboo, and wrapping his arms around his waist. He kisses the side of Ranboo's neck making him giggle. "Sorry for being all mean with the teasing Ranboo, hope it wasn't too bad."
Ranboo shrugs. "It's ok, I said you two can use me whenever for a reason. Plus, I woulda called safeword if it was getting that bad." Tubbo pulls him slightly closer and nuzzles into his back, spooning the larger male. "If you say so." Ranboo relaxes into Tubbo then feels Tommy cradle his face with both his hands. "C'mere cutie." He kisses Ranboo for the sub-hundredth time today, Ranboo placing his arms on Tommy's waist and pulling him closer.
Ranboo will never tire of the feeling of their kisses, they always fill him with the overwhelming feeling of love. Tommy, even though he was very bold and brash with other people, absolutely adored kissing Ranboo. He would do it anytime he had the chance to, in private usually, he didn't like too much PDA. Tubbo on the other hand, wasn't a fan of constant kisses, but when he did want kisses, they're always deep and slow. He always tries to kiss in places that Ranboo's insecure about. Like under his eyes, or his nose, almost anywhere on his face.
Ranboo loved the diversity in their kisses, it reflected the both of them perfectly. Tommy bites down on Ranboo's lip softly. Ranboo immediately opens his mouth and the two begin to taste each other, sighing into each other. "Hey, quit the makeout fest, it's bedtime." The two pull apart at Tubbo's words and Tommy tucks himself into Ranboo's arms, tucking his head under his chin. "Hm, you're just jealous." "I am no-"
"Guys, please." Ranboo whispers, making the two boys stop their bickering before it even starts. "Fine, sorry Toby." "I'm sorry too Tommy." Ranboo sighs happily and let's his eyes close. "Good, good." Ranboo yawns. "Goodnight you two, I love you guys."
"Love you too."
"I love you too Ranboo."
|
Meta Knight’s painkillers had dulled the pain and left him worn out and tired. When he woke, he waited for a few minutes, hoping the muscle strain and aches would magically vanish. They didn’t, of course. His magic was still suppressed, but fortunately, even suppressants weren’t powerful enough to block his bond with Galaxia. Not like Dark Mind’s handcuffs. Meta Knight shivered involuntarily and hugged Galaxia against him. Don’t fret, dear. I’m here.
Fae sat by his bed, her head was bent towards her sketchbook as she drew. Meta Knight watched her for a few minutes. Her long, night-dark hair hung in two braids down her slender back and over her red, silk blouse. Fae’s skin was very pale and smooth, the product of her impressive skincare regime and good genetics. She switched her grey marker for a purple one. Meta Knight winced and slowly sat upright. Fae raised her hand, and without looking at him, ran her fingers through Meta Knight’s hair. “How are you feeling?” she asked.
“Tired. What are you sketching?”
“Armor,” she said. “For you.”
“Fae, I—”
“Are you happy?” she asked.
She turned away from her sketch and met his gaze. Fae had a very fond, discerning way of looking at people. It was as if she could see everything about you, everything wrong you’d ever committed, and yet this feeling was coupled with soft sympathy. She wasn’t really Meta Knight’s friend. She was a friend of Dedede’s, and Meta Knight had never been entirely sure whether Fae’s fondness was an act of obligation or sincerity. Whichever it was, Meta Knight didn’t dislike her. They both had some common interests, and neither of them was Dreamlandic. Fae dealt with people assuming she was submissive and delicate, and Meta Knight dealt with people assuming he was Dedede’s trophy rather than his friend. People approached Fae on the street and spoke to her with butchered Ripplese, and Meta Knight was always susceptible to extra scrutiny when going into the palace, except—of course—for the times when Dedede was with him. Fae and Meta Knight had bonded over their shared experiences and swapped stories about the worst ones. Their relationship was mostly superficial and courteous, but there were times when Fae dug in just a little too deep.
Are you happy?
Meta Knight thought back to the summer spent on Delilah’s estate. He remembered the time spent with Dedede and Bandanna Dee—sunny days spent swimming and wandering aimlessly around downtown, late nights spent marathoning movies, and weekends spent visiting children in hospitals or doing whatever weekly charity project Delilah had assigned them. There had been no long-lost brothers, no evil wizards from parallel dimensions, and no tricky politics. Meta Knight hadn’t even really had to worry about Father. Nightmare might be willing to take on Delilah in the capital, where Queen Alera had the final word in every conflict, but he wasn’t willing to fight the duchess in her own duchy where she held all the power.
Happy? He had been.
“I’m content.”
“Then, you should do what makes you happy,” Fae said. “How do you know that you haven’t been reincarnated to have a second chance of making everything right?”
Meta Knight sighed. “Dedede told you. Who else did he tell?”
“His mother,” Fae said.
Meta Knight had expected as much.
“She’s here. She just went into the bathroom.”
“I wish she wasn’t,” Meta Knight replied.
Fae’s wings twitched.
“I’ve upset you,” Meta Knight said.
“I’ve never understood why it makes you so uneasy to learn that people love you.”
“Maybe I’m not worthy of being loved,” Meta Knight replied bitterly. “I just don’t…understand. Galaxia showed me some memories of Galacta Knight, and now, I’m even more confused. Is it better or worse that Galacta Knight wasn’t always a monster?”
“You’re never going to be a monster,” Fae said.
“You can’t know that.”
“You can’t know that I’m wrong.”
They looked at one another in silence for a few seconds.
“We’re at an impasse,” Meta Knight said.
“So it seems.”
There was no point in fighting a battle that neither of them could win.
“When are you going back to Ripple Star?” Meta Knight asked, choosing to change subjects.
“I haven’t decided yet. It’s nice to see Dedede again. I mean, we text all the time, but it’s not the same as really seeing him.”
“Have you considered rekindling your relationship with him?”
Fae furrowed her brow. “Why would I do that?”
“You were happy with him, and you’re happy now that you’re getting to spend time with him,” Meta Knight said. “He hasn’t dated anyone in years, and he lost touch with the one person he did date. But he never lost touch with you. He clearly loves you.”
“I’m certain someone else holds Dedede’s heart,” Fae replied.
“There isn’t,” Meta Knight insisted. “There never was. I would know.”
“Yes, I suppose you would.”
Fae’s face was strange. She looked as if she knew something Meta Knight didn’t, but Meta Knight couldn’t imagine what that might be. If Dedede was in love with someone, Meta Knight would know; his Lord wasn't subtle. Instead of elaborating or arguing further, Fae turned her sketchbook towards Meta Knight. “What do you think?” she asked.
The armor was silver and black. She’d chosen to opt for a more fashionable armor—replacing the old-fashioned helm with a mask and using black to break up the metal. In the margins, Fae had sketched a series of floral designs, likely meant to be etchings. Above those, Fae had sketched a stylized ‘M’ with a sword intersecting it.
“I’m thinking of adding some gold coloring along the edges of the pauldrons and along some of the lines,” Fae said, “So it’ll match Galaxia.”
“What material did you envision for the black?”
“Leather over the metal,” Fae replied. “Perhaps, with embossing.”
Meta Knight pointed to the flowing, purple cape, which appeared to connect near the clavicle before swooping beneath the right arm and attaching somewhere in the back.
“That looks like a problem,” he said.
“I thought of that. It’ll attach with magnets, so you can pull it off. If anyone tries to grab it, it’ll come off in their hands.”
“It’s stunning,” Meta Knight said, “But this is too much. You could never make this for me.”
Fae rolled her eyes. “It’ll be your birthday present. Or Saint Knight’s Day. I’ve been thinking about doing some armor for a while, anyway. I could take commissions for some of the Queen’s Guard. I’d love to design something for Garlude, but do you know how many designers are clamoring to dress Dame Garlude? So if I can’t dress the first woman to head Queen’s Guard, I can at least dress you.”
Meta Knight ducked his head and kneading his fingers into his bedspread. Galacta Knight wasn’t a monster, but she’d become one. There was no proof that the same wouldn’t happen to Meta Knight. He didn’t deserve all this love from his friends. They ought to be abandoning him and rallying around Kirby, the reincarnation of King Bikaia.
“Meta Knight!”
Delilah had returned. She practically ran to the bed and hugged him gently, minding the burns healing on his back and his still aching ribs. Delilah kissed his forehead cupped his face with her hands, while her eyes moved as if memorizing and drinking in every aspect of his face. Meta Knight was reminded of Galacta Knight when Nova returned Bikaia to her. There had been the same frantic joy and worry, the same sort of raw feeling. It was so unlike Father, who’d been so composed, even as he’d been proud and relieved. “I was so worried about you. I’m so glad you’re okay,” Delilah said. “I dunno what I would’ve done if something had happened to you!”
“You’d have been fine. You’d have moved on.”
Delilah’s face went white. Her eyes were wide and horrified. It’d been the wrong thing to say, and Meta Knight had realized his mistake far too late.
“Because you’re strong like that,” Meta Knight elaborated. “That’s all.”
Delilah had already hugged him again. Meta Knight let himself settle into the embrace, trying to make amends for saying something so insensitive, but that hug made his skin crawl. This was the way parents hugged their children, and Delilah wasn’t his parent. Meta Knight shouldn’t enjoy how warm and soft she felt against him. He shouldn’t take comfort in the familiar lavender-ylang-ylang scent of her perfume or the gentle way she brushed his hair with her fingers. This was wrong. He should only accept such attention from his own father. And this was wholly Meta Knight's fault. He had never told Delilah that her affection made him uneasy.
“Maybe that would’ve been for the best, considering…” Meta Knight trailed off.
“No,” she said with a surprising amount of passion. “No. You’re still Meta Knight de Brillante Armadura, and you always have been. I don’t give a damn who you were in some kinda past life or whatever. You are kind and compassionate and brave, and if anyone can change fate, it would be you.”
“Your Grace, your son is—”
“My son loves you more than anything in the world,” Delilah said.
“Even so, I’ve already caused you too much trouble. What did the Queen want from you in return for my freedom?”
Delilah sat back on the edge of the bed. “It don’t matter,” she said. “I can deal with Alera.”
“But you shouldn’t have to. Father said she has a vendetta against you anyway because…” Meta Knight trailed off, unsure whether or not mentioning the dead king of Dreamland was insensitive.
“Because of Daedalus? Yes, your father is right, but if the Queen wants to make my life difficult, she’ll do it,” Delilah said, “With or without involving you.”
“And we’ll deal with whatever we have to because we love you,” Fae said, placing her hand on Meta Knight’s forearm.
“That’s right,” Delilah said, squeezing Meta Knight’s hand, “So let us do what we can to support and protect you. Letting people help you isn’t a weakness, pet. It’s a sign that you’re mature enough to recognize when you need help.”
“You’re both too good for me,” Meta Knight said.
There was a series of light knocks on the door. It took Meta Knight too long to realize he needed to say something; he wasn’t used to people knocking before entering his room. “Come in?” he said.
It was an attriactive young woman with thick, red hair and sharp, green eyes. Meta Knight could tell from the knee-length navy dress—high-collared and probably easily washable—and white apron that she was probably the parlor maid. If she’d been doing harder work, she’d have worn slacks. Her curtsey was awkward. “Lord Meta Knight,” she said. “Your phone. It’s Lord Dedede for you? Lord Ni—Duke Night—your noble father did say that you shouldn’t be disturbed unless it was important, and I thought—”
“Dedede is important. Thank you. Blade, was it?”
She nodded and handed Meta Knight his phone. Blade turned away too quickly and paused against at the door.
“Oh, um—did you want anything? Tea? Cookies? Maybe pain medicine or someone to change your bandages? I mean, Lord Nightmare has—um—a doctor that can come, but I’m certified in first aid. And I took a training course in battlefield medicine, so…”
Since when did Meta Knight’s father hire such unpolished servants? Normally, they were cold and professional and certainly never this nervous.
“I’m fine,” Meta Knight said. “Thank you, Miss Blade.”
If possible, that seemed to fluster her even more. She curtsied again before scurrying out.
“She seemed a little…odd for an employee of Father’s,” Meta Knight said.
“She was like that with me earlier,” Delilah replied. “This is her first serving job.”
Then, why had Father hired her?
“Magic?” Meta Knight asked.
“I didn’t sense anything,” Fae replied.
Meta Knight put his phone on speaker; whatever his reasoning, Father could hire whoever he wanted. “You’re on speaker, Dedede,” Meta Knight said.
“Who’s all there?”
“Her Grace, Fae, and me.”
“Oh. In that case, Mety Knighty! How’s my favoritest pet knight? Is he being good, Mom?”
“Good enough,” Delilah said. “I think he’s feeling a little down.”
A pause. “This might not be the best time, then,” Dedede said. “Meta, we gotta talk.”
“I’m not moving back in,” Meta Knight said. “I—”
“It ain’t about that. So Dee gave Kirbs the—uh—talk about being a transgender man today.”
“How did it go?” Meta Knight asked.
“Well, you ain’t gotta help me bury a body,” Dedede joked. “It went good, Dee said. Super good!”
Meta Knight sighed in relief.
“That’s great,” Delilah said.
“Definitely!” Fae exclaimed, clapping her hands together.
“Yeah, well, that ain’t all. Apparently, Doo’s been texting Dee about meeting up and talking.”
“Was this before or after Lord Perry decided he wants Waddle Doo to duel me?”
“Where’d you hear that?” Delilah asked.
“What?” Dedede practically shouted. “You cain’t fight no one! For Nova’s sake, you were tortured—”
Meta Knight tightened his grip on Galaxia. "I hadn't noticed," he said.
“I’ll fight ‘im in your place if it comes to that,” Dedede said.
“Hold on! There ain’t no one fighting anyone yet,” Delilah interrupted. “Y’all ain’t even s’posed to know about that. I ain’t even sure if Waddle Doo knows about it. It’s his dad that’s been driving all this!”
“Well, Waddle Doo texted Dee a while ago, but Dee texted ‘im today. And Doo said he wants to meet,” Dedede said. “I thought we could tag along for Dee, and if something goes wrong, we’ll just—y’know—”
“You’ll take Bandanna Dee home and eat ice cream,” Delilah said. “I cain’t have either of you rushing into fights right now. Not since Alera knows Meta’s got Galaxia. My lawyer’s looking at trying to find a loophole, so Alera cain’t just charge Meta with high treason whenever she wants. For Nova’s sake, y’all gotta stay outta this at least for a couple weeks!”
“Dear Nova. Sectonia told her?” Dedede asked.
“She didn’t have much of a choice,” Delilah said. “If y’all wanna accompany Dee and keep an eye on things, that’s fine, but be very careful.”
“I’ll have to text Father and see if he minds me leaving the house,” Meta Knight added.
Dear Nova, how awkward that would be. What if Father was angry with him?
“Meta Knight, you’re twenty-freaking-one.”
“Yes, but I’m living with Father now. It’s his house and his rules.”
“So I’ll call ‘im and say it was my idea,” Delilah said. “Problem solved.”
“Wonderful,” Meta Knight said. “Thank you.”
Meta Knight’s heart swelled with relief. He wasn’t entirely sure he was allowed to call his father about things like this, and he didn’t want to get in trouble. Even if Father had been very wonderful the past few weeks, Meta Knight still knew he ought to tread softly. The threat of punishment was always present, even if Nightmare hadn’t followed the threat through in a while. Hopefully, Nightmare was feeling generous.
Oh, dear heart, Galaxia said. Children aren’t supposed to fear their parents.
To most, the man standing in the camera room was the infamous Scarlet Magician. He was either a petty Halcandran thief—his Halcandran heritage always had to be mentioned—or a debonair vigilante, a veritable Robin Hood, depending on who was asked. The man liked to steal expensive things. He’d begun his illustrious career as a jewel thief, and over the years, he’d developed a vast clientele of wealthy, often aristocratic people, demanding a whole host of priceless artifacts.
Over the years, Daroach had lined family vaults and estates with a number of priceless artifacts. He’d stolen rare diamonds for a duke, so he could be reset into a necklace for this mistress. He’d stolen paintings, rare furs, marble sculptures, and even the Queen’s favorite strand of pearls once. For Daroach, the sky was the limit as long as the other party paid.
Now, it wasn’t easy to find Daroach without the appropriate connections; most people didn’t even know his real name. Even less knew that his hideout was in a shady-looking bar in the worst part of downtown. This bar was the general gathering place for many criminals, kept odd hours, and had exorbitant prices so as to deter any law-abiding customers.
Presently, Daroach had his arms crossed and his hat tipped low over his face. His gold eyes remained focused on the camera screens, all of them displaying a young woman with magenta hair and blue eyes. “I don’t recognize her, boss,” said Spinni, who sat before the screen of cameras.
Daroach nodded, acknowledging the younger man’s words.
One of the cameras zoomed in over the folder of documents held open before the woman. Daroach tilted his head, trying to read them upside down. “Meta Knight Nocturne de Brillante Armadura. Hm.” Daroach’s attention flickered to the photo beneath the name. “He’s kind of hot. I’d do him.”
“With a name like Nocturne, I’m not sure that’d be wise,” Spinni replied.
“Well…maybe she'd be willing then. I like her choice in hair color,” Daroach said, grinning.
“That paper says he’s a class A,” Spinni said, pointing. “Subclass reality warper and elemental."
“Dimensional powers,” Daroach read. “I thought those were purely theoretical. Interesting. It’s also interesting that she has those; they look like A.M.B.E.R. documents.”
“How do you know, boss?”
Daroach shrugged. “I recognize the typeset and the way the information is written. She must have a mole in A.M.B.E.R., but if she has the connections to get classified files from A.M.B.E.R., why does she need me?”
“You might run into trouble if she wants you to find him,” Spinni said.
Daroach pursed his lips and twirled his primary weapon, the fabled Triple Star wand, between his fingers. “I don’t know how I feel about hunting down a Halcandran. The Dreamlanders are making things difficult enough for us,” Daroach said, “But I suppose I’ll go see what she wants. It’s showtime, Spinni!”
With a tip of his hat and a dramatic flare of his cape, Daroach strode downstairs to meet his client.
Susie’s life had fallen apart when she was fifteen, and it was all because of Nightmare Nocturne. He and Father had been the best of friends, and they’d spent their teens making plans to create Star Dream, the wish-granting machine. Eventually, the details were planned and finalized. Star Dream was constructed, and all that was left was to program the admin, M-7110. Or, as Nightmare—at the behest of the admin’s mother—had named him, Meta Knight.
Everything would’ve gone well if Meta Knight had accepted his role of being the one to power Star Dream, a plan that had been sixteen years in the making, but then, the impossible happened: Nightmare refused to surrender his child.
He and Father had argued over it, while Susie had eavesdropped from the stairwell. Father’s anger was explosive and loud. Nightmare hadn’t started angrily. He’d pleaded softly for Max to understand. “You wouldn’t be so quick to do this if you were being asked to sacrifice Susanna,” Nightmare had said.
So reasonable. But Susie remembered hot anger flushing through her face and blotching awkwardly across her clavicle. She was born to be her father’s pride and joy. Meta Knight was bred to be a tool, an experiment in magical eugenics meant to power Star Dream and fulfill Father’s dream of ruling Dreamland and of destroying the corrupt aristocracy that had spent years thriving on the backs of those whose only crime was in not being the blood descendants of Bikaia. Father had spent decades planning to change the world, and Nightmare wanted to back out for the sake of one teenage boy.
“Susanna wasn’t planned to be our admin! This was M-7110’s entire purpose! We planned this, and now, when we’re almost there, you want to back out?” Max had snapped. “Why?”
“I love Meta Knight,” Nightmare had said quietly. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”
“You’re not capable of loving anyone,” Max said. “Besides, you can have another child.”
“Children aren't machine parts! They can't just be swapped around!"
“And what? You think you can walk away from this and start a happy family?” Max asked. “It doesn’t work that way. I’ll never let you, and there’s nothing to stop me from just taking Meta Knight, anyway.”
“Stay away from my child.” Even then, Nightmare hadn’t raised his voice, but his words carried the same unspoken threat as a snarl.
“We went through this before with the Armadura girl,” Max said. “You wanted out, then, too. You remember what happened, then?”
“Her name was Asteria de Brillante Armadura. She wasn’t just some girl,” Nightmare had hissed.
Susie hadn’t known about Asteria at the time, but once she’d been employed as her father’s secretary, she’d found out all about Meta Knight’s ill-fated mother. Who’d known that Father could be so ruthless?
“Eventually, you’ll give up,” Max said.
Nightmare hadn’t. Father had refused to halt the Star Dream project, and with Star Dream’s destined admin gone, Susie’s father had decided to admin the machine himself. Things had backfired horrifically, and Susie had found herself sent to another dimension, one she’d only managed to escape by way of a mirror and a lot of luck. It’d taken her years, and when she’d returned to Dreamland, her father was dead. He still lived, of course, but he didn’t remember her. He didn’t remember any daughter, and he didn’t act like her father.
Susie knew that she could never replace her father, but love didn’t really exist. She didn’t really love her father; she loved how her father made her feel. She loved that her father had made her feel protected and adored, and from there, the seed of an idea was planted.
She could find someone to make her protected and adored. She’d toyed with the idea of finding a romantic interest, but organic relationships could sour unpredictably. No, to achieve her goal it was best to eliminate any chance of failure. Instead, she would make someone who loved and adored her, and if she was going to engineer her own, perfect partner, why not handpick every aspect of them to her liking?
Star Dream could accomplish such a task; Susie just had to find someone that could survive Star Dream. She knew from tests and her own father that Star Dream was capable of breaking and rebuilding anyone, but surviving Star Dream took a strong will and an incredible amount of magical power. Then, she’d seen Meta Knight for the first time in over a decade.
Susie remembered Meta Knight as a chubby, mischievous child with wild hair, and sometime in the past decade, he’d grown into a moderately attractive man. She’d idly requested his A.M.B.E.R. files from their mole, and she’d leafed through them with growing interest.
She’d read through his file and slowly became enamored with the idea of Meta Knight de Brillante Armadura being the template for her new protector. He was confident, strong, and—she’d been told—quick-witted and intelligent. His looks were adequate, although Susie wasn't particularly picky. She could change what she didn't like. All his flaws could be fixed to please her, especially since her father had agreed to fund her project. Besides, Meta Knight had been meant to power Star Dream. He was the product of Dreamland’s most powerful wizard, and his mother had been carefully chosen from a list of A.M.B.E.R.’s most powerful witches.
So really, this was only fair. Meta Knight had taken her father from her, so it seemed reasonable that he, himself, should provide the replacement. Of course, Susie didn’t expect him to willingly subject himself to Star Dream; she’d have to force him to. This meant taking every precaution to subdue his incredible magical powers. Suppressants would be adequate enough, but Meta Knight’s medical records revealed that his body reacted poorly to them. Those bad reactions might worsen if he used suppressants in the long-term, so an alternative was needed.
Besides, Susie had something better in mind. For that, she needed a thief. She straightened when she saw the tell-tale red top hat from across the shop.
The Scarlet Magician took the seat across from her. “I heard you were looking for me,” he said.
“I have a job for you,” she said, unfolding a sheet of paper from her purse.
The Magician looked at the paper for a second. “Interesting. What is it?” he asked.
“It’s a collar forged in dragon’s fire,” Susie said. “It has certain magical properties, but none you need to worry about—unless you put it on. It locks, so I’d also like to have the key for it. If you can find it, it’ll make my life easier, but if you can’t, it’s fine. I plan on making some alterations to it anyway.”
“And who has it?” the Magician asked.
Susie smiled and folded her hands over Meta Knight’s A.M.B.E.R. files. “Nightmare Nocturne, so I hope you’re up to the challenge.”
They went to a coffeeshop in the mall and selected a table towards the back. Meta Knight returned with a whipped-cream laden Frappuccino, a hot chocolate, and a hot cup of mint tea. He placed the hot chocolate before Dedede and the tea to Bandanna Dee. Sir Jecra sat in the table across from them. Nightmare had agreed his son could visit with his friends—but only if Jecra came as an escort. Bandanna Dee, even when he’d been a noble, had never spent much time with Jecra. They’d had maybe one conversation in the past decade. Dedede kept shooting Jecra glares over Bandanna Dee’s head. Fae and Delilah had decided to go shopping together, so they could catch up
Meta Knight’s eyes were fixed on the TV hanging in the corner. Bandanna Dee had glanced at it once, just to confirm what was so interesting. Princess Sectonia had just announced her resignation, and reporters were demanding answers.
Meta Knight’s face looked very cold and still, like a Classical statue.
“It ain’t your fault,” Dedede said. “Quit obsessing.”
“It is my fault.”
“You didn’t ask to get kidnapped by your evil twin,” Dedede replied.
“She must feel so humiliated,” Meta Knight said.
“Yeah, well, that’s what the Queen does,” Dedede replied. “She humiliates anyone that disagrees with her.”
Bandanna Dee took a sip of his tea, delighted the Meta Knight had remembered to add in honey. “I’ve been doing research on Landia,” Bandanna Dee said, trying to distract from his frayed nerves.
“Yeah?” Dedede asked.
“Landia loaned Galacta Knight his fire in return for her becoming his indentured servant,” Meta Knight said. “Did you know that?”
“No,” Bandanna Dee said. “Where did you read that?”
Meta Knight averted his gaze. “Galaxia showed me some of Bikaia’s memories.”
“That’s freaking cool!” Dedede exclaimed. “Does he look like me?”
Bandanna Dee and Meta Knight exchanged a bemused look.
“Well, I is his direct descendant,” Dedede countered defensively.
“He was tiny. Very thin and very short,” Meta Knight said, “Five-feet tall. Maybe. He was…adorable. Brown hair, large blue eyes. Very brave. He traded Galacta Knight his freedom in return for her saving Dreamland from civil war. I’m fairly certain she assassinated King Adstellam.”
“He wasn’t abducted?” Bandanna Dee asked. “Kirby will be delighted.”
“So what were you like?” Dedede asked. “Was Nova there?”
“She was,” Meta Knight said. “You were awful. I was…I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” Dedede asked, ignoring Nova completely.
“She was…a trickster,” Meta Knight replied. “She wasn’t bad per say. I think she actually did care about Bikaia, and she actually cared about Dreamland.”
“So there!” Dedede exclaimed, slamming his hands on the table. “You ain’t gotta worry ‘bout turning evil or nothing!”
“But if she was nice, that means I should worry more,” Meta Knight replied. “Anything might happen to me.”
“But y’know that if you change your mind, you can come back, right?” Dedede asked. “We ain’t gonna hold it against you.”
“I know, but everything is fine for now.”
Bandanna Dee took another sip of tea. His eyes darted between Dedede and Meta Knight, waiting to see if other of them would pick up the argument.
“Everything is fine,” Meta Knight repeated.
“Mom had to ask permission for you to come out,” Dedede said.
“Father is concerned. In case you’ve forgotten, I was tortured last week.”
“Yeah, but a guy that’s your dad in a mirror universe!” Dedede retorted. “And you’re just gonna go cozy up with him after that? A bit of kindness don’t make up for a lifetime of abusing you, and I’d be willing to be my left arm that you suspect Nightmare o’ doing something under-handed, too. I betcha get up every morning and gotta reassure yourself that your dad’s in the right—”
“You have no idea—”
“Oh, I got an idea,” Dedede said. “I got an idea when I came to see you, and your loving, doting dad gave me a lecture ‘bout how to handle you—like I ain’t dealt with you being injured before! Like I don’t know how to act towards someone I’ve been friends with for years! I cain’t stand him, and dad or not, I don’t know how you do!”
Meta Knight’s face never changed, but Bandanna Dee caught the subtle curling of his fingers.
“You’re not allowed to talk about my father like that.”
“Why? You do!”
“Because he’s my father, and—”
“Yeah, well, as far as I’m concerned, your mom did most o’ the work!” Dedede snapped.
“Meta Knight, if you’re happy, it’s fine,” Bandanna Dee said, hoping to avoid a full-fledged argument. “It’s just that—if something does happen—you can come back.”
“Yeah. Right. That. You might be worried sick ‘bout this Galacta Knight thing, but don’t none of us care. I ain’t ever gonna be scared o’ you, pretty-boy,” Dedede said.
“I know that,” Meta Knight said. “I just need to think it through. I…I am—well, I feel uneasy about it, and I feel like I’m causing everyone more trouble than I’m worth. The Queen can swoop in an arrest me whenever she wants, and I’ve publicly humiliated Sectonia.”
“And I’m sure she ain’t taking it to heart,” Dedede said. “Besides, what’s she got to worry about with all her magical powers and being Nova?”
“Me killing her, for one,” Meta Knight deadpanned.
“Even if you wanted to, you’d have to take care of her security,” Bandanna Dee pointed out. “Let’s say—hypothetically—that you wanted to kill the princess. You’d have to get through all of Queen’s Guard first. She’d know you were coming and have time to prepare.”
Meta Knight frowned and leaned back in his chair.
“And I doubt you’d plan such an endeavor anyway, as you’re so concerned about her,” Bandanna Dee said.
“But I might in the future.”
“Yeah, and in the future, I might be the king o’ Dreamland,” Dedede said, rolling his eyes.
Meta Knight chuckled and smiled slightly. “You’re going to assassinate over thirty members of the royal family?” he asked.
Dedede leaned forward, Meta Knight’s laughter having coaxed a smile. “No, we’re gonna run away together and found our own country. I’ll be the king, and you’re gonna be my best knight,” Dedede said. “And we’ll just spend all our time playing music and going swimming and doing charity work for Mom. Going to balls, sneaking sweets from the kitchens, late nights watching movies…”
“That sounds like a summer on your mother’s estate. If you’re the king, you’ll need to govern,” Meta Knight said.
“I’ll leave it to you and Dee,” Dedede replied. “I fancied myself as bein’ more of a figurehead, anyhow.”
A young man entered. His hair was short and auburn like Bandanna Dee’s. His face was much the same, too, only shades paler. One of his blue eyes was milky and blind, the result of a wayward sword blow. Bandanna Dee froze. His throat felt constricted.
“He’s here.” Bandanna Dee had meant it as a normally spoken sentence, but it emerged as a high-pitched whine.
Meta Knight’s shoulders squared. Dedede cracked his knuckles.
“Remember what your mother said,” Meta Knight said. “If he does anything offensive, don’t do anything foolish.”
“It’ll be fine,” Bandanna Dee said, digging his nails into his cup. “Fine, fine, fine.”
Oh, Nova. It wasn’t going to be fine. Why was the room so hot? Why was it so small? All the confidence he’d built on the foundation of Kirby’s acceptance faltered in the stark, harsh reality of having to face his brother.
He couldn’t do this. He wanted to bolt, but his feet seemed glued to the floor. It seemed like another Bandanna Dee was watching Waddle Doo, the Queen’s darling of Queen’s Guard, cheerfully greeting Jecra.
Waddle Doo approached. Meta Knight stood and bowed; somehow, he managed to make even the submissive gesture look threatening.
“How flattering,” Waddle Doo said.
“Flattering…?” Meta Knight trailed off.
“Lord Meta Knight,” Waddle Doo replied pointedly, inclining his head slightly. “Lord Dedede. Bandanna Dee, I thought we might have our own table for this conversation.”
“That sounds great,” Bandanna Dee said, sliding from the booth.
“Hey, look. You’re Lord Meta Knight now, rather than my Halcandran whore,” Dedede whispered.
Bandanna Dee squeezed his cup so hard that the lid popped up. He hadn’t known that his brother called Meta Knight that. With shaking hands, Bandanna Dee sat across from his brother. The brother he hadn’t seen in two years.
“It’s Bandanna Dee, right?” Waddle Doo asked.
“Yes. Or just Dee. Either one is fine.”
Waddle Doo stared at him. “So how is living with Dedede and Meta Knight?” he asked.
“Fine.”
“Even with all the recent problems?” Waddle Doo asked.
Something about the phrasing caused Bandanna Dee’s stomach to lurch. “Yes, even with everything,” Bandanna Dee said. “They’ve been great.”
“Would you consider…not living with them?” Waddle Doo asked.
“Not living…?”
“I thought you might want to live with me,” Waddle Doo replied. “Be my…brother.”
Be his brother? His…brother. Bandanna Dee inhaled sharply. He could have his family again.
“I mean, you can’t even imagine how terrible it’s been,” Waddle Doo said.
Those words destroyed the brief moment of elation and encouragement that Bandanna Dee had felt.
“I’ve wanted to talk to you all this time, but I didn’t want to anger our parents. They still refuse to speak about you.”
But…but Waddle Doo hadn’t been the one thrown out and disowned. He hadn’t been the one who’d become homeless. He wasn’t the one who’d lived off a train pass until Meta Knight arrived. He wasn’t the one living off the charity of the duchess of a failing house, and although Delilah would never, ever say Bandanna Dee was a burden, he still felt that way sometimes. Because she paid to feed and house him. She paid for his tuition.
Bandanna Dee felt a sense of wrongness and this isn’t fair. This was Bandanna Dee’s brother, inviting him back into his family. This was Bandanna Dee’s brother, talking about how badly he’d suffered.
“It took you two years,” Bandanna Dee said dully.
“I was young and building my career. I needed our parents to survive until I’d built a reputation and was earning a pension in Queen’s Guard,” Waddle Doo said. “Surely, you can’t blame me for that.”
Bandanna Dee didn’t know how to handle anger; it was so foreign and seldom-experienced. He wanted to swear. He wanted to cry. He wanted to demand that his brother acknowledge how he’d just abandoned him and sided with their parents. No, not only sided with their parents. Sided with their parents and challenged Meta Knight to a duel, hoping to humiliate him.
“Do you know about…” Bandanna Dee trailed off.
Waddle Doo raised an eyebrow. “About the real reason Sectonia is stepping down as the head of A.M.B.E.R.? About Galaxia?”
Bandanna Dee swallowed. “This duel that Father wants you to fight with Meta Knight. Are you going to do it?”
“Probably, but that has nothing to do with you.”
Yes, it did. The original offense had been incurred by Meta Knight trying to defend Bandanna Dee’s honor. And…and this meant that Waddle Doo still wanted to be in their parents’ good graces. He still was willing to do their dirty work for them.
“Think about all you can do if you’re living in the palace again,” Waddle Doo said. “I’m sure I could procure you a small title. Maybe even a position in Queen’s Guard if you wanted it. I just want you back in my life so badly.”
Was it fair to want Waddle Doo to disown their parents like they’d disowned their child? Yes. Yes, because they were terrible people. But they were his parents. But no, they'd left their only child with nothing. That surely was greater than any familial relationship they might have to Bandanna Dee. Because Waddle Doo, even as he offered Bandanna Dee back a piece of his family and lifestyle, would leap at the chance to defend their father’s supposed honor. All those things ached in Bandanna Dee’s chest. He needed to say them. He wanted to say them. His friends would’ve said them, but—but this was Bandanna Dee’s brother.
“I just…I can’t do this. Not now,” Bandanna Dee said.
“Can’t do what?”
“I don’t know. I want to be your brother, but I—this doesn’t feel right. And I don’t…” Bandanna Dee trailed off and picked at his cup. “I don’t trust you. That’s it.”
“I see.”
“I’ll think it over, but I—I can’t just…I love Dedede and Meta Knight. I like being their roommate and going to university with them,” Bandanna Dee said. “They’ve accepted me and taken care of me since the beginning.”
Bandanna Dee waited for his brother’s explosion of anger, but Waddle Doo calmly stood and nodded. “I expected you might need time to think about it. It’s fine. The offer is on the table. I’ll see you later.”
He walked away without waiting for Bandanna Dee’s answer. Slowly, Bandanna Dee put his forehead on the table. He thought he might throw up. In that instant, he imagined everything he'd wanted to say. He imagined standing up and releasing all the pain he felt. He imagined telling Waddle Doo how wrong he was and how he was making it all about himself. Bandanna Dee imagined scoffing and walking away, having successfully expressed all the anger and pain he felt, and yet he'd missed the opportunity. He'd ended it all with a weak assurance that he'd think about it. All his fire and fury smoldered. He wanted to cry. Maybe throw up and then cry.
“Do I need to go and kick ‘is ass?” Dedede asked, sliding across from Bandanna Dee.
Bandanna Dee shook his head. “He told me about how hard disowning me was on him,” he said, his voice muffled against the table.
“I’m gonna kill ‘im,” Dedede said, sliding from the booth.
“Dedede,” Meta Knight said.
“Move, Meta Knight.”
“Bandanna Dee, is that what you want?” Meta Knight asked gently.
Bandanna Dee raised his head. Why hadn't he said something? Why hadn't he just told Waddle Doo how awful he'd been? “No, I just—I’m mad at him. And at me. It’s my own fault for not telling him how…how much it hurt. I just…”
Meta Knight put his hands over Bandanna Dee’s. “He’s your family, so it’s different,” Meta Knight said.
Dedede sat back in the seat. “It ain’t your fault your brother’s a selfish son of a scarfy,” Dedede said.
“But is it selfish for him to want to…be in our parents’ good graces, too?” Bandanna Dee asked. “I feel like…like I should forgive him, but I don’t…I feel like that would hurt me. I’m so confused.”
“No, you don't have to forgive everyone who wrongs you, especially if doing so will hurt you. Yes, it’s selfish for him to want to be in his parents’ good graces,” Meta Knight said. “If they’re the sort of people that abandon their own children for not meeting their expectations, he should leave them. They’re terrible people.”
Bandanna Dee’s breath hitched.
“Yeah, and maybe you—uh—get your thoughts together and tell ‘im later. If you wanna be involved with ‘im,” Dedede said, looking at Meta Knight as if to see if the advice was approved. “You ain’t obligated to do nothing for him, though, okay?”
“I know,” Bandanna Dee. “I just…really thought…he might have changed. I thought he might really want to be my brother because he loved me. I feel like he was just trying to assuage his own guilt, though.”
“I know,” Meta Knight said, edging beside Bandanna Dee and pulling him into a hug. “I think, were any of us in your position, we’d hope for the same.”
Bandanna Dee hesitantly leaned his head against Meta Knight’s chest and breathed in the subtle scent of vanilla fabric softener and the floral hints in Meta Knight’s cologne. Meta Knight always smelled so nice, and although his hugs were rare, they were always warm and pleasant. Dedede leaned across the table and squeezed Bandanna Dee’s shoulder. “You deserve more than some half-hearted acceptance,” Dedede said. “Okay, Dee?”
“I know. Thank you,” Bandanna Dee replied.
Heels clicked on the floor. Delilah had arrived, Fae in her wake. “Oh, Nova,” Delilah said, her gaze focused on Bandanna Dee's face. She must've seen on his face just how badly it'd gone. “Dee, I’m so sorry.”
Bandanna Dee forced a smile. “It’s…” Bandanna Dee trailed off, noting that a very disgruntled Nightmare, arms laden with shopping bags, followed the women.
Bandanna Dee felt Meta Knight’s muscles tense. Slowly, Bandanna Dee lifted his head. Meta Knight didn’t remove his arm from around Bandanna Dee’s shoulders, though. Instead, he rubbed Bandanna Dee’s bicep, as if to assure him that he meant to remain right where he was.
“Oh, Dee,” Fae said. “You poor thing.”
Nightmare brusquely dropped his bags on the table, nearly spilling Bandanna Dee’s tea.
“Why’re you here?” Dedede asked.
“I came to check in on Meta Knight,” Nightmare said, placing a quick kiss on Meta Knight’s cheek.
“And he graciously agreed to carry our bags,” Delilah said, her tone heavy with warning. “Dee, I know there ain’t nothing that’ll make this better, but I bought you some clothes. D’you wanna look?”
Bandanna Dee really wanted to go home and sleep. Or stare at a wall. Just something in the dark and quiet. But the gesture was nice.
“Or perhaps, you and your friends should go shopping?” Nightmare asked. “Obviously, that won’t make the situation better, but there’s no need to ruin your entire day, is there? Familial relation or no, some people aren’t worth agonizing over.”
“You’re one to—” Dedede cut off with what sounded like a pained grunt.
Bandanna Dee suspected Meta Knight had kicked Dedede beneath the table.
“Is that something you’d be interested in, Bandanna Dee?” Nightmare inquired, as he pulled out his wallet.
“I…I don’t know,” Bandanna Dee said.
“Maybe you’d rather go home?” Delilah asked. “Y’all could watch a movie?”
Nightmare handed Meta Knight a sleek, black credit card.
“I’m aware there are hurts that material possessions are unable to remedy, but you might, at least, get something out of this…abhorrent turn of events. Perhaps, you might invite Kirby to join you?”
“I…I might like to spend time with my friends,” Bandanna Dee replied, unsure of whether he ought to accept Nightmare’s offer.
“Take it or leave it. Stay under a few million, children,” Nightmare said, with a flippant wave. “Keep your phone on, Meta Knight. And remember that you aren’t allowed to consume any alcohol. Jecra will accompany you.”
“Thank you, Father.”
Nightmare patted Meta Knight’s head and strode away. Meta Knight flipped the credit card between his fingers.
“Do you want to?” Meta Knight asked. “I promise it's fine if you do. Father is right in that being surrounded by your friends is a good way to…assuage wounds.”
Bandanna Dee ducked his head. This wouldn’t change everything. This wouldn’t make everything fine, but maybe…maybe it would make him feel just a little better to spend time with the people who did love him. Even if they didn't buy anything and just ended up aimlessly wandering around.
|
Subsets and Splits
No saved queries yet
Save your SQL queries to embed, download, and access them later. Queries will appear here once saved.