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Ch. 7- Enter Shanks "...My god..." Usopp whispered, sadly. "Poor Luffy..." Nami quietly sobbed as she had her hand over her mouth, her tears falling from her eyes at full force. Robin put a hand on her shoulder in consolation, even though she herself was crying. Zoro, Sanji, Blizzard, and Brook had their heads lowered in silence while Chopper was bawling, as was Franky, and Aika and Kumi were also sobbing as they watched the death of Luffy's mother. What made it more heartbreaking was the fact that now...they were watching the memory of Star's burial. They could only watch as Luffy stood next to Makino, holding her hand as he stared at his mother's casket with a blank, emotionless expression, a sheer contrast to his bright and goofy personality, and the fact that the rain was pouring down over everything just seemed to emphasize just how gloomy that had atmosphere had become. Woop Slap even gave a small speech in memory of Star, calling her a true friend, a loving wife, and a caring mother to the very end. Even Garp was there, standing in silence. He didn't even care that he had no umbrella to shield him from the rain. "...Damn," Sanji cursed. "Nobody should ever lose their mother at the age Luffy was." "You could tell they really loved each other, very much," Robin said. "Poor Big Brother...!" Aika whimpered. "This is just too sad...!" Kumi cried. "A requiem for Luffy's beloved mother," Brook whispered as he played a somber tune on his violin. After a while, the large crowd of villagers, after giving their respects and goodbyes, began to shrink until Luffy, Makino, Woop Slap, and Garp were left. "...Alright, Luffy," Makino muttered, sadly. "Let's go." She then tried to leave, taking Luffy by the hand as she did, but the boy did not budge. He just stood there, his blank, dull eyes still staring at his mother's headstone. "Come on, Luffy," Makino said. "I miss her, too, but we have to go now." "Are you coming with us, Garp?" asked Woop Slap. "...No," Garp answered. "I'm...I'm gonna stay here a while." Knowing that Luffy would not leave on his own, Makino took the boy into her arms and carried him off while the mayor followed after her. Only Garp remained behind. As they watched, Aika seemed to spot a shadowy figure in the distance. "Huh?" she muttered. "Hey, who's that?" Everyone looked to where the younger D. Carrier pointed and saw the same figure, standing on a hill top. "...Wait a minute," Robin muttered. "Is that...?" Before she could try and make it out, the memory shifted again. Now, it was daytime, and the Straw Hats found themselves in the middle of a forest. "Where's this?" asked Zoro. "YOU IDIOT!!!" BAP!! "AAAAAAHH!!!" All of a sudden, the Straw Hats gasped as they saw Luffy get sent flying through and hitting a tree, which ended up breaking in half upon impact. "Oh, my god!!" Nami cried. "Oh, no, don't tell me," Chopper muttered. Sure enough, Garp came trudging out of the forest, cracking his knuckles. "I told you," Garp began, "you have to punch me HARDER, Luffy!" "But I can't punch any harder!" Luffy complained. "Grandpa, this is stupid! I don't wanna train anymore! I'm tired and hungry and I wanna go home!" "Quit your whining!!" Garp barked, causing his grandson to flinch. "I don't wanna hear anymore sass outta you, you hear me?!" Luffy only sniffled as he glared up at his grandfather, who glared right back at him. "Don't you look at me that way!" shouted Garp. "Your mother's gone now, Luffy, and that means you listen to me! I'm training you to be a Marine and that's final!!" "...I don't wanna be a Marine," Luffy answered. "I wanna be a pirate, like Mom said I could be!" "Your mother didn't know what she was talking about!" Garp barked. "I don't care what crazy ideas she put in that thick head of yours, but you can just forget what she said! You're gonna be a Marine and you're gonna like it!!" "Poor Big Brother," Aika said, sadly while Kumi whimpered worriedly. "...Okay," Nami said. "I thought I disliked Garp before...but now, I can't STAND him." "You and me, both," Blizzard growled. "Yeah," Franky added. "Even if Luffy did wanna be a Marine, there's no way they'd actually enlist him once they figure out who his old man is! Why's he trying so hard to force Luffy to become something he's not meant to be?" "I think it's because Garp wants to show the Government," Robin began, "that even if they have the blood of a criminal, that doesn't necessarily make them evil." "It doesn't matter," Zoro said. "They won't listen to reason, even if Garp did vouch for Luffy." "Indeed," Brook nodded. "By now, Garp is just being completely asinine." "Now get your little butt up, Luffy!" Garp ordered. "I'm not going easy on you!!" "...No," Luffy answered as he got up. "I'm done...I don't wanna train anymore." "What did you say?!" Garp questioned as his grandson looked up at him with a glare in his eyes. "...I hate you, Grandpa," Luffy answered...with tears beginning to fall from his eyes. "I wish Mom were here instead of you!" The Straw Hats gasped at this, and even Garp seemed a bit taken aback by what his grandson had said, even though he tried not to show it. "...You think you're the first one to tell me that?" he asked. "Get in line, short stuff." Luffy only sniffed while the Straw Hats stared in shock at what the boy had said. "...Jeez," Usopp said. "That was a bit uncalled for, don't you think?" "If I had to guess," Robin began, "this must've been about a few days after Star died. I think Luffy's still in the middle of trying to handle his loss." "Jeez," Sanji muttered. "Garp didn't even give Luffy a chance to mourn his mother's death, completely." "Even so," Brook started, "no matter how upset you are, you should never wish death upon someone...especially your relatives." "Luffy tends to get angry in order to hide his true feelings," Zoro said. "I mean...look at what happened between him and Aika today." Aika looked down, rubbing her arm as Zoro said this, which caused Kumi to put her paw on her shoulder. Just then, the memory shifted again, this time showing Luffy sitting on a bed and hugging a pillow. However, this room was entirely different from his old one. He still had his old toy boat, but the other toys were different and there were no pictures. The bed was even set up a different way. "Where are we now?" asked Chopper. "...Didn't Luffy's mother say that this Makino woman was taking care of him after she passed?" asked Blizzard. "Oh, yeah!" Chopper realized. "So...if this is a different room, this must be Makino's house!" And sure enough, Makino entered, carrying a plate of food for Luffy. "Hi, Luffy," she said. "Here's your lunch." "...I'm not hungry, Makino," Luffy answered. "Not hungry?" Makino asked in surprise as she set the plate aside. "Luffy, I've never known you to lose your appetite...well, except when you eat too much candy...what's going on? Is everything okay?" "...I said something bad," Luffy said. "What do you mean, 'something bad'?" asked Makino. "What happened?" "...I...I think I hurt Grandpa's feelings, today," Luffy answered. "I...I told him I hated him...and that I wished Mom were still here instead of him." "Luffy...!" Makino gasped. "I didn't mean it!" Luffy exclaimed. "I was just upset!" "...I understand," Makino said, "but still, Luffy...that's your grandfather. The only one you have. I know he's not being the best person to you, right now...but he loves you and he only wants what's best for you." "...Maybe I'll go and apologize to him, tomorrow," Luffy said. "That's a start," Makino smiled as she gently pet the boy on the head. "Now...why don't you have something to eat? I feel like you'll have a clearer head with a full tummy." Luffy was about to protest, but then his stomach made an audible grumble, which caused Makino and even the Straw Hats to chuckle. "That's one thing about Luffy that'll never change," Sanji smiled. "Definitely," Blizzard agreed. Makino handed Luffy his food, which he began to eat vigorously...but then stopped as he looked up at Makino, who blinked up at him in confusion. "What is it, Luffy?" she asked. "...Thank you, Makino," Luffy said, which caused Makino to smile at him. "Of course," she answered, which caused the Straw Hats to smile. "Miss Makino is so nice," Aika said. "She sure is!" Kumi exclaimed. "No wonder Luffy's mom asked her to take care of him," Usopp said. "Aside from Star, Makino knows Luffy more than anybody else." "Luffy's second mother, so to speak," Robin added. Just then, the memory shifted once more, and it showed Luffy and Makino in some sort of bar, the former taking some dishes from the tables and handing them to her. "Thank you, Luffy," Makino said as she took the plates and cups. "You've been such a big help to me here in the tavern." "Shishishi!" Luffy laughed. "How are you feeling?" Makino asked. "...Still a little sad," Luffy answered. "I know it's been a few days, but..." "I know," Makino said as she gently cupped his chin with her hand. "Your mother was like my big sister, you know. I miss her just as much as you do...but we both know she's in a better place now. She's no longer in any pain, and that's something we should be thankful for." Luffy smiled at this, as did the Straw Hats. However, the tender moment was short-lived, for Luffy gasped upon hearing rather loud footsteps approaching. It didn't take a genius to know that it was Garp. As quick as a flash, Luffy ran and hid behind the counter, then turned to Makino with a finger to his lips, telling her to keep quiet, causing her to nod subtly as she turned to face Garp, who sat at the bar. "Hello, Garp," Makino answered, and she only got a grumble in response. "What can I get for you today?" "I'll take a bottle of Rum Clemont, Makino," Garp answered. "In fact, I'll take 3 bottles to go." "3 bottles?" asked Makino. "What's the occasion?" "I'm leaving," Garp answered. "Again?" Makino queried. "Yeah, I'm heading for the Grand Line, first thing tomorrow morning," Garp replied. "They need me down there." "Well, how long are you going to be gone?" Makino inquired. "A few weeks? A month?" "...A year," Garp answered. "What?!" Makino questioned. "Wait, a year?!" Chopper asked. "Why is he leaving for a whole year?" Aika asked. "He is a Vice-Admiral of the Marines, Aika," Sanji answered. "Obviously, he gets called away a lot. It's all part of his position." "And...and you're going to say goodbye to Luffy?" asked Makino. "Feh!" Garp scoffed. "I think Luffy would be glad to know I'm gonna be gone for a year. The kid won't miss me...he told me himself, he hates me." If Garp had only looked over the counter...he would've seen Luffy's guilt-ridden face. "Garp," Makino said, sadly. "Luffy didn't mean what he said...he's just still upset because his mother is gone, and you just throwing him into training again didn't help at all." "You think he's the only one who misses her?!" Garp questioned as he pounded his fast against the counter, causing some of the Straw Hats to jump in surprise. "Dammit, Makino, I miss Star, too! I'm just trying to show Luffy how to tough it out and be a man, that's all!!" "He's just a child, Garp," Makino said. "It takes longer for him to handle a loss as big as this. In fact, it might be years before he's actually over it." "She's right," Nami answered. "I didn't get over Bellemere until after my village was freed." "He should've given Luffy just a little more time," Usopp added. "...Just look after Luffy for me while I'm gone," the old Vice-Admiral said. "Please." "...Of course," Makino nodded, and after she gave Garp his bottles of rum, he turned and walked out the tavern, and at that moment, Luffy looked up at his current guardian, who glanced down at him and smiled. "...Go to him," she whispered, and no sooner had she said that, Luffy ran out the door. Thankfully, Garp wasn't too far away. "Grandpa!!" Luffy called, causing Garp to turn and look at him. "Luffy?" asked Garp. "What are you doin' here?" A pause...but then Luffy ran up and wrapped his tiny arms around Garp's thigh. It was almost awkward, given how puny he looked, compared to his grandfather. "...I'm sorry, Grandpa...!" Luffy sniffled. "I don't hate you!" The Straw Hats stood silently, anticipating what Garp would do next. Then, he saw him raise his hand, and at first, they thought that he was going to hit him...but then, the old Marine simply patted Luffy on the head, causing the boy to look up at his grandfather's grinning face. "You may be a pain," Garp began, "but you're still my grandson...I couldn't stay mad at ya, Luffy, no matter what you said or did." Luffy smiled at this, and the Straw Hats all heaved sighs of relief. "Okay, I'll admit," Zoro said. "Even I was a little worried there." "Thank goodness that didn't end on a sour note," Nami added. "But listen up, Luffy," Garp began, "don't you start slacking off, just because I'm not around. You focus on getting stronger, do you understand? If you won't do it for me, do it for your mother. She'd want you to grow up big and strong, you hear?" Luffy nodded his head in understanding. "Okay, Grandpa," he told him. "I will." "Atta boy," Garp praised, and the Straw Hats couldn't help but fill their hearts swell. "Garp really did mean well," Sanji said. "He really does love Luffy," Franky added. "It's just that he's got a funny way of showing it." "Garp knows how Luffy is, too," Brook spoke. "It's good to see that he wasn't a total asshole," Zoro chimed in. "He was still an ass, though." "Zoro!" Nami scolded. "What?!" Zoro questioned. "Just saying!" Once more, the memory shifted again, and it showed Luffy in the bar with Makino, again. "Jeez, why does Luffy have to hang out in this place?" Zoro asked. "Can't get a drink or anything." "Hush," Nami demanded. Once again, the bar was empty, and Luffy was helping Makino with cleaning up the tables. "It's been about a few weeks now, since Garp's been gone," said Makino. "Yeah," Luffy answered. "Do you miss him?" asked Makino. "A little," Luffy replied, "but I know he's not gone forever. Just for a year...umm...Makino?" "Yes?" "A year isn't too long...right?" Makino chuckled before she gently pet Luffy's hair. "No, Luffy, a year isn't too long at all," she said. "At least not as long as you might think. Time flies when you least expect it." Luffy smiled at Makino, as did the Straw Hats. However, once again, the moment was interrupted when they heard the sound of someone screaming through the streets. "PIRATES!! PIRATES ARE COMING!!! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!!!" Makino gasped upon hearing that while Luffy looked back in curiosity. Then, without warning, she grabbed Luffy and ran behind the counter before she set him down. "Stay here with me, okay?" Makino asked. "And whatever you do, DO NOT come out!" "O-okay," Luffy nodded. "Jeez, Garp leaves, and already somebody's trying to invade the place!" Sanji exclaimed. "I don't think so," Aika said. "I don't sense any bad intentions." "Really?" Usopp asked. "Wait...hold up...if that's true, then that might mean...!" Before could contemplate what Aika happened, the door suddenly opened, and in walked a group of men, all of them walking tall with pride and purpose...and leading the bunch was a red-haired man in a black cape and a straw hat. The Straw Hats all gaped, save for Aika and Kumi, for they knew exactly who it was. "Who was the scruffy-looking man?" asked Aika. "And how come he's wearing Big Brother's hat?" "Scruffy-looking?!" Usopp questioned. "Aika, don't tell us you don't know who Red-Haired Shanks is!!" Aika only shook her head no, as did Kumi. "Well, Aika," Robin began, "Shanks is one of the Four Emperors...currently, that is. As for why he's wearing your brother's hat...well, actually, it used to belong to him, first." "Wait, really?!" Aika questioned. "How did that happen?!" "Well, you'll see," Nami answered. "Just watch." Shanks approached the counter, where Makino was pretending to clean out a glass. "Pardon me, miss," he said with a surprising tone of politeness that caught Makino off guard. "Are you the proprietor of this establishment?" "Yes, I am," Makino answered. "Who are you?" "Permit me to introduce myself," Shanks said. "I am Red Haired Shanks." "I see," said Makino. "Well, how may I help you today, sir?" "Well, as the captain of the Red Haired Pirates," Shanks began, "I'd jus like to say that my men and I don't plan on being a nuisance to you or this fine village. All we ask is that we simply take shelter here for the time being. Of course, we're also willing to pay for food and beverages." "I...I see," Makino said. Behind the counter, Luffy gaped upon hearing the word 'pirates' in the man's sentence while Makino went to serve him. He wasn't really scared, per se, but in fact, he became rather interested. So much, he ended up peeking around the corner to just get a look at him. However, Makino noticed this and gasped silently. "Luffy, what are you doing...?!" she whispered. "Get back here, right now!" "Oh, it's all right, miss," Shanks replied. "We don't bite...err...are you his mother?" "...No, I'm not," Makino answered. "His mother passed, a month ago." "Oh," Shanks said in realization. "I'm sorry about that." "Hey, mister," Luffy spoke up, getting his attention. "Are you really a pirate?" "Sure as shootin', kid," Shanks grinned as he gestured to his crew. "Me and my men, here." "Wow...!" Luffy whispered. "If you guys are pirates, that means you probably went on all kinds of adventures, right?!" "Well...a few, here and there," Shanks said, almost modestly. "Cool!" Luffy exclaimed. "Hey, can I hear about one? Please?" "Of course!" Shanks answered. "Have a seat...what's your name?" "It's Luffy!" Luffy exclaimed. "Monkey D. Luffy!" Shanks' eyes seemed to go wide before he gave a grin. "'D', huh?" he muttered. "Well...ain't that something? Well, anyway, have a seat, Luffy." Luffy nodded before he eagerly sat in a chair at the bar while Makino smiled. "Hmm...let me see," Shanks said, scratching his chin in thought. "What could I tell you about...? Oh! I got one! Listen to this! My men and I were out at sea, just going on a regular voyage, just minding on our business, when all of a sudden, a huge Sea King comes BURSTING outta the water!" Luffy gasped in shock. "No way!" he exclaimed. "How big was it?!" "About twice as big as our own ship!" Shanks answered. "With glowing red eyes and sharp teeth! Why, it could swallow us up, whole, if we hadn't fought back quick enough!" As Shanks continued to tell the tale of the epic battle against the Sea King, the Straw Hats had noticed that Luffy's smile grew broadly with eagerness and renewed vigor. It was enough to get them to smile, too. Star might've lit the fire for Luffy's dream...but it was Shanks who made that fire stronger after his mother passed.TO BE CONTINUED..._________________________________________________________Next time on One Piece: The Fire Within!Luffy: Okay, you guys! Watch this! I'll show you what real bravery is!Chopper: AAAAAH!! HE STABBED HIMSELF UNDER HIS EYE!!!Shanks: YOU DUMB-ASS, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!!Higuma: You guys are nothing but a bunch of jokes.Nami: Hey, what's that Luffy's eating?!Sani: Wait...is that...?!Luffy: I'll become the King of the Pirates! Just you wait!Next time: Romance Dawn |
When they got back to the dorm, it was almost 2AM. Cas looked ready to hit the hay but Dean kept stumbling into him, needing to say something, but too drunk to find the words.
“What is it, Dean?” Castiel asked after setting Dean’s keys down on his desk once they were in their room. Dean held out his hands to steady himself, and took a deep breath. He patted his jacket pocket and relaxed a little.
“I need a cigarette.”
Castiel blinked. “You – oh. Well, okay, do you need –?”
“I am so, so fucking pissed at you right now,” Dean grit out, but Castiel didn’t look too startled by it. Cas was pissed, too, he knew that. He wasn’t completely sure why, though, only able to remember bits and pieces of their earlier argument. Dean took another breath. “But I am too drunk to be alone,” then he chuckled, “might drive off a cliff.”
He was only half joking.
There was a pause, and Castiel slowly reached for Dean’s keys, pocketing them once more. Dean pretended not to notice.
“I really need a cigarette,” he said again, stepping over to his dresser and fishing a pack of Camel out of the top drawer, “so you should come with me.”
Thankfully, Castiel obliged.
There was a balcony on each floor of their dorm building, fully equipped with ash trays, electric lanterns, and cushioned benches.
They made their way towards two benches that were parallel to each other. Dean sat on one and lit his cigarette, blowing out a puff of smoke as Cas lay himself down on the other bench. He didn’t say anything; just lay on his back, staring up at the stars. Dean looked over to the balcony railing. The view was pretty nice – they were high up enough on the fifth floor to see a lot of the campus, and even some highway.
Dean took another slow inhale of his cigarette and turned his gaze back towards Castiel. He was still in the same position, eyes closed now. His face shone pale in the glow of the full moon. The slight breeze made his hair brush across his forehead. Dean’s hand was nearing the ash tray when Cas suddenly shifted. A little stunned, Dean’s hand jerked back, and he knocked over the tray. The thin glass broke in half when it hit the plastic floor.
Castiel’s eyes opened and he sat up a little, assessing the damage. “Shit, Dean,” he said lightly, “Do you break everything you touch?”
Cas’s words weren’t meant to hurt; they were completely neutral in their delivery, but they still made Dean’s stomach twist into knots. He tried to hide the bewilderment on his face by looking down at his feet, placing his half-smoked cigarette in one of the broken pieces of glass and running a hand through his short hair. Cas had been right before – it wasn’t normal to make a huge deal about going to some party. He shouldn’t have forced him to go with him, shouldn’t have been so selfish. But Dean had his reasons, he just wasn’t sure he was ready to share.
Cas must have been excellent at reading people, because he swiftly shifted into a sitting position, leaning forward to face Dean. He placed a hand on Dean’s knee in concern.
That got Dean’s attention.
“Dean, hey,” Cas began, voice filled so much care that Dean didn’t know if he should vomit or cry, “what’s going on?”
Dean was about to retaliate the onslaught of emotion with denial and manliness, but when he looked into the oceans of blue that were Castiel’s eyes, they screamed You can trust me, and Dean was drunk and tired and his inhibitions were nonexistent, and he deflated completely.
The tears came slowly at first, but soon he was heaving, grabbing at Cas’s dress shirt for support.
“Whoa,” was the first sound out of Castiel’s mouth before he moved onto the other bench, sitting down next to Dean as he twisted his body and fell into Cas’s chest, openly sobbing, mumbling words that Cas couldn’t make out.
“Hey, hey, shhh,” soothed Cas, wrapping his arms around Dean and rubbing circles on his back. “Dean, it’s okay, it’s alright, you’re alright.”
But Dean shook his head furiously, because it’s wasn’t okay. It’s not okay, I’m not okay, nothing is ever okay. He pushed himself off of Cas’s chest to look him in the face.
“You’re right,” he croaked, throat sore from all the crying, and Dean hated feeling so vulnerable, but in his heart, he knew he could trust Castiel. That fact alone terrified him more than anything, but he pushed on; there was no turning back now.
~
“What are you talking about?” Castiel asked, searching Dean’s face for some sort of clarity.
Dean took a shaky breath, “I break – I break everything, and I screw up… I’m such a screw up –.”
Castiel’s eyes widened, “Oh, Dean, no, I didn’t mean it like that!” He placed his hands on Dean’s shoulders, squeezing briefly, trying to reassure him. Did my words trigger him? “Dean, please –.”
“No, no, I am, I’m a screw up and I’m selfish and I made you angry, and you should be angry, you should leave me, too, before –“
“Dean, I –”
“ – something worse happens, like a house fire or a car accident or –.”
“Dean!” Castiel shouted. He didn’t want to yell at the fragile man in front of him, but he needed to get his attention. Dean’s eyes shot up to look at his, green shining with tears that still fell. Castiel felt his heart clench when he realized, Dean blames himself for that truck accident. But what house fire? Castiel decided not to ask questions; he figured Dean would bring it up when he was ready.
Afraid Dean might start sobbing again, Castiel was sure to choose his words very carefully. “Dean,” he said softly, moving one hand to trace the outline of his jaw with his fingertips. “I’m not going to leave you.”
Dean barely leaned into Castiel’s touch before pulling away suddenly, hands flying off of Castiel’s shirt as if it had stung him. He looked lost, and scared, and unsure of what to do. Castiel remained still, wary of whatever Dean would decide to do next. In his drunkenness, Castiel expected him to lash out, maybe cry some more.
What he did not expect, was a kiss.
And it was not your simple peck on the lips, either. Dean faced Castiel and practically lunged at him, placing one hand firmly behind his neck and the other on his waist, pulling Castiel into him, lips attacking with such fierceness, Castiel was surprised they didn’t topple over. Dean moved closer to Castiel, their knees knocking awkwardly as he pushed him backwards until he was almost laying flat on his back. Castiel’s mind went blank, then, completely caught off guard by Dean’s recklessness. When he could finally think again, he thought about kissing back. But he couldn’t take advantage of Dean – not like this.
“Mmm- Dean,” Castiel tried to say, words muffled by Dean’s lips against his own.
“Please,” he begged, his breath hot on Castiel’s lips, “Just – I need this right now I... need you.”
Dean kissed him again, angry and passionate, and Castiel couldn’t help but relish in the moment, but he soon came to his senses and squirmed a little, moving his arms up so he could place his palms on Dean’s chest to separate them.
“What? What is it?” Dean asked, impatient and breathing heavily, face hovering mere centimeters above his. Castiel could hardly see the emerald in his eyes anymore; his pupils were so dilated.
God.
“We can’t just – I mean,” Castiel stammered, trying to regain the conviction that his voice had all but lost. “We need to slow down and think about this. You’re drunk, Dean, and I couldn’t –.”
Dean sat up abruptly, heat replaced with a harsh breeze above Castiel. He sat up as well, smoothing out his shirt, gaze focused on the man in front of him. Dean turned his head to stare back at Castiel, irises slowly returning to their natural color through his thick lashes. After a moment, Dean spoke.
“You’re rejecting me.”
“I’m rejecti–?” Castiel choked on the word, repeating it as a question instead of a declaration. “Dean, I’m not –.”
“No, it’s okay, you should. Everyone should.” Dean placed his head in his hands. “All I do is hurt – all I do is let people down and no one needs that, no one wants me –.”
Castiel wanted to scream. If it was true that drunken words are honest words then Dean Winchester was the most self-loathing human being he had ever met, and it physically hurt him to see Dean that way – to see his Dean, his soul mate that way. I have to tell him, he thought, however, he was terrified of how Dean would react in such a fragile state. But he couldn’t keep listening to Dean’s monologue of self-hate.
Screw it.
Castiel stood up and stepped in front of Dean, lugging him upwards by the arms.
“What the –?”
Placing a hand on each side of Dean’s face, Castiel kissed him, slowly, delicately, and he heard Dean let a soft moan escape his mouth, hands gripping loosely at the fabric at the small of Castiel’s back. When they finally broke apart, Dean looked puzzled, and Castiel smiled.
“I want you.”
Dean blinked. “You… what?”
Castiel took a deep breath. Now or never. “We’re soul mates, Dean.”
Dean blinked again, and then he coughed. “We’re what?! You’re kidding, right? Look, I know I’m a mess right now but you don’t have to pretend –.”
“No, Dean, I mean it – we are soul mates.”
Castiel’s face fell a little. “What’s the matter?” He cocked his head to the side, pensive. Then, he understood. “You don’t think you deserve to be loved.”
~
Dean’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second before shaking his head frantically and taking few steps away from Castiel. The statement had resonated with him, bouncing off the memories he had pushed to the back of his mind – the fire, the accident, those two he always kept too close to the surface, and now his emotions were pulling him under. Cas was right, when it came down to it, Dean didn’t think he deserved to be loved. Everyone he loved got hurt, and it was always, in part, because of him. He had never told anyone that before, and damn it if the only way to keep from drowning was to let it out.
He trusted Cas, but would Cas really want to deal with all his baggage?
“I can show you,” Cas said suddenly, and Dean looked up, catching blue eyes in a stare.
“What? Wait, your, uh, th-the tattoo? Y-you would do that?” Dean stammered, “Here? Now?”
“Why not?” Cas shrugged, “No one’s around, and I get the feeling that you need proof.”
And he was right again; Dean was a skeptic – he needed to see to believe, and even then, he doubted. But for Cas to show him this intimate piece of himself, his tattoo, Dean would have to find some faith.
“I – okay.” Dean crossed his arms and exhaled. “Let’s see it.”
Cas began unbuttoning his dress shirt, his eyes never leaving Dean’s. Dean was trying not to feel so nervous, but Castiel seemed confident, comfortable even. When the shirt was unbuttoned, Cas pulled if off of his arms and held it in one had. He raised an eyebrow at Dean, as if to ask if he really wanted to see. Dean nodded, and Cas turned around.
Dean didn’t mean to gasp, but how else was he supposed to react? On Castiel’s back were two black wings, inked and identical to Dean’s tattoo. A sudden heat filled his stomach, and he swore he felt his heart skipped a beat. Before he could reach out and touch the other man’s back, Cas turned around again and started sliding his shirt on.
“See?” Cas asked softly. “I wasn’t pretending.”
Dean was speechless. How long has he known? He wondered why Cas hadn’t told him sooner, but he didn’t feel like pressing the issue right then.
Dean turned and walked over to the balcony’s edge and looked out into the distance, hoping the skies would have an answer for the questions he couldn’t ask. He heard Cas follow after him, standing a few feet away, his arm resting on the railing.
“Dean,” Cas said, quiet and tense and it sounded like thunder in Dean’s mind. They were soul mates. Soul mates. How the hell did he get stuck with his soul mate as a roommate? This was not how he had planned on meeting the person he would be with for the rest of his life. And as for whom, Dean had accepted that he would probably wind up with someone who had mediocre looks and a shit personality, and he would only stay because of the mind blowing sex. But Cas, Castiel was beautiful, and intelligent, and caring, and everything Dean could possibly need but would never dare to want.
He wasn’t worthy of so much. Castiel deserved better than him.
“Dean?” he heard again, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Is it so hard to believe that someone could be made for you?”
Dean blew out a sharp breath before responding, eyes still looking forward. “You remember how I mentioned that my mother died?”
“Yes?” Cas replied, voice quiet, as if not to scare Dean away.
“Well, that night, I was making a fuss. I wanted cookies, but Mom had said it was too late for sweets,” Dean shook his head, smiling. “I threw a temper tantrum. I was four years old and I threw a damn tantrum for some damn cookies, and my dad, he would usually yell at me to shut me up, but that night,” Dean sighed and bit his lip, “that night, he told Mom to just make me the cookies.”
Dean rubbed a hand against his eyes. They were wet. Dammit.
“I guess I’d been super helpful with Sammy that day or something, because Mom took me to the kitchen and we started baking cookies. All was well, and we turned on the oven, and we put the cookies in, and Mom, she wanted to sit and wait for the cookies, so they wouldn’t burn, but,” and Dean had to laugh, because the guilt he’d buried so deep was now spilling out into the open with every word, “but I wanted her to read to me, in my room. And, she did. For me.”
In his peripheral vision, Dean could see the look on Castiel’s face change from that of pity and concern to sudden horrific realization, but he continued on. If he was going to talk about this, he would do it all at once.
“Well, the cookies burned. Mom ran downstairs, and there must have been something wrong with the wiring of the oven, because she started screaming, and the next thing I knew, the entire kitchen was on fire.” Tears were falling from Dean’s eyes now, and he could see Cas inching closer. “I wanted to help her,” he croaked, “but Dad handed Sammy to me and told me to run, so I did. I thought he would get Mom, I thought –.” Dean slammed a fist on the railing, shutting his eyes. “I thought he would save her, but it was too late because the fire spread so quickly, too quickly, and by the time Dad got to the kitchen, there must have been so much smoke, and, and –.” Dean was crying again, and his guilt was eating him alive. He almost wanted to jump over the balcony edge, but then he felt Castiel’s hand surround his fist, and he didn’t even try to stop himself from turning to the other man and collapsing, tear-streaked face buried into Cas’s neck.
Cas didn’t say anything, and Dean was thankful for that. Cas just wrapped an arm around his waist and placed his free hand on Dean’s neck, fingers rubbing gently against his skin.
“You were only four years old, Dean,” he said after a few minutes. Dean had calmed down enough to move his head up to look at Cas.
“You can’t blame yourself for –.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Dean interrupted. “You wanna talk age? Sam’s car accident? He was 15, I was 19. I told him he could drive, and for some crazy reason, Dad let him.”
“Dean –.”
“I had taught him, Cas!” Dean yelled, guilt quickly turning into anger. “I taught him to speed without getting caught, taught him how to change a tire, and I told him to watch out for crazy drivers at intersections, because,” Dean laughed, disgusted with himself, “because if anyone messed up the impala, I’d kill him.”
Cas was quiet for a moment, and then, “Sam is alive, Dean.”
“Yeah? He was out for weeks, lying in a hospital bed, and I can’t even count how many times my father asked me why I’d let him drive. What I was thinking when I let him take the wheel.” Dean remembered that clearly, the look on his dad’s face, like he was pleading with him, Why, Dean? Why the hell would you do that?
“And when he came to, he was so scared of the car, of any car, Cas, he was so scared.” Dean knew he was saying too much, and he blamed the all alcohol cruising through his blood, but Cas never flinched, taking it all in like bitter medicine.
“Yes, you told me about that earlier,’ he replied.
“That was my fault,” Dean said, looking into Castiel’s soft eyes. “I don’t think Dad has ever really forgiven me for that. But who can blame him? I haven’t forgiven myself, either.”
“But, Dean,” Cas began, “just because you and I are soul mates, that doesn’t imply tha-.”
“That I’ll hurt you?” Dean asked, pulling away from Cas again. “That’s exactly what it implies, Cas! Don’t you see?”
Cas looked confused, and Dean covered his face with his hands, walking back over to the benches to sit down. Castiel didn’t move.
“I’m a mess, Cas, okay? And if we’re soul mates, that means you’re bound to get sucked into this – my tornado of a mess – and I can’t,” he paused, breathing deeply, picking and choosing his words. “When we – if – when I fall in love with you, I’m going to want to run,” Dean admitted.
“Run?” Castiel asked, moving to sit back down next to Dean. “Why would you want to run?”
“Because I can’t hurt another person I love,” Dean said loudly, the words feeling heavy on his tongue. “Not someone like you. I can’t do that to you.”
|
Rosalie returned to Cullen pale and crying. “She’s there. Mia was hiding Marella this whole time.” There was a silence in the room, knowing what this news meant. Mia had betrayed Ellana and told Marella about Ellana’s pregnancy, and may have possibly played a hand in trying to hurt her. Cullen sat down slowly, not knowing how to feel. This was his sister, his flesh and blood. Alistair brought Rosalie to sit down and patted her on the shoulder.
“What can you tell us?” he asked her.
Rosalie gathered herself and spoke. “I could hear them talking when I knocked on the door, and there was some shuffling around before Mia answered. Marella wasn’t in the room when I came in though. I pretended like I hadn’t heard anything and told Mia that Ellana had been found and that she was very ill and didn’t have much time left.” She stopped for a moment, looking a little pale. “I think I’m going to be sick,” she said. Danyri snatched up a bucket and brought it over, holding it as Rosalie vomited while Cullen went to make some of the tea Vivienne had recommended.
“Rosie?” Patrick was at the door long enough to see his wife vomiting into a bucket and hurried over. “Rosie, Love, what’s happened? You haven’t been sick for over a month.” He stood over her nervously until she was finished and then accepted a cup from Cullen, giving it to her. “Drink this, sweeting,” he said.
Rosalie drank down the tea that Cullen had made and continued. “She acted like she didn’t care and asked if Ellana had regained consciousness at all. I told her no. She didn’t admit to knowing anything, and I didn’t know how to ask without arousing suspicion. You don’t think she really helped plan that do you?” She looked at Cullen pleadingly, hoping that her own sister wouldn’t do something like that.
“I hope not,” said Cullen. “Cole confirmed Marella is there?” Rosalie nodded as Cole appeared in the room. “Cole? Is Mia involved?”
“She knew but did nothing,” Cole said. “Why can’t she leave our family alone?”
Cullen and Rosalie looked at each other, and Cullen sat down again. “She knew that Marella was going to try to kill our child, and possibly my wife, and she did nothing.” His mind was reeling, trying to grasp the situation. He looked at Cole. “What about Ben? Did he help or know anything?” Cole shook his head. “Well, that’s something, I suppose.” Cullen put his head in his hands. He didn’t know whether to be angry or hurt, but when he thought of Ellana lying in the snow, in pain and turning blue, he got angry. He stood up, the chair flying back and started to head to the door, but was stopped by Alistair. “Let me go, Alistair,” he said. “I need to…”
“You need to calm down,” said Alistair. He turned to Cole. “Can you go back and watch? Let us know if either one of them is going to run?” Cole disappeared immediately while Alistair turned back to Cullen. “I know you are angry. I get it. But we need to be sensible. Your sister is upset and she’s in no condition to be that way right now, your wife is in the other room- she needs you, and you need her. Go see her. Elissa and I will go speak with the Arl, and we will get this handled.”
“Not without me,” said Cullen.
“Of course not,” said Elissa. “You will be there, and you will be able to speak your piece. But if you go now, while you are irrational, and something may happen that you might regret.” She walked over and put her hand on Cullen’s shoulder. “Go see Ellana, calm down, and then we’ll deal with this.”
Cullen took a deep breath and looked at Rosalie, who was sobbing as Patrick held her. He went over and knelt down, taking Rosalie from Patrick and holding her- two siblings deeply hurt by their own family. “I’m so sorry, Cullen,” Rosalie cried against his shoulder.
“Shhh, Rosalie,” said Cullen. “You’ll make yourself sick again. It’s all right.” He looked at Patrick. “Why don’t you take her home and let her get some rest. I’ll come and see you soon.”
“I think you’re right,” said Patrick. “Come on, Sweeting, Cullen is right. You need to rest.” He helped Rosalie up and put her cloak around her, smoothing her hair and putting an arm around her shoulders.
“Here,” said Cullen. He grabbed a packet of tea and gave it to Patrick. “In case she gets sick again. If there are any problems, let us know. I can send Danyri over to help.” Patrick nodded, and he and Rosalie started out for home. Cullen watched them leave with a stricken look on his face. “This is not what I wanted when we came here. We should have just stayed away,” he said.
“Cullen, you had no idea this would happen when you came here,” said Elissa. “You can’t blame yourself. Go to Ellana for now. We’ll go see the Arl.”
………
Ellana was asleep when Cullen entered the bedroom, and he quietly removed his armor and carefully crawled into bed and watched her sleep. Ellana was restless, and he could see her wince from time to time as the pain in her abdomen encroached upon her rest, and it made him angry again. He tried to keep himself calm for her sake, but when she woke with a gasp, choking as started to vomit again, he felt his ire rise at what Marella and Mia had done. He grabbed a bucket and got Ellana rolled on her side so she could reach it, and it tore his heart out to see her crying in pain as she retched, each spasm causing her more pain and frightening her beyond belief. Danyri came in with some cold cloths, and some tea and the two of them tried to soothe her and help her relax. “It hurts,” she whimpered, vomiting into the bucket again.
“Is this normal?” asked Cullen. “Should she be this sick?”
Danyri frowned. “I don’t know,” she said. “Is there any way to get some of the potion that was fed to her? I need to see it. She should be getting better, not worse.”
“I can ask Becky for some,” said Cullen. “Will you be all right alone with her?”
“Of course,” said Danyri. “The quicker we can get some of that potion, the better.” Cullen got up and looked down at Ellana, torn between wanting to stay and wanting to help. He leaned down and kissed her.
“I love you,” he said. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
………
He rode as quickly into town as he could and stopped in front of the Healer’s office, throwing open the door and storming inside. Becky came out to greet him, turning pale at the look on Cullen’s face. “Becky,” he said. “I need some of the potion you gave Marella.”
“I…I don’t have any,” Becky said. “I gave all I had to Marella. I can write down the recipe if it helps.”
Cullen sighed. “It will have to do.” He waited as she wrote it down and handed it over.
“How…how is Ellana?” asked Becky. “I haven’t seen her.”
“You won’t be either,” said Cullen. “I brought the Healer sent by Madame De Fer back from Denerim with me. She needed to know what was in the potion. Ellana is getting sicker, not better.”
Becky frowned. “That shouldn’t be,” she said. “The ingredients in this potion aren’t considered harmful to fully developed adults. Aside from cramping and other issues related to losing a baby, she shouldn’t be sick at all.”
“I’ll relay that information to Danyri,” said Cullen. “I need to get back. Thank you.”
………
“I don’t understand,” said Danyri, looking over the list of ingredients. “Nothing in here should be causing this. Maybe she’s allergic to something? Do you know if she ever had a negative reaction to any other potion?”
Cullen thought about it for a while. “I recall being told that she got violently ill during a battle, but I don’t remember what caused it. She’s never been sick with anything we have around here.”
“Hmm,” said Danyri. “I think there was more in this potion that what was on this paper- not necessarily that Becky put anything in. It could have been put in after.”
Wait,” said Cullen. “Ellana said she had to go back to the Apothecary to get some items- she had purchased them before, but they were gone when she went to use them. She assumed that maybe I accidentally spilled them or something. That was when she was taken. She also said that Max was uneasy a few days before when they arrived home. What if someone broke in and took those ingredients, knowing she’d have to go get more, and planned to take her then?”
“What ingredients was she missing?” asked Danyri.
Cullen frowned in thought. “Felandaris and witherstalk.”
Danyri shook her head. “I’m familiar with Felandaris- it’s used in some tonics that are useful in healing. Witherstalk, not so much. I don’t have any of my reference books. We should speak to Ellana, and the Apothecary.” She thought for a moment. “I think I know someone who can help if they are close by. Can I use a raven?” Cullen nodded. “I’ll be back then,” she said, picking up her cloak.
“Danyri,” said Cullen. “Don’t go to town by yourself. Wait until someone is here that can go with you.” Danyri nodded and sat down to write her letter and send it off. Ten minutes later, Alistair and Elissa returned, and Elissa volunteered to go back with Danyri to speak to the Apothecary. After checking on Ellana, who was still asleep, Cullen and Alistair sat at the table.
“She’s getting sicker, Alistair,” said Cullen. “We don’t know why. After everything. All she’s been through, all we’ve been through together, I can’t lose her now. Please tell me we have a plan?”
“As long as their position doesn’t change, the Arl will join us over there at any time.” They looked up at the soft knock at the door. Alistair went to open the door, and Arl Bryland stood with the young woman pointed out by Cole.
“Your Highness, Ser Cullen,” said Arl Bryland. “This is Daisy. “She came to talk to me earlier, and she wants to tell you what she knows.” Cullen and Alistair both studied the young woman- who was on the verge of tears. “I’ve promised nothing would happen to her for her testimony since she approached me instead of the other way around.” He prodded her forward. “It’s all right, Daisy. Tell them what you told me.”
She was fidgeting with her dress and could barely meet the two men in the eye, overwhelmed to be in the presence of the King and the Commander of the Inquisition. “I…” she swallowed. “I know what Marella did,” said Daisy. “She planned the whole thing with her friends and the lads. It’s been going on since the beginning- it was Marella who got Vincent to attack the Inquisitor that day.” Tears sprang to her eyes. “I was afraid to say anything because well…they’re the only friends I had since Annie died. I thought at first that it was just a bit of childish fun- Marella was so jealous of her. I thought she would get over it eventually, but after a while, it was all she would talk about.”
“Daisy,” asked Cullen. “Was my sister, Mia, involved at all?”
“She told Marella about Ellana being pregnant, and any other pieces of news she could find. She knew everything, but said she couldn’t be involved.” Daisy looked at Cullen. “She assumed Ellana would die of exposure and that animals would find her, and no one would ever find out what happened. Then after a while, you would marry Marella and have normal children, and stay here.” She looked down again. “I wanted to tell them it was a foolish plan, but they wouldn’t have listened.”
“What about the rumors that Rosalie told us about?” asked Alistair.
“Mia and Marella,” said Daisy, more tears falling down her cheeks. “And the other girls. One of their favorite pastimes was making up rumors and spreading them. I couldn’t do it, but I didn’t stop it either. I’m sorry.”
Cullen’s mouth closed in a firm line as he studied the girl. It was apparent that she was remorseful, and that she wanted to make things right, but his emotions were all over the place at the moment, and he didn’t know what to think. “I’m going to check on Ellana,” he muttered, going into the other room.
“Thank you, Daisy,” said Alistair. “I would like you to go home and write down everything you know. We’ll send for you when we need you.” Daisy nodded and then curtsied to Alistair before leaving. Sighing, Alistair turned to the Arl. “Elissa and Danyri went into town to look into a few things- we can’t leave here until they get back. Perhaps we should do this tomorrow morning? Cullen needs to get in the right frame of mind, and we need to talk tonight.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” said Arl Bryland. “Contact me in the morning and tell me what you need.”
………
A short while later, Elissa and Danyri returned from town, looking troubled. “Is Ellana awake?” Elissa asked. After checking, Cullen nodded and followed them to the bedroom.
“Ellana,” Danyri began. “We’ve been looking into something, and we need some information from you. Cullen said that you get very ill during a battle, but he doesn’t remember the details. Do you?”
Ellana closed her eyes. “It was when we were clearing out Griffon Wing Keep in the Western Approach. I just remember something breaking at my feet, and I started vomiting and hallucinating. Solas was able to help, but I ended up being ill for several days. Varric told me later that it was a confusion grenade that hit me. No one else ended up getting sick.”
“A confusion grenade?” asked Elissa. “I’ve never heard of that.”
“We hadn’t either before then,” said Ellana. “I found the recipe later when I was at the Winter Palace. Sera was rather fond of carrying them around- that and her bees.” She closed her eyes as she thought. “The recipe called for blood lotus, black lotus and witherstalk, and others depending on the grade of the grenade you wanted.”
“Witherstalk…” said Danyri, thoughtfully. “Have you come in contact with it?”
“I use it for the lyrium remedy I was making,” said Ellana. “Otherwise, no- we didn’t have much call for it at Skyhold. I think Sera used it in her bee grenade. I’ve never had any problems with it when using it as an ingredient.”
“So, inhaling or ingesting it, but not touching,” said Danyri. “How did Solas help you?”
“I don’t know,” said Ellana. “I know he made me something, but I didn’t know what was in it.”
“Excuse me,” said Alistair. “Danyri, this note just came for you.” Danyri got up and read it, exhaling in relief.
“The Keeper from my clan is only two days away,” she said. “He has consented to come here with a healer to look after her. In the meantime, we need to find out exactly how that potion was tampered with. I suspect they put the ingredients that were stolen in it, but I need to know for sure.”
Cullen smoothed Ellana’s hair. “Is two days safe?” he asked. “Is there anything we can do in the meantime?”
“We can keep her comfortable,” said Danyri. “Try to keep the vomiting to a minimum through bland foods and tea. I’ll do everything I can.”
………
“She’s gone back to sleep,” said Cullen as he closed the door to their bedroom and came to sit at the table. The enormity of the situation had hit him while he lay next to Ellana, stroking her growing belly and holding her gently. The fact that his sister stood by and did nothing while her friend plotted to harm her, and that Mia had participated in spreading rumors and causing Ellana harm filled him with an anger he had not felt in a long time. He got up again and started pacing. “I know it’s late, but I just want to go out there and deal with this.”
“Cullen,” said Elissa. “I know. We all feel that way. Let’s sit down and go over the facts. If you go out there now, angry and out of control, we’ll get nowhere. Build the case, and tomorrow we will finish this. Then after that, we’ll concentrate on helping Ellana. She’ll get through this, I know it.” |
"So I have some good news," Alex smiled, it was so bright and big it made Gavin smile.
She was actually aglow, Gavin could see that she had good news long before she said anything. It was actually a departure of what she had been for some time now. Now that she was no longer working on the wall.
"What's that?" he asked as he sat his fork down. He wanted to give her his undivided attention.
"Well you have been on me for weeks to get back to art," she said picking up her wine glass and taking a small sip. He nodded.
Ever since the Expo, she had not touched any of her sketchbooks or paintings. Gavin had converted the guest room to a studio for her, but all her supplies had sat untouched. He had converted it to motivate her to work as it had been two months since she did any. She had fallen into a melancholy mood because she couldn't find any inspiration. It was as if the wall had drained it from her.
"I want you to do what makes you happy," he corrected her. "I know your art does that."
"I know," she smiled. "You make me happy as well! Does that mean I can just do you?"
"I think we have been doing that, haven't we?" he chuckled with and arched eyebrow.
"Not nearly enough in my book!" she smiled bashfully.
"You are going to wear my ass out!" he laughed. She looked to her plate with a blush. "So, your news?" He prodded gently seeing her embarrassment.
"I got the maternity leave thing for the south side school!" she said proudly. He nodded and forced a smile for her benefit.
"You don't look happy," she pointed out, not being fooled.
"No, I'm happy that you're happy but...," he sighed.
"But?" she pushed.
"I'm not real wild about you having to go to the south side!" he told her picking up his wine glass and taking a drink with a shrug of his broad shoulders. "There are some rough neighborhoods down there! There were three drive by shootings just this weekend."
She dropped her head and frowned. She knew he would not like it.
"Look," he smiled reading her. "I love that you are going to teach art, I really do, but it's the neighborhoods that I'm worried about!"
"I know," she nodded. "But these kids...I loved working with them for that one day I subbed...now I get the opportunity to do that until Christmas!"
She knew he was going to be worried, he did that all the time with her. His overprotective nature sometimes getting in their way of their continued growth both sexually and emotionally.
"I get it," he nodded. "Doesn't mean I'm not going to worry."
"I get it," she said with twisted lips.
At least he didn't outright forbid it. If he did then the fight would be on. They rarely fought anymore, thankfully. He was just always on her positively to move back to art. She knew she was in a funk, but she couldn't come out of it. He thought the art would do it but she just wasn't motivated to do that anymore.
"Can we address that car of yours now?" he asked her with a frown.
"There is nothing wrong with the rabbit," she warned him. This had the makings of a fight. He kept spoiling her, clothes, shoes and jewelry. He doted on her constantly, normally she didn't mind. But he had been on her to buy a new car.
Her car was almost twenty years old and on its last leg but she just couldn't afford a new one right now. She had spent the bulk of her money from the paintings and the wall paying off her monumental student loan debt. What was left, paid back Lena, who had initially refused, but after constant pressure accepted half of what Alex was offering for payment of back rent. Now that she was debt free, she wanted to stay that way. A car payment just put her back to struggling.
"The oil slick under it says otherwise!" he countered. "I'm surprised Greenpeace isn't here about another oil disaster because of the sheer amount of oil that thing puts out!"
"Hey!" she laughed defensively.
"I'm just saying," he shrugged.
"I'm doing my best," she said shaking her head. "I've saved up some money, now with this gig I should be able to save up some more. I don't want a payment or anything because I don't know where or when my next paycheck is going to come."
"I told you I would take care of it," he said with a deep exhale. How many times was he going to let her argue her way out of it before he just lost it and went ballistic? He couldn't explain it himself.
He was doing is very best to keep this from becoming a massive argument. He was trying to balance being a Dom and being a boyfriend. He didn't know why he was doing that but he was trying for her. She never asked, but he just felt he should do it.
"I'm not much on charity," she said firmly.
"It's not fucking charity!" Gavin growled his temper rising. "I want to help you out!"
"I know," she frowned, she had to derail his temper, she didn't want an argument. "But I want to do this on my own! I've always done everything on my own!"
"That's bullshit," he said tossing his napkin on the table.
"What is?"
"That you won't let me help you," he said angrily.
"This isn't like a set of clothes," she pointed out. "Or some shoes! We are talking thousands of dollars! I wouldn't be comfortable with that!"
"You know," he started slowly. "I don't know why I let you refuse me the way you do, or why I accept the way you talk to me the way you do. I have never let a sub do that!"
"It's because you love me," she smiled, trying to take some of the anger from him with her innocent smile.
"That's why I should just buy the fucking car and suffer with your pouting afterwards!" he said picking up his fork and going back to dinner.
She didn't point out to him that he didn't make a denial of her statement. That was as close as she could get him to saying the words. Saying them for him and having him
deny it.
"Can I at least have my mechanic look at the piece of shit?" he asked her angrily.
"I could live with that," she smiled knowing that was going to happen with or without her consent.
Alex moved into the living room after putting the dinner dishes into the dish washer, as Gavin flipped through the channels on TV. When she walked in he shut the TV off and set the remote on the table next to him.
"Can't find anything to watch?" she smiled at him.
"No," he shrugged. "Just not in the mood for basketball tonight, seems like the only thing on."
She nodded as she stood there as he looked her over. She had on a white v-neck tee that was nearly see through. She had tight blue jeans on that absolutely drove him crazy when she wore them. They formed tightly around her ass and hips, giving him a visual that would cause him to hold his breath when she was around in them.
He crossed his legs, and watched her standing there.
"Can I help you? Sir?" she smiled as she felt him undressing her from the couch.
"Yes," he nodded. "Entertain me."
"How?" she asked as she lowered her eyes and felt herself hold her breath.
"Take your clothes off," he said in a tone that meant not to question or hesitate. "Slowly."
She started with her button on her pants, slowly pulling the edge until the button popped loose. She then tugged the t-shirt over her head slowly. It pulled free from her free flowing hair as she shook her head to get it loose afterward. She dropped it near her as her eyes locked on his. He never took his eyes off her, nor did it look like he blinked.
She smiled as her face flushed with warmth, her body began to show its early signs of arousal as her breathing increased. She pulled the zipper of the pants down slowly before running her hands up her hips and then letting her fingers dip between her pants and onto her skin. She eased the tight jean material down, shimmying her hips to help them loose from the pants. This simple action caused him to groan softly in pleasure which made her smile.
Slowly she stepped out of the material, using her foot to kick the jeans from her. She stood there a moment in only her bra and panties to let him look at her. He nodded his approval with a smile.
She reached around her and undid the bra, releasing her breasts from their enclosure. She let the bra slide down her arms before catching it with her hand and she let it fall to the t-shirt at her feet.
She stood there a moment, again pausing to let him look at her, stopping after each article of clothing was removed to allow him a moment to see her, now that more of her skin was revealed to him. She ran her hands over her stomach, up to her breasts and around the nipple, which hardened immediately. They hardened due to the coolness of the room, and the excitement building in her.
It was the way he was looking at her. Devouring her from a distance, his eyes drinking her in from head to toe and back again. His little satisfied smile on his face letting her know he was pleased in both the tempo she was using and what she was revealing to him.
She turned around to show him what he desired most of all, her ass. She looked over her shoulder and watched him swallow hard. This brought her secret smile out, she loved teasing him this way. Driving him mad with lust was a good thing for her because it usually ended up with a good hard fuck. Something that always made her cum hard, the way he took her when he was fired up, which was always roughly.
Gently sliding her fingers into the underwear she eased the thong down until it was around her ankles. She followed the panties down until she was bent at the waist, causing him to again let out a deep breath in a slow hiss. She smiled as she drew out the response she was looking for.
Running her hands from her ankles up her calves, to her thighs across her buttocks giving them a slight pull to show him her anal plug that she was wearing most of the day now, the sight of which, made him close his eyes briefly.
She left herself turned to him, leaving her backside in full view of his eyes, leaving her looking over her shoulder at him waiting for his next command.
"You look absolutely stunning," he whispered.
"Thank you, Sir," she said back with her smile.
"Come here," he said softly. She immediately obeyed walking slowly to him while he sat on the couch.
"Lay down, there on the table," he said stopping her from coming all the way to him.
"The coffee table?" she asked him looking at it.
"Yes," he said firmly.
She sat down on the edge carefully, the table was a sturdy wood, but she still felt like it was going to break under her. Once she was fully sat she pulled her legs up and carefully positioned herself in the center and gently laid back.
"Play with yourself," he said softly, once she was fully laid back and looked to him.
"Sir?"
"Masturbate for me," he confirmed. She looked at him as he face flushed in embarrassment. "It's a simple request, nothing that should wind up getting you a consequence for hesitation." He pointed out.
"I'm sorry Sir," she gasped. "I've never done that!"
"Masturbated?" he asked.
"No, I've done that! Just never in front of anyone!" She could feel her face burning with embarrassment.
Gavin sat there staring at her, his head propped up by his hand which was propped up by his elbow on the back of the couch. She realized she was still hesitating and soon that would anger him.
She slowly brought her hand up and realized it was shaking a little and she couldn't explain why. Perhaps it was because this was the most intimate of intimates! Something you do that you never tell anyone about! A forbidden pleasure that most people denied doing even though most people did it.
She let her fingers slip slowly over her pubic hair strip gently. She turned her eyes away from him, embarrassed as her fingers hit the top of her clit. Her fingers lightly rubbed there to begin with. She closed her eyes as her body responded to the situation. Her body warmed, her breathing increased.
Gently rubbing in a circle on her clit at first, as she let her body respond with goosebumps as it was pleased by her own touch. She slowly turned her head to look at him and found his eyes focused on her, staring through her possibly, as he was entranced in what she was doing. He hadn't moved a muscle.
She watched him as she gently moved down and slowly let her fingers dip into her. The heat from her sex washed over her fingers and she held her breath until she was firmly planted in her body up to her knuckle.
"Move your leg so I can watch," he said interrupting her silence.
She dropped her leg closest to him down and that gave him full view of her hand as her middle finger was into her sex.
"Continue," he whispered.
She slowly began to thrust her middle finger in and out of her. Her body bloomed with heat as she went. Her body responding to her touch in a positive way pushing the embarrassment from her.
She gently went at her sex, thrusting her wet finger in and out in a steady pace, her hips lifting slightly to meet her hand. Her soft breathing becoming heavier as she pushed herself closer to orgasm.
As it built inside of her, she began to lift her hips faster to her hand. Her free hand moved up to her nipples and gently tugged on them, pulling them hard for his eyes. She looked over at him and he was still motionless as he watched her.
The only thing that told her he was pleased was his secret smile, it was on his face as she probed herself. The sound of her wet sex beginning to be heard by the two of them, explaining without words her excitement.
Her little yelps of excitement brought out a bigger smile on him, when she was brought slowly to climax like she was doing now, she didn't moan. She made these little noises not quite a moan, not quite a yelp, but a pleasurable 'yip'. Something she was unaware she did until he pointed them out. She was embarrassed the first time she caught herself doing it but he assured her he loved it.
Her 'yips' brought her eyes opened as she looked to him and saw that he was pleased, this egged her on to go faster with her hand, letting a second finger slide in as her ring finger joined her middle finger inside of her. Now her palm rested on her clit and that brought a second wave of pleasure to her, now she felt penetrated with her two fingers and her palm brushed her clit at the same time.
Her hips increased their pace as she went, they gently rose off the table causing her back to arch as her head bent backward as she let her orgasm build. She wanted to cum but she wanted to keep her little show going for him as he was most definitely pleased with what she was doing. She could see it on his face.
Now as her body urged her hand faster she had to keep it consciously from going too fast. She looked to him one more time, she left her head turned to him as her face reddened and her body shook as she held her breath until her orgasm hit forcing her to cry out softly as her cum leaked around her fingers. Her muscles in her stomach rippling with satisfaction as her orgasm claimed her.
Her body released with its pleasure and the arch in her back disappeared as she laid flat on the table once again. Her fingers slowing as the squish of liquid filled the room as her cum slicked fingers pushed it out of her sex. Her breast heaved as her breathing caused them to rise and fall as her excitement faded as she pulled her fingers out.
She held them up and they glistened with cum in the light. She looked to him and saw him staring at them with a smile.
"Continue," he told her. "I want more."
"More?" she smiled as she gently put her fingers back into herself causing the one word question to come out in a gasp.
"Always," he said as he watched her.
She continued to work herself, her body didn't take much to bring to another orgasm. Her body twisting as she came, her not so subtle cry in bliss surprised her. As was the copious amount of cum that came with it. She lifted her hips up as her orgasm forced every muscle in her body to contract at once, like a fist tightening then slowly releasing a crumple piece of paper, her body collapsed on the table with a thud.
She looked to him and he gave her a wink of approval.
"More?" she asked him under ragged breath.
"More," he commanded. "But now I want you on the floor, ass facing me...up in the air."
She eased from the coffee table and faced the window away from him, she bent at the waist and laid her face on the soft plush carpet of the floor. Now she was open to him, her glistening sex parted just slightly revealing her wetness to him.
The ruby colored anal plug end glistened in the lamp. Her firm cheeks spread just slightly so he could see it fully. Reaching between her legs she eased her fingers back inside of her making herself whimper slightly.
Her hand was wet from her last orgasm, he could see it glisten. He watched her fingers plunge in and out of herself now. No longer taking it slowly, no longer held back by her inhibitions of masturbating in front of someone. Now it was only about her pleasure, both what she was doing to herself, then the pleasure she was giving him by her show.
Her third orgasm washed from her, around her fingers to drip slightly onto the floor beneath her. Her gasp held back by her biting of her lip. As she fingered herself in this position, the anal plug moved with her fingers bringing the sensations up a notch. The toy moving with her thrusts, slightly gyrating the toy in her ass causing her a second pleasurable point. She could feel the toy through her soft, thin walls inside her sex and that turned her on another one hundred degrees she felt.
"I want your fingers," he told her when she looked back at him from her face down position on the carpet. "Careful to not wipe any of your delicious cum from your fingers."
She pulled her fingers out and held them up as she sat up, she turned staying on her knees and walked on them to him, splitting his legs to kneel between them. He took her cum coated hand in his.
She watched him stare at her fingers, slowly he lowered his mouth on her ring finger and gently suckled it. His lips holding the entire finger in his mouth as he used his tongue inside to wipe the finger off.
He slowly sucked the finger as he pulled it gently from his lips, nipping the end as he let it go from his mouth bringing a smile from her. He looked to the middle finger and slowly inserted it into his hot mouth causing her to hold her breath as he suckled it gently the way he had just done her ring finger. Pulling off all her cum from the digit before pulling it slowly from his mouth.
His tongue slowly licked in between her fingers, gathering any cum that he might have missed from them. His tongue moving to her palm licking there as well which made her giggle slightly as it tickled for some reason. This brought a smile to his face.
He continued to suckle her fingers with his mouth as his free hand slid down between them and found her wet sex causing her to jump slightly with sensitivity. His larger fingers disappearing in her had her gasping as she closed her eyes at his gentle intrusion.
He began a long, deep thrust of his own fingers in her now, fucking her gently with his hand, all the while sucking on her fingers repeatedly, starting with her index, moving to her pinky as he sucked each one, while thrusting in her causing her to grunt under his manipulations.
Her orgasm took control of her body, and forced her to rise on her knees as her body went rigid. Her mouth hung open as her soft scream of pleasure wouldn't come out until her cum washed from her body. When the liquid oozed out of her so did her whimper of pleasure as her body released its command of her muscles and she collapsed on her heels.
She used her free hand to take hold of him, to steady herself as her head spun in a pleasurable dizzy twirl from her orgasm.
"Are you ok?" he asked her.
"Yes Sir," she smiled. "Just a little dizzy!"
He nodded as he eased his fingers from her and brought one of them up to her mouth. She opened slightly as it touched her lips, he gently pushed in and she was reminded of the first time she enjoyed Gavin's hands. Watching Elizabeth suck the cum off his fingers that night. She smiled as he pulled the digit out and placed it into his mouth so he could taste the remnants of her cum and her saliva on his finger.
"More?" she asked in between breaths.
"More," he grinned. "Take my cock out."
"Thank you Sir," she responded happily.
Anytime she got a hold of his cock was a great time! She was addicted to it, needed it like air. As soon as his pants cleared his cock and it slapped against his belly, full and hard she had it in her mouth devouring it before even pulling his pants past his thighs.
While she had his cock in her mouth she continued to pull his pants off, his lifting of his hips to help her, driving his cock deeper into her throat in an unintentional manner. Finally she had his pants off and her hands could work his shaft, one at the base, the other cupping his balls gently, holding them.
Her head bobbed up and down, her lips pulled tight around his shaft. In the light of the nearby table lamp, he could see her saliva coating his cock. Her small hand fisting upward to meet her downward dropping mouth. Over and over she went, hand up and mouth down. Her off hand gently massaging his heavy balls.
After a few minutes of her aggressive sucking he dropped his head back against the back of the couch, she tilted her eyes up to see it and smiled. Desired reaction attained, she slowed her onslaught. She lifted her mouth off when he lifted his head from the back of the couch.
"More?" she asked him with a smile.
"More," he nodded. "Stand up." She obeyed immediately and looked down at him as he took her by the hips and slowly turned her to where she was facing away from him. He gently positioned her and then tugged her hips down to sit in his lap, his cock pressing against her. She looked over her shoulder at him before taking hold of his cock in between her legs.
Her hand guided his cock into her slippery depths as she slowly let her hips fall down, impaling herself on his rock hard shaft. When her bottom hit his groin she ground her buttocks there, twisting his shaft in her causing her to shake slightly in pleasure.
He ran his fingers gently down her spine causing her to convulse visibly which made him happy. Her body was so receptive, they had been together months now and he was still amazed at how much her body responded to his touch. Whether it was his cock, his fingers, or his mouth. It made no difference. Whatever he used it caused her body to ripple like a pond being hit with rain, multiple ripples radiating outward with her pleasure.
He lifted her hips up gently then brought her back down to a seated positon on his groin. Over and over he did this, his fingers digging into her hips slightly as the sound of their bodies meeting filled the room. Soon he didn't have to lift her, she was doing it on her own so his hands could wander freely, and they did. Up the smooth skin on her back, over her shoulders, down her arms and around her sides to cup her breasts.
Pinching her nipples made her buck harder on his cock he found so he stayed there for a few moments, playing with them, pinching them from time to time. The force of her downward slap growing stronger and stronger as her body responded to his hands.
"Oh, God," she hissed as he drove his hips up when her body stiffened and she found it hard to keep riding him because her orgasm was taking over her muscles. He took his own hips then and drove them up to meet her, forcing her orgasm to gush from her and it leaked down his shaft and his balls where her hand rubbed it into his skin, making them slippery.
She leaned forward after her orgasm and her ass split to show him the toy still there. He smiled when he saw it and used his thumb on it to push the deep red jewel causing her to moan in pleasure. He pulled at the edges slightly and used the plug on her ass a little. Never pulling it out, but moving it while she rode him.
Her legs began to shake and she knew this next orgasm was going to be strong. He let go of the anal plug and took hold of her hips forcefully as she was unable to continue her riding with her impending orgasm. He used her hips to lift and drive her on his shaft making her body shake as she came, her legs became useless as she just let him use her body like a doll. Her only motions were what he was making her do. She reached between her legs and felt his cum soaked balls and knew she had squirted on him.
He took a fistful of hair and pulled her head up causing her neck to crane as he came forward and began to bite and suckle the sensitive spot between her shoulder blades. Now her mouth was open with every thrust and she moaned out at every drive of his cock.
He stood slowly and pushed her to the floor, pushing her head down in a silent command she understood without a word. Her face rested on the floor, her ass in the air available to him.
He hovered over her, his cock in his hand as he guided it into her from behind. He was now squatting over her, his cock reaching its maximum depths on his downward thrusts, his groin grinding on her ass, pushing the anal plug deeper as well as his weight pressed on it. This position allowed him to reach her deepest egresses of pleasure. In this position she was completely open to him. Her body at an angle that fit his body perfectly.
With every slap of his groin on her ass now he used the weight of his body to push deep, causing her to grunt from the force. He took hold of her hair again and twisted it into his fingers causing her head to turn so he could look at her face as he pounded her from above and behind.
Now her orgasms were coming faster, with little time in between, she was wondering if at some point it would just be one continuous orgasm! The increase in his speed told her he was getting close too. The control he had waning as his own animalistic pleasure from his orgasm taking over.
She smiled. This was so fucking hot, to have him pounding away at her, losing control for a few moments as he let his wolf out. She couldn't stop him now, it was all about his pleasure at this moment, and her own was inevitable as he used her body to satisfy himself.
"Turn over," he commanded as he pulled out of her.
She obeyed immediately turning over to face him as he gripped his cock in his strong hands, he fisted it hard, his cum erupting from the small slit in the top of his head. The white stream shooting up and out only to succumb to gravity and fall to her, her face first, the hot sticky goo falling in a line from her hairline, across her nose to her cheek. The second powerful shot landing across her nose, her lips and chin. The rest falling down on her body, her neck and chest.
His hand pumping his cock now, masturbating for her as he towered over her. She watched the pleasure on his face as his cum squirted, the way his eyes closed shut tightly as the first pleasurable burn of the first shot erupted from his balls, up the shaft before erupting like a volcano onto her.
It wasn't until the after the second stream that he was able to open his eyes and looked down at her as he sprayed her with his cum. When he was done shooting the massive load on her he squeezed the shaft getting the last of his cum from it, she sat up quickly and put her mouth on it, taking the last bit into her mouth.
He moved back from her as she looked down on her cum soaked body. She used her hands to rub his load into her skin, causing it to glisten. Her fingers pulling the cum from her face on her fingers and then into her mouth as she stared him down while he watched her with the utmost pleasure.
He held his hand out to her and she took it as he helped her up, pulling her immediately into a passionate kiss, she tried to keep her cum sticky body off his expensive clothes but he pulled her tightly into his squeezing her passionately causing her to go breathless under his kiss.
"God I love the way you look in my cum," he smiled as he broke his powerful kiss. "And I love the way you hold your breath!"
He led her from the living room into the master bath, turning on the hot water in the shower he held her hand with one hand. She watched him check the water repeatedly to make sure it wasn't too hot. He liked it boiling hot, something she couldn't handle so he made sure it was set for her temperature, not his.
Guiding her into the shower stall after him he began to kiss on her, her lips first after he washed her face gently with soap and water, then moving to her body. His hands gently washing the cum from her, as he lathered her in soap.
Soon her body was clean and fresh, the only remnants from his lovemaking was the ripples of goosebumps his hands were now causing.
Kneeling in front of her she looked down at him perplexed at what he was doing, he reached over and pulled her razor off the shelf. Taking the shaving cream he coated her legs with white foam before gently, lovingly shaving her legs for her.
God she loved this, this pampering he did after their sex. Sometimes it was showering her. Sometimes it was a massage. Sometimes it was just gently snuggling her. It always happened. She thought in the beginning it was just something he did to impress her, she thought it would fade in time, but it didn't. He always pampered her after. Always.
Now he was shaving her legs, something that made her shake her head. Another first for her, her lover shaving her legs. Once he was done with one, he went to the other. Setting her foot on his thigh as he worked. Gently lathering her leg before using the razor to pull the cream and stubble from her.
Once he had inspected both legs and they were to his satisfaction he lifted her foot and suckled her toes in his mouth causing her to giggle at first then gasp as he suckled each and every toe. One foot, then the other.
He set them both down and squirted some more shaving gel from the can into his hand. He gently placed it on her pubic hair. She spread her legs at his nudge. He took the razor and with great determination and gentleness, carefully shaved her sex. He left her 'landing strip' as she always maintained it. Shaving to the sides of it, carefully shaving the outer edges of her sex, careful not to nick her with the razor.
Once he was done he guided her into the water and let the water wash the leftover shaving cream from her. He inspected his work carefully before giving it his personal seal of approval. His mouth on her sex causing her legs to shake.
His tongue lapping at her lips, before pushing beyond them as he pushed her against the shower wall. He lifted her leg and placed it over his shoulder, her hands on his head for both balance and encouragement. Guiding him deeper in her.
His magical tongue elicited one more orgasm from her, nearly causing her to collapse in the shower due to being on one leg like a flamingo. It wobbled with her cum. He came up to her and kissed her lips.
"You are absolutely, positively, the most delicious meal I have ever eaten," he smiled against her lips. "And I have eaten all over the world in some of the finest restaurants that can be found!"
***
The next day they stood in front of her car as the mechanic came to them.
"Well Curt?" Gavin looked to him.
"Well, it's not your Aston Martin," Curt laughed.
"Is it safe to drive?" Gavin asked joining him with a laugh.
"Eh," Curt shrugged. "Depends on how dangerously you want to live your life! It's in serious need of some repairs."
"Like?" Gavin asked looking at Alex.
"Well," Curt rubbed his jaw. "Head gaskets are shot, suspension is non-existent. Brakes need massive overhaul, it won't be too long before you are sticking your foot out the door to stop like Fred Flintstone. It's leaking oil from...well just about everywhere."
"Would it be easier to ask what's good about it?" Gavin laughed as Curt did. The only one not laughing was Alex.
"Well, that list would be shorter," he smiled as he stopped his laughing because of the look Alex was giving them.
"Curt," Alex said slowly. "I know Gavin wants me to buy a new car, but I can't afford that right now! How long will it last?"
"Well that's the thing," Curt shrugged. "It's a damn VW! It could last a week, a month or forever! These things are really tough to kill...but when they die it's usually in a blaze of glory. I don't mean that literally, it's not going to blow up or anything, but she is going to need a lot of money put into her to save her."
"How much?" Alex asked him.
"More than she is worth," Curt told her apologetically.
"Shit!" Alex barked.
"Ok, she is not going to budge, she is stubborn as a mule," Gavin said looking at Alex. "What needs to be done right now? Like before we take her."
"That's just it Dr. Steward," Curt explained. "It's an all or nothing thing. You could dump a couple grand in her doing a litany of things, but it could still die tomorrow! My suggestion...," he was looking at Alex now. "Trade her off while you can. Take the hit on a car payment."
"Thanks Curt," Gavin smiled victoriously. Curt nodded and walked away. "See?"
"No," Alex said stubbornly. "What kind of trade in am I going to get anyway? I say we drive her till she dies!"
"Jesus Christ!" Gavin said to the ceiling of the garage. "Why won't you let me help?"
"Because," she said trying to keep her temper in check. She could see the anger in his eyes and knew he was getting real tired of her stubbornness. She had to come up with a good reason or this would be a lost fight.
"You pay the rent, utilities and food for me already. You have bought everything else! Let me at least try and keep some of my pride!" She pleaded.
"What?" Gavin turned on her.
"I feel like a fucking mooch!" she told him. "Between Lena before and now you, I want to have some say in my bills! I don't want to be taking hand-outs all my life!" She watched him shake his head. She could read it on him. He was about to assert himself, something she was surprised he hadn't done already.
"Who paid for Elizabeth's car?" Alex asked him trying to come up with another argument to help her case.
"She did," Gavin admitted.
"Did she pay any of the bills at the condo?" Alex asked him.
"No," he said turning to her.
"Ok," Alex nodded. "Then let me at least pay for my car like she did."
"She had a job," Gavin said as softly as he could.
"Now, so do I, at least temporarily," she pointed out. "Let me put some paychecks away then I will buy a decent car."
"Why can't I just loan you the money now, then you pay me back?" Gavin asked her.
"Because I know you, you wouldn't let me pay you back!" she smiled and pointed at him when he covered his smile with a hand. "See?"
"What a pain in my ass you are turning out to be!" Gavin growled as he walked away headed for his car. "Should have let Pavy steal you! Let him deal with the headaches! He deserves them!" She laughed. She was starting to get used to getting her way.
She looked to her dilapidated car.
"Rabbit, don't fail me now!" She begged openly. "The last thing I need is an argument or an 'I told you so' speech from him!"
***
"So," Gavin smiled at her. "How was your first day?"
"Awesome!" Alex gushed nearly bouncing out of her seat. The smile she wore almost lit up the room. "Oh my God those kids are so great! They love art! They love to paint and they are so enthusiastic about it!"
"That's great!" Gavin said with a smile. He finally relaxed, the old Alex was back. The quick smile. The laughing eyes. All of it. All of what he adored about her was in full view again.
She was radiating happiness and that made him very happy. She had lost the doldrums of the after wall high. The semi depression of working so hard on something then having nothing all of a sudden.
"Any potential Alexandria Laskos in there?" he smiled.
"A couple!" she smiled that he thought so highly of her. "There is this one girl, a freshman, the girl can draw! Oh my, I saw some of her work! Spectacular!"
"Awesome," he smiled. "So what do you have on tap for them?"
"Well," she twisted her lips in a thought. "Right now I've just got to find out who my artists are and who are just there because they are forced to be there! So we are just doing open projects. Some paint, some draw. I have a couple modeling with clay."
"Sounds like fun," he praised.
"Yeah, I hope they like it as much as I think they like it!" Alex gushed with happiness.
"So when can I come down and see what you do for a living now?" he asked her.
"Well," she kind of hesitated and her face made him frown. "I want you to come down, but give me some time with them first. I also don't know how the administration would like for their sub having visitors."
"I see," he frowned.
He really wanted to see her working. He found he missed that a great deal himself. The part that few got to see. Something he admired from the bench and it took a few days before he realized he was staring and enjoying watching her work.
"Well," he smiled when he saw the concern on her face that she had angered him. "Just remember, you are my sub, and while I'm temporarily violating an absolute by sharing you, you are still mine."
"Yes, Sir," she smiled happily that he was teasing her again. It meant the fight was off. She also knew it wasn't gone. Just temporarily put on hold. She wondered what he was waiting on. It was obvious he was waiting on something, she just didn't know what.
There were times that he would start to say something then back off, with a set of tight lips like they were holding back the words. He wanted to say something, but thought better of it. He was studying her now anytime they talked. He was just waiting, the question remained was, what was he waiting for? Something for her to figure out, when she asked about it he would just shrug.
***
After the third week, Gavin thought it would be safe enough for a visit. He had asked her to come down earlier but she asked him to wait until she had her ducks in a row. Today he was going to surprise her by bringing lunch to her. He didn't know how this would go over but he was here now. He had a good idea as to why she was stalling. It had to do with the armed man by his side. His gun on his hip, in a school. Something he couldn't really comprehend. A school should be the safest place on earth, but this one had armed security. The security man by his side was alarming at first. It reminded him of the danger that lurked on the south side.
"Here you go Dr. Steward," the large burly man said to him. "Miss Lasko's room."
"Thanks," Gavin said looking in the little window in the door. He saw Alex working with paints with a young African American girl. The girl was watching Alex intently as she showed her something with the paints. Alex working patiently with the young girl, showing her a technique to be used in her work.
Gavin quietly opened the door as to not disturb the class, but it didn't work, as soon as the door opened all eyes turned to him.
"Hey!" Alex beamed when she saw him.
A part of her was also concerned. It meant he was escorted down here by the security guard as no one was allowed access to the building unless they were escorted by security. A measure to keep gang influence on the outside, a measure to keep drugs on the outside. A measure to keep danger on the outside. A measure to keep the kids safe on the
!
Would he go ballistic? Would he tell her this job was now over as his protective wolf would come out. She had seen both. She had seen the sexual wolf, unbridled and loose on her. The protective wolf was there as well. Just as passionate, but at times, just as dangerous to her. Never to harm her, but to protect her like a mother would protect its young.
"Hey," he smiled back as all the kids inspected this stranger that invaded their little world.
"Everybody," Alex smiled. "This is Dr. Gavin Steward. This is my man!" She said with a soft laugh with the girls around her.
"Dr. Steward," she smiled. "This is my honors high school art."
"Hello everybody!" Gavin said awkwardly.
Alex looked up at the clock and realized it was late.
"Ok," she said loudly. "Everybody needs to start cleaning up, and get ready for your next class!"
There was a collective groan from the class which made Gavin smile. It meant they really liked this class! That made him happy for Alex. She, again, was making a difference with her art. Something he had to make sure she continued doing, just for the sake of her.
"Talia," Alex said to the young girl at her side. "Just leave it here for now, I'll put it up when the paint dries."
"Can I just stay here, you know, to keep working? I can just get it done!" Talia countered.
"What do you have next hour?" Alex asked her thinking about it. This was a girl modeled after her. The same talent, the same desire, the same stubbornness!
"Algebra," Talia said, with a dripping despise that couldn't be missed.
"Algebra is a pretty important class, if you had a study hall or something I would be ok with it, but I'm not letting you skip Algebra," Alex said sympathetically.
"But Miss Lasko, I don't need that math! It's like totally unimportant!" Talia argued. Gavin made it to them and looked at what Talia was working on. He nodded appreciatively.
"Dr. Steward," Alex laughed at her, seeing a lot of herself in the young girl. "You want to explain just how important Math is?"
"It's not," Gavin teased as he leaned in to inspect the painting before him. "I never use it, it's a complete waste of time. She should stay and finish. If she is anything like you she won't be happy and will make everybody around her miserable until she finishes her project."
"Not helping!" Alex warned him.
"Wasn't trying to," Gavin chuckled. "It's quite good Talia!" He complimented.
"Thanks!" Talia beamed.
"Talia if she starts to become a pain, just ask her about the time she had this huge project for the city three quarters of the way done and decided to start over. Then her twelve hour days working became sixteen. There was nothing but the art! Everything...and I mean everything took a back seat. Her health, her friends, her family...all were less important than her desire to finish her art project. So she should know how you feel and should be a little more empathetic!"
"Gavin," Alex warned with her voice.
"Just saying," he shrugged and winked at Talia. "Besides, with talent like this...she doesn't need math."
"The heck she doesn't," Alex warned him, her eyes flashing at him as her own protective wolf came out. Something he loved to make her do, switch. "She is going to be the first person in her family to graduate high school! End of story! So math gets done!"
"Miss Lasko, you can be such a pain sometimes!" Talia whined as she went to gather her books.
"Try living with her!" Gavin teased.
"Nice to meet you Dr. Steward," Talia waved. "And thanks for trying."
"Anytime Talia," Gavin smiled. "Keep working hard, you are very good!"
"I have a great teacher," Talia said as she waved and left.
Gavin looked at Alex who seemed stunned at the compliment. Her mouth hung slightly agape as a slight watering of her eyes were visible.
"First time?" Gavin smiled touching her face. She couldn't do anything but nod.
"You have them hooked," he smiled as he kissed her cheek. "The massive groan they gave when you told them to get ready for their next class tells me they love being with you!"
***
"I just don't know what to get him!" Alex complained to Lena as they were walking through the hallway of the mall, the Christmas carols playing over the speakers loudly.
They were walking through the shopping center, trying to come up with Christmas gifts. They had bought for everybody else, but Gavin was proving to be a difficult task.
"Well, what did he tell you he wanted?" Lena asked her as they turned into a department store.
"He didn't!" she complained. "He said he had everything he needed!"
"Well," Lena shrugged. "Maybe he does?"
"So what? I'm supposed to get him nothing?" Alex scoffed. "I know he already has my gift!"
"Look," Lena held up some ties.
"The man has about a bazillion ties!" Alex complained with a shake of her head. "And a tie is something you give your dad...not the man you love!"
"Agreed," Lena frowned putting the tie back up. "Well if we had an idea of a hobby or something!"
"I know, right? What does the man do for fun?" Alex growled.
"He fucks you from the sound of it!" Lena said with a playful nudge.
"I can't give him the gift of fucking," Alex shook her head with her secret smile.
"Why?"
"Because," she said softly as she looked around before leaning into Lena confidingly. "I'm his sub...I don't get to tell him no!"
"Like you would anyway you little slut!" Lena teased. Alex shrugged. "Why don't you just ask Madelyn?"
"I did," Alex said shaking her head. "She didn't know either!" Alex looked around the department store. Her eyes landing on the jewelry counter.
"What about a new watch?" Alex asked her. Lena shrugged, she didn't know why Alex was even asking her, if Alex and Madelyn didn't know, how would she?
"Doesn't he have a good watch now?" Lena asked her.
"He has several," Alex frowned, but she walked over anyway.
A sales woman came over to help her.
"Anything I can help you find?" the lady asked.
"Yeah," Alex nodded. "The perfect gift, for a perfect man who has everything!"
"Hmm," the lady smiled. "That sounds like a challenge!"
"He's impossible!" Alex frowned as she looked to the watches.
"Does he need a new watch?" the lady asked pulling her keys out and opening the door.
"Probably not," she frowned. He had several, he liked watches but she also knew he may not need one any more than she needed a new pair of shoes. The lady brought out a couple to show Alex.
"These are Rolex," she said showing them to her. "Top of the line. What kind of watch does he wear now?"
"He's got a Rolex," Alex said thinking of them. "He has a Bvlgari. He also has a Cartier."
"Wow," the sales lady said appreciatively. "Very high end taste!"
"Yeah," Alex frowned. "How much is this one?"
"Twelve hundred," the lady told her like it was no big deal.
"Seriously?" Alex gasped.
"That's actually a bit cheap," the lady smiled. "If he has Bvlgari, that's about five to ten grand! The Bvlgari Diagono is sixteen grand."
"Jesus!" Alex gasped. "Who needs that?"
"It sounds like your man does!" Lena laughed, she stifled it when Alex glared at her that she wasn't helping.
"If that alarms you, I won't tell you what the Cartier goes for!" the lady laughed as she put the watches up.
"Really?" Alex asked but her face was in a wince.
"Some are six figures," she smiled.
"Holy shit!" Alex gasped.
"I'm guessing that is more than you want to spend?" the lady asked.
"Well if I had it, no problem," Alex shrugged. "But I teach art on the Chicago south side, not exactly a cash cow!"
"Ahh," the lady smiled. "Well, he didn't give you a hint?"
"No," Alex growled. "He said he didn't want me buying him a gift!"
"Wow! What a typical man!" the woman said with a shake of her head. "Pain in the ass!"
"Exactly!" Alex agreed, thankful she had an ally.
The woman pulled a card out and began to write on the back as Alex watched her.
"Look," she smiled as she handed the card to Alex. "This is a man's boutique shop. It only deals with high end men's gifts and clothing. It sounds like your, perfect man, has a defined pallet in terms of his style. Raul is a good friend, I send people to him when ladies like you come looking for their man but like every other man didn't help them. Raul is a man who might be able to help."
"Thanks!" Alex smiled taking the card and looking at it.
"I hope you find something he will love!" the lady said moving down to help another customer.
An hour later they walked into the boutique the saleslady had written down. Alex and Lena looked around shocked. There were high end, thousand dollar suits everywhere. Shoes in the hundreds of dollars lined the wall. There were electronic gadgets in every nook and cranny.
"Well," Lena shrugged. "This looks like where he buys his suits!"
"Can I help you ladies?" a man asked coming to them.
"We are trying to buy for an impossible man!" Lena laughed.
"Well you come to the right place, we specialize in impossible," he smiled. "What can I interest you in?"
"That's the impossible part," Alex frowned. "He wouldn't tell me."
"Ah," the man nodded knowingly.
"Well, does he shop here?" the man asked.
"I don't really know," Alex admitted. "I never really asked where he did his shopping! He takes me shopping all the time, and a lot of the places he takes me looks a lot like this!"
"Ah," the man nodded again understanding.
"His name is Gavin Steward," Alex told him not thinking he would know who he was.
"Dr. Steward," the man smiled. "Yes, he shops here. Religiously."
"You know him," Alex smiled sensing an opportunity.
"Very well," he nodded.
"Any idea what I can get him for Christmas?" Alex begged.
"Dr. Steward," the man said guiding her to the jewelry counter. "Well he's like me, a watch man!"
"Ok," Alex began her warning. "I can't afford the type of watches he wears! I'm an art teacher!"
"I see," the man smiled. "Well it's a good thing he has all the watches he wants then." The man pulled out a large black box. He began opening the lid then the doors on the inside pulling drawers out.
"This is a Berkeley watch box," he smiled. "It's made of Macassar Ebony, it has plenty of storage. The interior is made of fine crimson faux suede and Italian leather. Sterling silver knobs accent the box that holds up to fifteen watches. On the side it has easy access compartments for cuff links and smaller jewelry."
"Wow," Alex smiled looking at it, her fingers brushing its dark wood gently. "It's beautiful!"
"It is," he smiled. "We also just got it in, as soon as I saw it I thought of Dr. Steward."
"You're kidding me?" Alex asked dubiously. She thought this was some sort of sales pitch.
"No ma'am," he smiled. "Dr. Steward was looking for a new box as he has outgrown his old box. I told him I had a couple coming in. This one in particular interested him from the catalog. Which is why I ordered it."
"Really?" Alex asked him getting excited.
"I could only order one," he explained. "They are on backorder, see these boxes are handmade. Every piece you see is hand done, the sliver...the stitching, the fine engraving. All of it. Only the best materials, only the finest craftsmanship. This is what every man, who owns top of the line time pieces, should own."
Alex looked to Lena with an excited smile.
"It's perfect!" Alex told her.
"Yeah! Especially if it was one he was looking at anyway!" Lena smiled.
"If I bought this you couldn't tell him about it!" Alex warned.
"Miss," the man smiled. "It wasn't supposed to arrive until after the first of the year. I told Dr. Steward to check back with me then. I was flabbergasted when it came in. I was going to call Dr. Steward today as a matter of fact!"
"Ok," Alex grinned. "How much?"
"Thirty seven hundred," he said softly.
"Holy shit," Lena gasped. "For a box to keep watches?"
"Yes," the man nodded with a laugh. "It's crazy, but keep in mind, this box is for men who have five and six figure watches. It's also made from Diospyros Celebica tree, which only comes from Southeast Asia, and is very hard to come by! So four thousand is nothing."
"It is for an art teacher!" Lena said shaking her head looking to Alex. "You're not thinking of buying it!" She saw the smile on Alex's face.
"It's perfect," she smiled. "It is so Gavin!"
"It's four thousand dollars!" Lena warned.
"Yeah," Alex frowned. "I would have to hit the savings, but I can get it."
"The savings for your car?" Lena asked. "And just how pissed is Gavin going to be when you do that?"
"He won't know!" Alex smiled. "By the time I give it to him I will have replenished my account!"
"Baby," Lena shook her head. "He will be furious!"
"But it's so perfect!" Alex pleaded. "I want it." She looked to the man. "Can you hold it for me until tomorrow? I have to go to the bank."
"Of course!" he nodded. "You're right, this is Dr. Steward. The man takes pride in everything he owns, this will be perfect for him!"
"Thank you!" Alex smiled touching the box again. "He will be stunned!"
"I guarantee it!" the man said pulling the box back and taking it into the back.
Alex was sitting happily in bed, the TV on when he came home. She had her kids art sketches in her lap as she graded them. He smiled at her as he came into the bedroom. He went over to his dresser and started taking off his watch. She looked over at him from the corner of her eye. He carefully put his watch in and then laid us cufflinks on a tray next to his watch box. She grinned. It was about to become an old watch box!
She had pulled the money out and bought the box today after school. She was giddy about it as she played with it at her old apartment. Lena would only shake her head and warn her that he was going to be livid when he found out she spent money that she should have been saving for her car.
She had argued that her teaching gig was about up as the art teacher would be back from her maternity leave after the Christmas break so she wouldn't even need the car on a regular basis anyway!
"That's a worrisome smile," Gavin pointed out as he watched her in the mirror.
"Is it?" she smiled broader now. She was picturing his face when he saw the box. "I can't look at the man I love and admire him?"
"Yes, but that smile is different than the one you just had," he pointed out.
"I found your Christmas gift!" she blurted happily.
"I thought we agreed you weren't getting me anything?" he said turning to her.
"No," Alex shook her head. "You said you didn't need anything...I found something I think you need!"
"Hmm," he said with a frown. "Perhaps I should have worded it differently. What I meant to say was...,"
"You can't change what you said now!" She stopped him. "You measure your words very carefully! Therefore I'm going by what you said originally, no changing your mind now. Choose your words better!" She laughed. He nodded appreciatively as he was beaten again by the beautiful woman in his bed.
"I hope it wasn't too expensive?" he attempted to ask.
"It was a lot less than I wished I could spend on you!" Alex smiled going back to her grading.
"Hmm," he said making his way for the bathroom. Her soft coughing stopped him. He came back out.
"That's getting worse," he pointed out coming to the bed and sitting down. She had tried to keep it from him, now the worry would begin again. The overprotectiveness would begin again. When she first got the slight cough he wanted to run her to the hospital to do a variety of tests on her. But he was right, she was getting worse, but she was so busy right now.
"It's fine!" she said with a roll of her eyes.
"I warned you to get your flu shot," he said as he felt her forehead. "Teachers always get the worst bugs, dealing with kids and the billions of germs they come in with, it's a fact of life for a teacher."
"How would you know?" Alex smiled as he continued his examination of her.
"Like your father, my mother was a teacher, elementary school," he said feeling her glands in her neck. "They are a bit swollen."
"I feel fine," she assured him. "It's just a little cough."
"Not with swollen glands, that's an infection," he countered going to his med bag and pulling his stethoscope out.
He came back to her and pulled her forward to listen to her breathing. He put the cold end on her back and she flinched which caused him to smile.
"Do doctors put those things in the freezer or what?" she complained.
"Deep breath," he responded not answering. She complied.
"Again," he said moving the instrument. She inhaled deeply and slowly exhaled.
"Again," she rolled her eyes as he listened.
He pulled back and flipped the stethoscope around his neck, and took her pulse.
"You have fluid in your lungs," he frowned. "You need to take a couple days off and rest."
"Can't," she laughed at the idea she could just stop everything and take a sick day. Like he would? No he wouldn't! "I just need to tough it out, we are almost done."
"Look, I'm not kidding around here," he warned her. "You get worn down and this will get worse!"
"The kids need me!" she said with a shake of her head.
"Your health needs you too," he countered.
"I'll be fine! It's just a little cough!" she said.
"I'm a fucking doctor!" he said exasperatedly shaking his head. "Don't tell me what I know and what I don't know!"
She leaned forward and put her arms around him. Time she used her womanly wiles she thought to herself.
"Really," she smiled with a flick of her eyebrows. "I think you have what I need to make me feel all better!"
"You're right I do," he said firmly pulling her arms from him. "I have an antibiotic and seventy two hours of bedrest for you."
"What?" she asked, disappointed that her plan was so quickly defeated.
"You don't rest, this will turn into pneumonia," he warned. "If it does, I'm going to be pissed beyond belief!"
"I'll be fine!" she said again. She tried to put her arms around him again.
"Absolutely not!" he said firmly. "You want to fuck around and get sick, I don't have to help. You need your rest. So I'm giving you a shot of antibiotics and a sleeping pill. Maybe, just maybe with rest and meds you won't get sick. But without proper bedrest to let your body fight it off, I'm guessing it will get worse."
"So you are cutting me off from sex?" she gasped.
"Yes," he shrugged. "You need your rest, so if you won't take time off from school then you have to at least promise me no running around outside in the cold. When you are home you are here in bed resting."
"You can't cut me off from sex!" she whined petulantly.
"I can do anything I want to...I'm not sick," he said firmly.
"That's bullshit!" The words made him stop at the door and hit her with his hard eyes. The look that warned her she went too far. She lowered her eyes.
"Better," he said when she said nothing more.
The cough was bad all day in school. Several of the teachers encouraged her to go home. A sub could be called. Call a sub for a sub, she gasped? She would wave them off saying Gavin had her on an antibiotic and she was feeling better. Which was a lie, she wasn't feeling better! She was feeling worse, no not just worse, horrendously worse! She had the art show for the kids coming up and she didn't want to put the kids behind for that.
She walked out to her car that evening, just as the soft drizzle of sleet began.
"Just great!" she said in her cough. "That will help my cough!" She shook her head and got into the car just as her phone chimed. Starting up the car took several attempts, forcing her to beg the car to start and it did...finally. The heater she turned up to full blast as she was shivering.
Pulling her phone to her, it was Gavin, sending a text that he was with a patient in the hospital and would be home late. She frowned. Well at least it would afford her the time to finish her grading. He was forcing her to bed every night now early. No work, what was worse was that he was serious about the no sex. He hadn't touched her in days!
Pulling the car out it sputtered and almost died, but then surged and took off. Her heart was beating fast from the idea that the car was about to die.
"C'mon don't fail me now!" she pleaded.
Sitting at a stop light she felt the vents and the heater wasn't warming up, the wisps of steam seeping out of her hood wasn't a welcome sign either.
"No, no, NO!" she begged as her car began to sputter again. She felt the power steering go and she struggled to pull the dying car to the side of the road. She tried to start it several times before the battery wore out.
She pounded her hand on the steering wheel looking around. She pulled her phone up and called the nearest tow truck company.
"I'm sorry Miss," the voice said. "With the slick roads all our trucks are already on calls!"
"Well how long?" she asked him.
"It will be three hours at least!" he said sympathetically.
"Three hours?" she gasped. The car was already freezing! The ice on the windshield was now a steady coat that made looking out of it impossible.
"At least!" he said.
"Is there another company?" she asked.
"I'm sorry Miss, I'm sure they are all the same!"
She hung up the phone and called Lena, but got no answer. She called the cab company but they weren't out because of the weather unless it was an emergency. Great! She said dropping her head on the seat. She wanted to call Gavin but he was at the hospital and she didn't want to disturb him there. The sound of the train made her look.
"Well, at least the trains are running," she frowned. "I'll take the metro train and walk to the condo, it's only four blocks."
She pulled her purse and started walking. The cold sleet hitting her in the face hurt. It felt as if a thousand knives were hitting her in the face causing her to wince with each stab. She pulled her scarf up over her nose but it didn't help much because it was getting soaked. Holding the half frozen material over her nose and mouth made it even harder to breathe. By the time she made the metro station she was soaked to the bone. The chill caused her to shake visibly.
The warmth of the train couldn't penetrate the cold that had settled in her bones. It hurt it was so cold. The only thing she could think of was a hot steaming bath. She figured that would be the only thing that would be able to thaw her out and then it would take hours.
Walking down the steps at the last stop, she had to will her feet to move. She was soaked head to toe, the sleet was relentlessly pounding her face, causing it to sting before going numb and then only the pain of the cold was there. Her hands hurt so bad she thought someone was crushing them in a vice and she could no longer feel her feet!
The last four blocks to the condo seemed like four hundred. When she walked in the doorman gasped.
"Jesus Miss Lasko!" he said coming around the desk. "Are you ok?"
"The car picks today of all days to break down!" she said angrily as she shook her head. She went into a coughing fit because of her angry words. He held her with a steady hand.
"You go on upstairs and get into a hot bath," he said to her guiding her to the elevator. "I'll call Dr. Steward for you."
"God Mike, don't do that!" She begged. "He is with a patient at the hospital. The last thing he needs to worry about is his ditzy girlfriend with a cold!"
She coughed again and bent at the waist.
"That's more than a cold!" he warned her as he felt her waver under his hand. He thought she was going to collapse at any minute.
"I'm fine," she smiled. "Nothing a hot bath won't cure. Plus, I'm home so I'll see him when he gets here."
"If you say so," Mike frowned as she got on the elevator.
She sat in the bathtub for over an hour and it never thawed her. She was still shivering. The Jacuzzi jets swirling hot water around her had no effect on her body. Her hands hurt and the cough made her throw up...twice. Gavin was going to be furious! She crawled into bed and pulled the covers up around her chin. Her shaking body in turn, shook the bed.
The front door opened and closed with a slam.
"Alex?" he called out.
He came into the bedroom in a near run and saw her.
"Jesus!" he said coming to her and feeling her head. "You're on fire!"
"No, I'm cold...so cold!" she whispered. He took her temperature and frowned.
"C'mon, we are going to the hospital," he said looking at it.
"No, I just need to stay here," she begged. "It's so cold out there!"
"I warned you!" he growled getting up and going to his bag and pulling out a syringe. He filled it with a drug.
"I don't need your fucking 'I told you so' speech!" she barked back. Her temper easy to rile because she felt like shit. Gavin glared at her. The look made her cower into the bed.
"You know what," Gavin said calmly. "I've had enough of your bullshit attitude!" He threw back the covers and yanked her over his lap and proceeded to spank her firmly like a petulant child she was acting like. His strikes coming fast and hard and she didn't have a chance to count them.
After he set her ass on fire with his hand he grabbed the nearby syringe and stuck it in her ass cheek gruffly causing her to cry out in pain.
"OWW! Shit that hurt!" she barked as he flipped her back into the bed and threw the covers over her angrily. "So much for your bedside manner!"
He glared at her for the attitude and the remark.
"I still haven't learned my lesson...if you are wondering!" she spit out at him crossing her arms across her chest.
"Childish is not fuckable," Gavin warned her firmly. His eyes set hard in his face.
"What are going to do? Spank me some more?" She dared him as he cocked his head at her. "I'm too sick to fuck, but not too sick to spank? How fucking twisted is that? Is that the best punishment you can come up with?"
Gavin stared at her for a moment. Then let out a soft chuckle. Alex swallowed hard. The chuckle was not a good chuckle. The chuckle was downright scary. Now she shook but for an entirely different reason.
"I'm sorry," she whispered her eyes blurring with tears of regret.
"So you keep saying," he said softly. "But you are not changing." He used her words against her. Pulling back her past from the last party.
"You think that spankings are the only punishment there is?" he asked her.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it!" she said to him. He nodded.
"That is not even remotely good enough," he told her. "Not even close."
"I'm really, really sorry!" she tried again.
"Go to sleep," he said firmly. "Now. Because I can't even look at you." He walked out of the room.
"Holy fuck!" she cried out as she punched the bed. "Fuck, fuck, FUUUUUCKKK! Gavin I'm sorry!" she yelled.
Whatever he gave her started to kick in and she got drowsy. The bedside lamp blurring in both her tears and the drug. Before she knew it she was out. Her last thought before succumbing to the drug was, how in the hell do I fix this?
|
2nd month…
“...And I was wondering if you could..”, MJ nervously biting her bottom lip, “..You know..”, she trails off and looks up at May, whose eyes were trained on her, “..Go with me ?”, she asked shyly. May smiles brightly and nods her head.
“Yes, Michelle ! Of course I will”, May said excitedly, since MJ wanted her to come over with her in her first doctor’s appointment. Michelle lets a deep breath out and smiles relieved.
“Thank you, May. It means a lot”, she told, not really wanting to go all by herself.
“It’s nothing, cutie”, May pats her shoulder and they both returned to look at the TV, MJ invited the older woman to come by and ask her about the appointment. But the sitcom they were watching was suddenly interrupted by the news.
“ Breaking news..! ”, the anchorman said with a neutral face as pictures of cuffed men were being escorted to police cars, “ ..A group of thieves was stopped attempting to rob a bank, but thanks to our friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, the gang were arrested... ”, the guy kept saying but May comments,
“Spider-Man seems like a good guy”
MJ looks at her and tilts her head, not quite agreeing with her, “I think he’s a menace”, the young woman casually told, returning her attention to the news, that was now showing a camera security footage of Spider-Man throwing webs at the thieves. May gasps and turns to look at her as she had two heads.
“What !?”, May squealed undignified, MJ looks over at her with a confused face, causing May to subtly recover, “I mean..Why do you say that ? He looks out for the little guy”, May defending her nephew. Which brings us to MJ still not knowing about Peter’s spandex gig, she just knows Peter works for Stark Industries all the way in Syracuse. (Where he originally lives now, but comes down on the weekends to visit May, since the Avengers Facility is upstate.) She’s been friends with Peter since they were fifteen, hiding his secret for almost seven years. But he wasn’t planning on telling her about Spider-Man any time soon, or ever. He wanted her away from Spidey, he wanted her safe - he already messed up with involving May and Ned.
“It’s just, I don’t trust masked dudes - I don’t know who he, or she, is under the mask. That’s all”, Michelle shrugs her shoulders and throws May a quick smile. May was about to argue, when her phone went off. She sighs and reaches for her phone that was on MJ’s coffee table.
“Hello ?”, May answers her phone, “Oh hey, Peter - what’s going on ?”, she smiles to herself as she hears Peter on the other side. MJ keeps her gaze to the TV but her attention was on May’s phone call, “I’m here at home - MJ’s here, she’s going to her doctor’s appointment”, May turns her head towards MJ and smiles at her, Michelle turns too and smiles back, she then remembers she needed to ask Peter if he wanted to tag along. So MJ gestures May to let her talk to Peter, “Oh. She wants to talk with you”, May told Peter and lends the phone to MJ, who grabs the phone and smiles.
“Peter ?”
“Hey, MJ” , the young Avenger answered.
MJ looks over to May, “I asked May and Ned to come with me to my appointment, they said yes - and now I’m asking you if you want to come over too”, Michelle asked, smiling all this time to May. The older woman with a huge excited smile too.
“Sure !..” , Peter piped too enthusiastically but he quickly coughed right after, embarrassed that he answered right away, “I-i mean..yeah, sure” , he tried to sound casual as ever, making MJ roll her eyes and snort.
“Cool. See you in 30 ?”, she said.
“Okay” , Parker replied with a smile. MJ frowns at the wind from his line.
“Where are you ? - I can barely hear you with all that wind going on”, she asked curiously, she could barely hear him.
“Uh, really ? - It’s not windy” , Peter nervously told.
Michelle rolls her eyes again, ignoring the sound, “Just be here in time, Peter. I don’t wanna miss my first appointment, okay ?”, said the curly haired before giving the phone back to May.
Peter quickly swings through the buildings, throwing webs, he was streets away from MJ’s apartment, backpack already on his back. He quickly jumps down to an alley and throws his backpack to the ground, unzipping it frantically to get his clothes. Peter touches the spider emblem on his chest and made it loosened, he steps out of it and rushes to take off both suit and mask. He steps into his pants and puts his shirt and jacket on, throwing his suit and mask inside his backpack.
Parker glances at his phone, sees the time and texts from his aunt and friends, “ Shit !”, he hissed and bends down to get his back before sprinting down the alley towards MJ’s.
He ran two blocks and sees MJ, May, and Ned already stepping outside of the building.
“I’m here !”, Peter yelled as he slowed his running, the rest turned to see him, “I’m here”, he pants and offers them a smile. May and Ned nod their head with a smile too but MJ frowns because of his late ass . (It’s not like it’s the first time anyways.)
“Where were you ?”, she asked with a raised eyebrow. Peter widened his eyes and begins to squirm under her gaze.
“I was doing some...umm..”, he stutters and glances at his aunt and best friend for help, “..I was uh…”, he points a finger behind where he came from.
“He was doing some shopping that I sent him to do”, May interfered for her nephew, who smiles nervously at a skeptical Michelle, “Thank you, Peter”, May steps in to pat Peter’s shoulder. Peter looks at MJ and gave her a tight lipped smile, which MJ responded with a roll of her eyes.
“Alright, let’s go before it gets late”, Michelle said and walks towards her car as the rest glanced to each other, letting out a sigh of relief.
Minutes later, after light traffic, they arrived at the small clinic MJ made her appointment. She liked it there because it was cozy and didn’t make her feel anxious like most of the hospitals she’s been to.
Michelle was filling up her information while they were sitting on the waiting area. Peter and Ned were arguing about Star Wars (like they always do) as May was calmly reading a magazine. She finished and went to turn in the clipboard with her information, the receptionist lady smiled brightly at her and told her they’ll be right with her. So MJ nodded her head and thanked her, going back to her seat, she glances at Peter, who was staring at her but quickly avert his eyes away as soon she caught him staring.
MJ smirks as she notices a blush forming on his neck.
Later on...
“Michelle Jones ?”, a nurse calls with a clipboard on hands, making the said woman stand up and the rest also. (MJ asked them earlier if they wanted to go in with her, which they all accepted immediately.) MJ’s heart picks up its pace as she walks towards the nurse, her friends following right behind her.
“They’re all gonna enter ?”, the nurse asked the curly haired.
“Yes”, Michelle responded with a small smile. The nurse smiles back and nods her head, jerking her chin behind her.
“Okay, follow me”, she told and walks through a two door hallway.
They entered into the hallway, MJ nervously biting her lip because this shit is scary . Just the whole idea of being pregnant, it’s nerve wracking. What if she sucks at being a mom ? She doesn’t what to end up like her parents, both of them committed suicide because of her . They couldn’t afford to have a kid and they choose the ‘easy’ way out. What if she ends up killing herself because she can’t sustain her own kid ? With who she’s going to leave her kid ?
All these thoughts made her sick, just to think about them. Of course she has a job. A part time job on a local newspaper, for just writing small articles, which she was fine with her salary until now that she’s expecting another human. (Her dream/goal was to graduate from college, then apply for a better position in Daily Bugle .)
May glances at MJ and sees the young one deep into her thoughts, instantly knowing there were not good thoughts. So May reaches for MJ’s shoulder blade, just resting there to let her know she’s not alone, MJ turns her head to the side and looks at a smiling May giving her comfort. Michelle gratitudes her with a tight lipped smile.
“The doctor is inside already”, the nurse said as she stops by a door. They all stopped too.
“Thank you”, MJ said to the nurse, she nods and smiles goodbye at them. MJ watches the nurse leave while she takes a deep shaky breath, then she looks at her friends. Peter was looking at her like she was his whole universe as May was looking at her with compassion, Ned with a neutral (hiding his excitement) look.
“We’re with you, MJ”, Ned softly told her, a kind smile appearing on his lips. MJ smiles back at him, she sighs and returns her attention forward, knocks on the door timidly.
“Come on in !”, a male voice told, so MJ opens the door and walks in, seeing a mid-fifties man sitting on a stool. Michelle walks in further as her friends walk in too. The doctor stands up and goes towards MJ, “Hi. My name is Doctor Phillips, and it’s a pleasure to meet you”, he told MJ as he extended his hand to greet her.
“You too”, MJ replied and shakes his hand. The doctor smiles at her and then shakes the rests’ hands.
“Please, sit down”, doctor Phillips instructed MJ to sit on the medical exam bed. Michelle sighs and quietly makes her way to sit on it, Peter instantly walks to be on her right side while May and Ned stand on her left.
The doctor asked her a few questions like, if she had any pain, bleeding, cramps, anything out of normal. Which MJ responded no to all of them, doctor Phillips smiled and nodded his head at her, he also gave her some tips and pieces of advice on her pregnancy, how to be active during it, since it’ll be easier for her by the time she’ll give birth.
“Ok. Shall we ?”, the doctor asked and gestures her to lay down. MJ lays down, intertwine her fingers as she puts her hands on top of her hardened stomach, nervously plays with her thumbs. The doctor signaled her to lift her shirt up right under her breasts, he grabs a bottle of gel to rub on MJ’s belly.
Michelle sheepishly lifts her shirt and feels a blush on her cheeks, Peter gulps and stares right at the doctor’s bald spot. MJ gasps when the doctor applied the gel.
“It’s cold”, MJ chuckles as the doctor smiles at her and nods his head, rubbing the gel in specific areas where he’s going to run the ultrasound probe through. He sits down on his stool and brings a cart with him and places it in front of him - the screen where it’s going to show the baby ( fetus , actually.)
“Alright”, doctor Phillips whispered to himself and places the probe onto MJ’s stomach, “You’re gonna be able to hear the heartbeat”, he told them as he presses further down to the girl’s belly, returning his gaze to the monitor. MJ and the rest were attentively watching the screen too, “There you go”, the doctor smiles brightly as a heartbeat was heard and the black screen turned into a white and black blurry picture.
MJ bit her lip at the sound of the heartbeat as May gasps softly, feeling emotional. Ned and Peter were amazed how a human being was currently growing in MJ’s stomach.
“The heartbeat is very strong - which is great ”, the doctor told without looking away from the screen, he then moves the probe to the left side of her stomach, nodding his head to himself and runs the probe again to her other side, scanning every single part, he nods again, “Everything looks good, normal size, perfect position..”, doctor Phillips looks away from the screen with a smile and looks over Peter, “..Baby daddy..”, the doctor calls him. Peter, who widened his eyes comically, freezes in spot, “..You excited for your baby ?”, the man smiles brightly at the younger man.
May covers her mouth to contain her giggle while Ned was nervously glancing over MJ, who frowns at the doctor to correct him.
“ Oh , I-i’m..”, Peter chuckles nervously and scratches the back of his head, “..I’m-I’m not the father”, he finished, bringing his hand down to put both hands inside of his pockets, he glances away to not let the doctor see his forming blush.
“Oh ! I’m so sorry”, the doctor apologized and looks over MJ, who had a stoic face.
“It’s okay”, she told the doctor. The doctor really didn’t mean any harm by assuming Peter was the father, he thought the young man was the baby daddy since he was close to the curly haired girl and was so nervous, looking at the said girl with heart eyes.
“Well, this is awkward”, Ned murmured to break the awkwardness filling the room. Peter blushes even more while MJ nervously was biting her lip and May was having the time of her life. The doctor snorts and shakes his head, resuming the ultrasound.
“Miss Jones ?”, he asked and places the probe again to her lower belly. The doctor looks at MJ, who nods her head at him, “You want to know your baby’s gender ?”, he asked sweetly.
MJ gulps and then looks at her friends, who smiled at her. She sighs and looks back at the doctor, “Sure”, Michelle turns her gaze over the monitor and all of them as well. Doctor Phillips smiles and runs the probe a few times on her lower stomach to determine the gender, he then smiles widely and looks at MJ.
“Well, you’re going to have...a baby boy ”, he smirks and sets the probe away, since he saw no problems in the ultrasound.
MJ stares at the doctor while hearing May’s squeal and Ned’s soft cheers, Peter... well , she heard nothing from him.
“A boy ?”, MJ asked in disbelief, making the doctor chuckle and nod his head.
“Yep. A healthy and strong baby boy”, he told her with a smile.
Michelle felt her throat closed as her bottom lip trembled, joy and proudness filling her heart. She’s having a boy . MJ sniffs and lets a single and long tear down her right cheek, she then turns her head to see her friends.
“Thank you, guys..”, her voice broke in emotion, “..For coming with me”, she told and eyes Peter, who still hasn’t say nothing, just eyebrows downcasted with a blank stare at her.
After they thanked the doctor and left the clinic with MJ’s prenatal pills, pregnancy recommendations, ultrasound pictures, and her next appointment, they decided to go and eat lunch at a local diner. (Since MJ was hungry again ). They walked a few streets down and MJ felt a huge change of behavior in Peter since the ultrasound. He was walking with Ned behind her and May, hearing him forcibly laugh about whatever joke or pun Ned was telling him. She was concerned and confused with his sudden mood, so she glances behind her to see him with his hands on his pockets and looking down, he literally looked like a kicked puppy.
May was about to tell her something, when she saw MJ already glancing at Peter. She smirks as MJ slowed her steps to swiftly walk on the right side of Peter’s.
Ned glances at his friend and quickly gets the message from MJ, who gestures him to let her talk with him. Her cute awesome friend grins knowingly and walks faster to reach May, who was already way ahead of them. Peter, since he was so lost in his thoughts, didn’t notice anything. (His Spidey Senses didn’t alert him, since there wasn’t any danger around.)
But he did notice a delicate soft hand sliding down on his forearm, he quickly snaps his head to his right and sees MJ smiling softly at him, “Hey”, she whispered, frowns and gently takes his hand away from his pocket for her to hold his hand. ( Friends hold hands, right ? Like, guys with girls .)
“You okay ?”, she asked concerned as they keep walking, Michelle squeezes his hand, prompting him to answer her. Since he was just staring at her like an idiot.
“Yeah..”, he said under his breath. MJ bites her lip and nods her head, Peter’s eyes travel to those plump lips but quickly returns his eyes to hers (not that they do any change of reaction on him), “..Y-yeah. Why you’re asking ?”, he lightheartedly asked. MJ tilts her head, making her wave-curly light brown hair come over her shoulder, Peter resisting the urge to run his fingers through that mane.
“Well...You’re quiet for instance..”, Michelle teases, trying to make him smile, which it made the corner of his mouth curl. MJ chuckles in victory and keeps going, a bit more serious now, “..You’re never quiet. And you seem tense”, she hits his hip with their joined hands, “What’s going on in that nerdy head of yours ?”, she teases again.
Parker playfully rolls his eyes and smiles, “Nothing”, he looks at her and shakes his head, “Just.. it’s a experiment we have going on the lab - that’s all”, he shrugs his shoulder. The young Avenger smiled reassuringly, since she didn’t look convinced. He wanted to run his thumb over her lip to fade that frown on her mouth, but instead he sighs and smoothly interlaces their fingers, making the hand holding more... intimate ?
MJ’s heart rate turns higher at Peter’s move, she looks at him, sees he has his damn boyish dreamy smile on his face.
She was about to let go of his hand, when she realizes... she was the one who started the hand holding. What’s the difference between just holding hands and intertwining the fingers ? It’s the same, right ?. MJ was always overreacting with Peter’s gestures, he was just being friendly.
Well, she doesn’t hold hands with Ned like this , now that she’s thinking about it.
‘Get your shit together, Jones’ , she told herself.
Also... Don’t get your hopes up.
She lost an opportunity with him as soon she got herself pregnant with another dude’s kid.
Michelle mentally shakes her head, shaking her thoughts away, smiles gently at Peter, “Do I need to go kick someone’s billionaire ass for being a terrible boss ?”, she smirks devilishly, enjoying the feel of Peter holding her hand in public .
“No, MJ”, Parker rolls his eyes with a widening smile. MJ chuckles and nods her head.
“Okay”, Michelle turns her head forward, smile ever present on her face, she tightens her grip on his hand and feeling his own grip on hers too.
May and Ned quickly snapped their head back forward when they saw MJ turning her head towards them. Both thankful that MJ didn’t see them spying on her and Peter, May and Ned glanced and smiled at each other knowingly .
Once they reached the diner, Ned opens the door for his friends. May enters first and then MJ, still holding Peter’s hand on hers, with Peter trailing behind her. Ned throws his best friend a wink, making Peter blush. They walked to an empty booth and MJ let go of Peter’s hand as she sits down with May on one side. Peter instantly missed her warmth, but shakes it off before sitting down next to Ned. Leaving him right in front of MJ.
They were quickly greeted by their waitress and she got their drinks, telling them she would be back with them.
While waiting for their drinks, MJ pulled out her ultrasound pictures and showed them to her friends, Ned and May were smiling while seeing the picture. But she kept an eye at Peter, when he got the picture, because he blinked a couple of times and then sighed deeply - but he eventually smiled to himself and then looks up at MJ. She smiles back and lets a chuckle out, making him chuckle too.
May and Ned look at the pair and then smile to themselves, returning to look at the picture they were holding.
The waitress came back with their drinks and they gave back MJ her pictures. The four of them placed their order and began talking about Ned’s new job on a lab, when they were interrupted by a high pitched voice
“ MJ !?”
They all turned to see who called her, an Asian girl walking and waving at Michelle, who smiles and stands up to greet her.
“ Rita !”, MJ faked an excited laugh as she meets her halfway and hugs the girl. Now, Rita is a nice and easy going girl, but sometimes she’s a bit too much for MJ.
Michelle hums a fake chuckle and breaks the embrace, Rita smiling ear-to-ear, “How’ve you been ?”, MJ asked nicely .
“Great ! - my dad just bought me an apartment and of course you’re more than welcome to sleep in anytime you want”, Rita playfully punches MJ’s shoulder, making the curly haired tighten even more her smile. She doesn’t like being playfully punched by anyone. (Unless it’s one of the three people sitting on the booth behind her.)
“Why thanks, Rita”, MJ sweetly said to her classmate . Rita nods excitedly and then looks behind MJ to see three people looking at them, so she frowns and pointed at them.
“And who are they ?”, Rita asked with a frown.
MJ looks over her shoulder and fakes forgetting to introduce her friends to her, “Oh ! Umm..”, Michelle walks back to her table, stopping in front of it, “..They are my best friends, Peter and Ned - and Peter’s aunt, May Parker”, she told Rita. Peter, Ned, and May waved kindly at the girl.
“Hey”, Rita waves back at them but she quickly turns her attention back to Michelle, completely ignoring them, making the trio in the table to feel uncomfortable, “ Sooo ...ready for school ?”, she asked MJ, who frowns and shakes her head.
“Not really…”, she murmured.
“ What !?”, Rita puts a hand on her hip and looks at Michelle with a boring look, but MJ shakes her head again, “Ugh ! Whatever , MJ”, she rolls her eyes at Michelle. Rita sighs and then quickly smiles teasingly at her, “Hey, there’s this cute guy who asked me for your number the other day - something that you guys met in the goodbye party ?”
That earned everyone’s attention, MJ’s even more. That ‘Goodbye Party’. (that’s how NYU students called their last party before summer.)
She straightened up, “Really ?”
“Yeah, he said he wanted to talk about on why you left ?”, Rita smirks as MJ suddenly pales, feeling the air being punched out of her lungs.
This guy might be the guy from that night.
Peter gulps as he looks over MJ, he’s the only one who knows the whole story of that damn night. He knew why MJ’s sudden shock, Ned and May frown at the girl’s words.
“You okay ?”, Rita asked with a frown, seeing the curly haired paleness. Michelle nods her head but immediately regrets it, since it caused her head begin to spin.
“Yeah, yeah..”, she breathes out. Peter and the rest knew she wasn’t okay by the color of her skin and heavy breathing.
“MJ ?”, Parker called her softly, making Michelle to look at him. She cursed those damn big eyes, that made her knees go weak. But hey, at least she can blame the dizziness for her knees buckling up.
“I’m fine - I need some air”, MJ said and quickly made her way out, rushing to the door while Peter instantly stands up of his seat to follow her. Michelle’s chest was constricting and felt a huge pain in her heart, she put a hand on the wall for support as she hears timid footsteps behind her.
“You good ?”, with only hearing his voice, it made her calm down instantly . MJ bites her lip and shakes her head, head hung low, looking at the ground.
“That guy might be my baby daddy, Peter”, she chokes out, turning herself to look at him. Which she wasn’t sure if it was a good idea or not, because he visibly winced at those words.
“He might ?”, he asked with hurt in her eyes. MJ sighs and nods her head.
“Yeah”, she whispered, suddenly feeling scared and small, “What should I do ?”, Michelle asked him, desperately looking for answers.
Peter looks at her for a moment and gives her a sad smile. He needs to put his feelings for her away and do the right thing.
He can’t intervene on what’s meant to be .
What if she got pregnant because destiny wanted her to be with him ? Even if it’ll crush his heart and kill him seeing MJ with another man, but he can’t force nothing.
Peter had to let MJ go…
“I guess you have to tell him ?”, he finally told, feeling a huge weight in his heart. MJ looks at him, pursed her lips tightly and shakes her head.
“But what if he wants something else ? Something just than co-parenting the baby ?”, she asked exasperatedly. Parker sighs and shrugs half-heartedly, begins on giving up hope with MJ. She’s having a baby with another man, and might even work things up with him.
“You should try ?”, Peter offered breathlessly, his mouth tasted sour after saying that. Michelle looks at him in surprise, “For the baby ?”, Parker gulps and gives her a sad smile. MJ bites her lip.
“You think ?”, she raised her eyebrows, heart breaking slowly, “But I don’t even know him, Peter”, Michelle huffs. She lowers her head, rubbing her the back of her neck, thinking on what she should do while Peter leans on the wall with his shoulder, looking at her, pleading her with his eyes not to listen what he just said.
“I won’t”, MJ suddenly blurts, lifting her head to look at her friend.
Peter straightened up and felt his heart beginning to come alive, “You won’t ?”, he breathes as the right corner of his mouth lifts. Michelle knits her brows and shakes her head.
“We’re sharing the baby. That’s it - nothing else”, she firmly told, crosses her arms.
He sighs relieved and nods, acting like her choice didn’t affect him at all. What she didn’t know, was that she just made Peter’s heart fire up again the tiny little light of hope he had.
Peter is not letting MJ go…
“Okay..”, MJ quickly hugged Rita, waved goodbye at her and walked towards her booth, “ Thank you so much, Rita. Bye bye”, she told on her way. Rita happily waved back and leaves. MJ sighs and sits down, her food already set on her spot.
“Well ?”, Ned asked. Michelle glances at them.
“She said she doesn’t have his number, but she’ll get it ASAP”, she told and then groans, “Do you think I’m doing the right thing ?”, MJ looks for assurance in them, which they nod their heads at her.
“You are, darling”, May sweetly said and reaches to rub MJ’s back, “You’re letting the possible father of your child he’s having a kid - you’re doing your part”, she smiles warmly at the curly haired. Michelle lets out a breath and looks back at May.
But then MJ whines, shaking her head, “But what if he doesn’t want to be responsible ?”, she told.
“Child support. Simple”, Ned cuts in, making them turn to see him. He shrugged his shoulders carelessly.
Peter’s nose flares at the thought of the guy not manning up and face his responsibilities, he didn’t like at all.
“First of all, you need to know he’s the actual father, MJ”, Peter glared at his friend, who looks at him in surprise while Ned and May widened their eyes at his hard voice.
“ Peter …”, May warned her nephew, who was still glaring at MJ but abruptly snaps his head down to his food.
Michelle keeps looking at Peter and then turns to see the older woman, “He’s right, May”, MJ told her and then sees back at Peter, who’s still stubbornly looking down, “I’m jumping in conclusions here and -
“You need to make sure first, Michelle ”, Parker snaps and abruptly stands up. The three of them was shockingly looking up at him standing up, “I’m going to the restroom”, Peter left without any other word, striding his way towards the restroom on the back of the diner.
MJ stares at the, now empty, spot he was. Very confused by Peter’s reaction, she slowly looks at May and Ned, “Is he okay ?”, Michelle asked. Ned sighs, knowing Peter was upset by MJ’s situation.
“Yeah. His job has him like that”, Ned, as the good friend he is, covered for his pal. MJ frowns but still nods at the excuse while May sighs and rolls her eyes.
Peter apologized at her, right after he exit the restroom, for his behavior. He looks at her sheepishly while MJ simply smiles at him and nods her head, accepting his apology. (How can she be mad at those begging eyes ? And he’s one of her best friend anyway, and it’s not because she can’t live knowing he’s upset with her. No)
Anyhow, days passed and MJ’s pregnancy was going well ?
(How’s she suppose to know if she haven’t been pregnant before ?.)
Doctor Phillips told her the baby was doing wonderful.. so. But her mood swings and cravings ? Not so much.
She was crying all the sudden, mad the second after - one day she was eating lettuce with damn yogurt . Michelle was annoyed that she got emotional over a stupid soap opera . Yes, you heard right. MJ is watching soap operas late at night and she has no shame. Why ? With the simple fact that she’s pregnant and her hormones are all over Queens.
Anyway, one night, she was texting Rita while she was slumped on her couch and dressed on her shorts with a worn out big shirt. Rita still hasn’t been able to get the guy’s number, since from what Rita heard, he was on vacations with his family.
MJ was curious about this guy, she wanted to know and make sure this guy was the father of her son. She just couldn’t shove her baby at him, assuming he was the father just because he was asking for her. (But for what Rita said, ‘..the guy was wondering why you left’, MJ was curious.)
MJ was putting two and two together.
She does remember being at the party that night, but after a lot of alcohol, she was too drunk to remember the face of the guy she left with. (Had sex with to be more specific.) She also, obviously, remembers leaving the hotel that morning, but, he could’ve meant something else - Michelle had her head wrapped on those words, because ‘why you left’ could mean a lot of things, right ?.
Ugh… she’s having a headache.
Michelle sighs deeply and returns to see the soap opera on tv, not really putting attention to it, when a knock on the door snaps her out of her trance. MJ groans while standing up and lazily walks towards the door, opening it.
She sees Peter, who had a nervous smile on his face, all dressed up, wearing a denim shirt over a white shirt, with black jeans and a pair of classic Chuck Taylors.
He looked... nice .
“Pete..”, MJ was surprised he was here. It was Monday, and normally, he’s already in Syracuse. (Where he lives and bought an apartment there since his job in Stark Industries was there. *cough* Avengers Facility *cough*).
“What up, dude ?”, Michelle opens the door wider and steps aside, gesturing him to walk in, which he does.
“H-have you heard anything from the guy ?”, Peter avoids the real reason he came for (to build courage). Not that he was dying to know if she had contacted her possible baby daddy.
“No”, MJ closes the door and walks over to the remote control to turn off her tv. She turns it off and the room fell into a dead silence, making Peter more nervous than he already was, MJ tilts her head and waits for him to speak.
“Well, I was wondering..”, Parker nervously scratches the back of his neck while he looks down at his feet. (Same ol’ Peter Parker), “..I-if you would like to go out and eat dinner ?”, he asked and puts his hands down to now shove them into his pockets, he nervously looks up again at her.
MJ widens her eyes and feels a blush filling her cheeks, she bites her lip and nods her head, “Sure - let me just get dress very quick”, Michelle smiles at him before going to her room.
Peter smiles brightly to himself and walks to slump over her couch and heavily sighs, closing his eyes tightly while May’s words rang in his head, ‘Win her before the father of her child does, kiddo - she doesn’t like the guy, he’s just the father of her baby. That’s it’ .
The young man groans softly, he needs to win her over.
After a few minutes, MJ reappeared dressed. Gray loose long sleeve shirt with black leggings and white Nikes. Her hair was on a high messy bun and for Peter she has never looked more beautiful. (Plus her being pregnant made her glow .)
“Ready ?”, MJ asked as she reaches for her jacket on the couch.
“Yeah”, Peter answered under his breath, actually he was breathless.
They walked out of her apartment after she locked it up and climbed down to the lobby, greeted by a neighbor of hers. She quickly replied to her neighbor and they both stepped out into the cool night and heading towards where Peter was planning to take her.
“Where are we going , Parker ?”, MJ asked as they walked down the street.
“It’s a surprise”, he smiles widely at her, making MJ to feel butterflies in her stomach.
Michelle subtly shakes the feeling away by rolling her eyes at him in fake annoyance, making him laugh. (The sound not allowing the butterflies go away.)
They walk further down and take a few turns. Peter suddenly stops, he gently grabs her arm to stop her too.
MJ frowns at him, “Here it is”, he told with a smile, Michelle frowns even more and looks in front of her, it was an old and small library (which she recognizes from the years she has lived in Queens, but never actually stepped inside.)
“Peter, what the hell ?”, she looked at him like he was crazy, because the library was closed obviously, since it’s night.
“I helped the librarian to fix a computer - since May asked me to, and knows the lady also. She returned the favor by letting me in anytime ”, he explained and lifts a spare key on his hand. Michelle chuckles and shakes her head at him in disbelief. He smiles brightly and grabs her hand, tugging her over him to walk towards the back door of the library, which was actually at the side of the building, in an alley.
“And before you ask - because I know you are..”, he teases and gives her a pointed gaze, which she rolls her eyes at. Peter laughs and keeps guiding her to the door, “..I brought some food and snacks”, he told proudly.
MJ smirks as he stops by the door, letting her hand go to unlock the door, “Gummy worms ?”, she asked with a smile. Peter chuckles and nods, looking briefly at her.
“Yep”
“Then hurry the fuck up, Parker”, she said in fake frustration, making him roll his eyes and open the door, letting her go in before he leads the way to a corner of the library... |
fifty
Taehyung sits at the island bar in the kitchen, watching his father lean against the counter opposite, attempting to rub the creases out of his forehead. He’d been home about twenty minutes, visiting with his dad, when his father’s phone had rang and the tension in the room rose a trillion. After hanging up, his father has been quiet nearly a full three minutes, not even sparing a glance away from the screen.
Missing how nice it had been to just
talk
for those twenty minutes, Taehyung finds his courage and asks softly, “Dad? You okay?”
His father lets out a heavy sigh, but he drops his hand and meets his son’s gaze. “That was your mother… She’s filing for a divorce.”
Taehyung’s lips part, his chest constricting. Does he apologize? Does he cry? Does he feel sad? Angry? Betrayed?
Why does he feel a sense of relief?
Taehyung lowers his head in shame for such thoughts. He
has
missed his mother. Before everything with Jungkook happened, his mother had loved him and he had loved her--he
still
loves her, but it seems as if he was erased from her memory. Maybe it’s for the better, but it does hurt to think about. He’d always tried to be the golden child she wanted, but at the drop of a hat she’s able to toss him aside.
“Dad…”
“It’s okay, son. I’m not upset, just… just disappointed, I guess.”
Taehyung chews the inside of his cheek before he stands, walking around to embrace his father. The older man is more upset than he lets out, wetness soaking into Taehyung’s t-shirt the second his father rests his head there. Taehyung feels so incredibly guilty, but he has no words--what is he
supposed
to say? Instead, he comforts his father the way his father has always held him, rubbing gentle circles into his back.
“I don’t know when she got so hateful,” the older whispers. “The woman she’s become is not the one I fell in love with.”
“I’m sorry, Dad,” Taehyung murmurs, feeling the need to say
something
. He’s still torn as to whether
he
should be crying or not.
“It isn’t your fault, Tae.”
“It feels like it…”
His father pulls away and cups his cheek, forcing a weak smile. “Don’t worry yourself over it. Your mother’s decisions are hers alone. No one is at fault for them.”
The two fall in a relative silence until Bogum walks through the front door, hanging up with whoever he’d been on the phone with. His brother has gotten more outgoing after being hme for a few months now. He reconnected with one boy from high school that had actually genuinely liked Bogum, much to Bogum’s disbelief. Taehyung’s brother always thought he’d just been a status ploy for his “friends,” which most of the time, he had been.
His eyebrows raise as the hugfest he interrupted, slowly sliding his phone into his back pocket. “Um… So what did I miss?”
Taehyung is mildly surprised by Bogum’s reaction. He doesn’t have a snarky comment, or burst into tears. Instead, he murmurs a quiet, “Oh,” and casts his gaze to the floor. Taehyung can’t tell if he’s upset or merely shocked, if not a combination of both.
Their father takes a step towards him, but Bogum looks up with a meek smile. “I’m fine, Dad. I won’t lose any sleep over it, okay? She put herself in this position.”
“Bogum--”
“Really. It’s fine,” Bogum says with a small laugh, but he turns and trots up the stairs before either of them can say anything further.
Taehyung presses his lips together, glancing at the time on his phone.
“I’m going to get him to ride with me.”
“That might be best,” his father says with a nod. “Bogum always wanted your mother’s attention. He’s more hurt than he’s letting on, no matter how tough he’s trying to seem.” He squeezes Taehyung’s shoulder. “Drive safe.”
“I will,” Taehyung promises, before heading upstairs. He knocks twice on Bogum’s door before letting himself in, the elder sitting on his bed gently tossing a football trophy back and forth.
Bogum speaks before Taehyung can. “When I got this,” he says, “it was the
only
time Mom ever said she was proud of me. You were always the apple of her eye, you know. The center of conversation. ‘Did you hear about Taehyung’s A?’ ‘Look at the art piece Taehyung made at school!’ ‘Taehyung got offered a scholarship for basketball!’” He speaks in a mocking voice, high pitched as if imitating his mother.
Taehyung feels a pressure of guilt, his lungs feeling compressed when he breathes out, “Bogum…”
The elder waves his hand dismissively, looking up at him. “I know it wasn’t your fault, Tae. I’m not blaming you at all. I just… I just always wanted to be
more
for her, but even when I went off to conscription, the most I got was a ‘good luck, honey.’ No ‘I love you’ or ‘come home safe.’ And I hate the way she treated you. Honest, I do. I’m not upset she won’t be around anymore, I’m just, I don’t know… A little pissed off, maybe.”
Taehyung has never heard his brother open up like this before. He’s too scared to speak while the oldest continues.
“She never realized how hard I tried. How hard
you
even tried. It was always about her, wasn’t it? Even now, the divorce is for her, not for dad or us. She’s detaching herself for her reputation, not leaving so we’ll have a better environment to live in. I know she’s a selfish bitch, but dammit, she was our mom, Tae. Did we ask for too much to be good enough for her?”
Taehyung swallows the lump in his throat when his brother’s eyes begin to water, his grip on the trophy tightening. “No, Bogum.
She
asked for too much.”
***
Bogum agreed to ride with Taehyung to pick Jungkook up from school. He doesn’t think Jungkook will mind if Bogum third-wheels them for their little pizza date afterwards. The two have actually started to get along very well, especially with both of their interests in sports. It feels like things are finally looking up, the divorce included. To Taehyung, it’s a positive, albeit it’s devastating it had to come to that. All he can do now is keep going forward.
Taehyung is pulling into the parking lot when Bogum begins teasing, “How romantic of you. Picking your little boyfriend up from school.”
Taehyung rolls his eyes. “Yes, we’re the inventors of romance.”
Bogum snorts. “Listen, I still don’t think I want y’all to smooch in my face, all right?”
“You’re not lucky enough to see that.”
Bogum looks at him with wide eyes while Taehyung laughs. “Why, I
never
--” Bogum starts dramatically, but he cuts himself off when his eyes go ahead of them. “What’s going on?”
Taehyung leans forward too, the crowd at the entrance of the school seeming to get larger the longer the two stare. He swings into a parking spot, a knot already curling in his stomach as the thoughts begin to race. He’s crossing his fingers, praying for the best, but part of him has a gut feeling this day is about to get even worse.
He and Bogum climb out quickly, jogging over as kids obnoxiously encourage the fight with shouts and jests. Taehyung pushes his way through, holding his breath, hoping to
God
--
His prayers fall flat; Jungkook is one of the culprits.
Taehyung has never seen the other kid involved, but it may just be from all the blood Jungkook has caused making him unrecognizable. Frozen for a moment, he watches Jungkook straddle the kid, one hand fisted in his collar while the other raises and falls, raises and falls. He’s never seen Jungkook like this. He’s never even
imagined
it.
He catches Jimin across from the fight, looking as if he wants to intervene but already gave up on doing so. Like he already tried and knows it’s no use. His eyes catch Taehyung’s, pleading with the boy to stop it.
“Jungkook!” Taehyung shouts, finally snapping back to his senses. He grabs the back of his shirt, but Jungkook is too strong and too pissed to be phased no matter how hard he yanks. Taehyung isn’t strong like that. He can’t just reach in and break it apart.
But Bogum can--and he does.
Bogum nudges Taehyung aside, wrapping his thick arms around Jungkook’s chest, pulling him off of the kid despite Jungkook pushing back against Bogum, struggling to dive back in. It hurts Taehyung to watch, tears running down Jungkook’s face as the fight in him slowly diminishes, leaving him sagging in Bogum’s arms as Taehyung’s brother whispers to him to calm down and breathe.
The students start dispersing when they catch Bogum’s harsh glare on them, two kids bending down to help the bleeding one up. He’s still conscious, but he’s clutching his stomach, crying loudly as he complains about how much it hurts. Taehyung looks around for a teacher, but it’s after school hours, and he’s certain the only ones here are in their classrooms, unaware of the event. The other students had been too invested in the scene to care about getting help.
Taehyung’s eyes meet Jimin’s again, and that’s when he notices Jimin is crying too.
“What the hell happened?” Taehyung lets out, eyes wide as he scrambles around to the front of Jungkook, trying to catch his eyes. “Jungkook.”
“It’s not his fault,” Jimin speaks up, sniffling as he wipes his eyes with his sleeve. “It’s mine.”
This brings life back to Jungkook, who’s head darts up as he growls, “No, it isn’t, Jimin.”
Taehyung cups his cheeks to hold his attention. “What happened, Kook?” he asks softly, hating the anger that creases his boyfriend’s forehead.
Bogum, hesitantly, lets him go. Jungkook slouches further, attempting to hang his head were it not for Taehyung holding it up.
“I hate this school,” is all Jungkook replies.
Jimin steps up. “Yoongi and I made up this afternoon,” he says. “When Yoongi left, I was going to wait for you to get Jungkook before I went home. This kid neither of us know came up to us and pushed me. Started spouting about how disgusting I was, blah blah. Then…” Jimin rubs his cheek, frowning. “He slapped me, and Jungkook sort of lost it.”
“I didn't…” Jungkook pauses, inhales a breath and lowers his voice. “I didn't mean to.” He looks to Taehyung, eyes welling with guilt as if he thinks Taehyung will be mad. “I’m sorry, Tae. I know I promised I would try, a-and I really have been.”
Taehyung manages a smile. “I know, Kook… Let’s all get out of here, yeah? Before a teacher comes and interrogates us.”
Taehyung offers to give Jimin a ride home, so they all pile into Taehyung’s dad’s car, heading that way. The ride is mostly silent--Taehyung isn’t really sure what to say. Of course it’s not okay that Jungkook keeps lashing out. But if it keeps being an act of self-defense, how can he be mad about it? Was he supposed to stand by and let Jimin take the beating? He’s not quite sure what to do about it all.
Bogum breaks the tension with a quiet chuckle. “Well, I hope I never get on your bad side again.”
This eases the mood a bit, small chat forming after. It’s hard to act normal after such an incident, but somehow they manage, especially with Jimin in the car.
“Yoongi moved in with Namjoon,” he tells them. “I’m glad he’s out of that shit out. But it’s low-key romantic because he said he can finally be with me.” The boy seems smug with this, flipping his nonexistent hair.
“I feel sorry for him,” Jungkook murmurs, his head on the window with his eyes closed. “He’ll realize that mistake soon.”
Jimin leans forward and slaps the boy on the shoulder, making Jungkook grin. It’s a nice sight to see.
“I’ll have you know, I’m incredible company. You just always took me for granted.”
“More like tried to free myself.”
“Shame, you never got to find out how good of a kisser I am. You were always stuck up Tae’s ass.”
Taehyung chokes on his own spit before laughing, however, Jungkook is a red hot mess, turning around to swipe at the elder.
Jimin is giggling, swatting at his hands. “Oh, relax! You were never good enough for me.”
Jungkook mocks his expressions before turning around in his seat again.
Bogum sits beside Jimin in the backseat, blinking. “What the hell did I just witness?”
“Two gays arguing over not being gay enough for the other, while one was too busy being
too
gay for someone who didn't know he existed.”
“That’s a lot of gay.”
“Careful, it might rub off.”
Taehyung catches Jimin grinning at Bogum’s semi-worried expression. “You’re gonna damage his masculinity, Jimin,” he tells him.
Jimin shrugs. “Everyone has gay in them, Taehyung. Some are just in denial of it.”
Bogum scrunches his nose, but wisely, remains silent. He’s
trying
to be more accepting, and that’s all Taehyung can ask of him.
After dropping Jimin off, the ride is relatively quiet again. Taehyung decides to steal his nerve and drop the news.
“So… my mom filed for a divorce,” he says softly
Jungkook looks up, surprised. “Really?”
“Yup. Didn't come by the house are anything, though. She called.”
Disapproving, Jungkook frowns. “I’m sorry, guys.”
Taehyung shrugs. “I’m not as hurt as I thought I’d be. I think we’re all just disappointed that she chose her pride over us.”
“Well,” Jungkook says, “it’s her loss anyways.”
Taehyung smiles at him. “Yeah, it is.”
When Taehyung pulls into Jungkook’s driveway, the younger pouts. “It’ll be weird without you.”
“I’ll be with you in spirit.”
Jungkook’s put deepens, causing Taehyung to grin and lean forward, kissing those cute lips.
Bogum groans, but one look from Taehyung, and he casts his gaze out the window.
Jungkook kisses him back, albeit, a bit shyly. “Spend lots of time with them, okay?”
“I will.”
When the younger leaves, Bogum sighs almost in frustration. “Damn, why did I actually find that
cute
?”
|
Merlin
They were in the home they’d built together. Dirt floors, a few windows, and not much else- but it was theirs, so it was perfect. Somewhere they could remain away from everything and everyone, save those they still trusted.
Lea sat at the wash basin, legs carefully tucked beneath her as she scrubbed away at tunics and dresses. She hummed a broken tune of Ava’s favorite song. On the side of her face turned towards him, Merlin saw her smile.
He could hear their children’s laughter in the background. When the sound of them became far away, he prepared for the end of this other life. He did not try to reach out for her, or step closer; he knew neither would help. He just held on to the tender moment for as long as he could, until the darkness creeping in overtook him.
When he opened his eyes, it was to darkness of another kind, speckled with light. The murmurs of knights turning in their sleep reached him. No sounds were close; the bedroll beside him was empty, barely wrinkled by its missing occupant. Merlin let himself lay where he was, letting the last wisps of sleep fade away. Such pleasant dreams were rare and unpredictable; even if he tried to return to it, it may not resurface for several nights.
Besides, he wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep so soon after realizing Arthur had wandered off somewhere. No matter how much time had passed in the mines, his thoughts had still turned to worrying for those left back home in Camelot- especially the king who’d been plagued by constant threats during his reign. Merlin didn’t know what he would have done if he had escaped from slavery, only to find Arthur years dead from a danger Merlin wasn’t there to protect him from. When such worries became overwhelming, Lea would display a rare moment of optimism for his sake. She’d muse upon happier hypotheticals- such as the prospect of her meeting the king of Camelot.
“Do you think he would have liked me?” she’d asked one day, shortly after Merlin had lulled their children to sleep with a story of his and Arthur’s past ventures.
“No,” Merlin had said, smirking at her. “You’re too stubborn.”
Lea had let out a soft gasp. “I am not!” she’d whispered in mock affront. “Take that back!”
He wrapped himself in the memory as he rose, huddling into his jacket against the chill. They had set up camp shortly after sunset, knowing they’d need to wake early to intercept Thean and the captives. While some knights clung to the few hours of sleep they had time for, rest evaded others. The youngest talked nervously amongst themselves, too tense to sleep, yet too tired to do anything else.
Merlin weaved between the groups. He was pleased that not all fell silent upon his passing by- perhaps the novelty of his existence was finally wearing off. There were times when he missed being a shadow.
He found Arthur on a slope at the edge of their camp. Two guards stood a respectful distance away, but otherwise, the king was alone. He was sat with his legs crossed and hugged against his chest, staring out ahead into the north- north, towards Camelot. Merlin let out a small huff of fondness at the realization. No matter where they were, no matter how far they strayed, Arthur always knew the way home.
Merlin settled down to sit beside him, and Arthur showed no surprise at his arrival. They still knew each other’s footsteps. The more that time passed from their reunion, the more Merlin was comforted by how little had changed between them. All their shared instincts remained, including knowing when the other was troubled.
“I keep thinking about that day,” Arthur said. “How I could have ended it all.”
Merlin nodded, hanging his head with a sigh; it was what he had expected was keeping his friend up. When he’d told Arthur that he had unknowingly met with the Balancer, he’d watched all the certainty and self-assuredness drain from his friend’s face, then be slowly pieced back as a thin mask. Arthur hadn’t remarked extensively on the revelation then, asking only the necessary questions to fathom out the details. He’d departed quickly to discuss strategy with other knights, and had hardly spoken to Merlin the rest of the night.
So Merlin spoke as he would have earlier, had Arthur given him the chance. “You couldn’t have known. You had no reason to think he was anything but a farmer.”
“I could have suspected,” Arthur said grimly. “I didn’t question them at all, and sent some of my best knights with them, Percival included.”
Merlin knew that, were he in Arthur’s position, he would be thinking similarly. He still felt he had to convince his friend to do otherwise. He’d seen Arthur go down this path before, when persuaded by Agravaine to dole out harsh justice. The decisions Arthur had made during that time had only led to more pain, and both he and Merlin had had enough of that as of late.
“You’ve always assumed the best in people,” Merlin said. “That’s a strength, Arthur.”
“If you can call it that,” Arthur huffed, shaking his head. “I’ve grown soft; haven’t had your suspicion with me all these years.”
“That suspicion didn’t lead me to many good places, either. If you’re looking for someone to follow in that regard, you’ll have to keep looking.”
To Merlin’s surprise, Arthur smiled at him then. “Look at us,” he said. “Two bent sides of the same coin.”
Merlin chuckled, tugging on the graying tips of his hairs. “Bent and rusty.”
They laughed, and fell silent again.
“It went beyond just assuming the best in him,” Arthur said after a time. “He looked me in the eye, Merlin, and I saw no malice there. He even reminded me a little of-”
His words broke off suddenly, and he cast Merlin a fleeting look of regret.
“Of what?” Merlin pressed.
“Of you.”
Merlin looked away, trying not to dwell on that for long. A hint of similarity between him and the man who had caused his family so much grief was more than he could consider then.
“Thean thinks the same of him,” Merlin murmured. “Even knowing what he’s done, he still sees his humanity.”
From the corner of his eye, Merlin saw Arthur nodding slowly. “How did he seem? Thean.”
Arthur spoke hesitantly, as he often did concerning Thean. His guilt at not preventing the boy’s present situation was palpable, though Merlin himself had begun to accept that there had been forces at play beyond even a king’s control.
“Afraid,” Merlin answered honestly. “More for the other children than for himself.”
“He’s a lot like you,” Arthur said fondly.
“That’s why I’m afraid. He’ll put the others first. If he doesn’t look out for himself-”
“Then I will,” Arthur said, cutting him off before his fears could spiral. “We will. He’ll be easy to spot, with those big ears of yours.”
“I know, I know we will, but…” It was Merlin’s turn to hesitate. For so much of the time he’d known Arthur, he had felt as though he had to be the one providing confidence when it was waning. He wasn’t used to being able to voice his own fears so openly- for if he doubted in himself and Arthur, in what they could accomplish when they worked together- then who would be left to keep the faith?
And yet, what was it Arthur had said soon after they’d reunited? You don’t have to be alone with your secrets anymore.
Two sides of the same coin. Neither had to be more than the other.
“Arthur. We don’t really know what we’re facing, do we?”
Arthur met his gaze, eyes softening. “No,” he admitted. “But we’ll figure it out. We always have.”
Merlin nodded, accepting the answer, though not finding as much comfort in it as he had hoped. The mystery of the Balancer and the Departed Lands did not bother him. His worry lay in how many more people would get hurt in the race to unveil their weaknesses; how many more children would not return home, and how many homes would remain unbuilt, left only to stand in dreams.
*****
“Show me the spell again.”
“I’ve already shown it to you a hundred times.”
“I know. Do it anyway.”
Konneth let out an exaggerated sigh, nodding deeply. “Yes, sir,” he muttered, linking the chains back together. His willingness to comply spoke of the nervousness he tried to hide.
They were just outside of the area the other children slept in. Konneth and Thean had each allowed themselves only a few hours of sleep, taking turns watching over the camp and the prisoners. When neither of them could keep their eyes closed any longer, they’d passed on the job to Talon to allow themselves a few moments to convene. Talon was one of the most obedient of the children, so they could be certain enough that he’d interrupt them only under dire circumstances. The short length of chains, Konneth had secured from one of the trailing ends of the prisoners when the brutes had been distracted by a loudly complaining Percival- Percival, who had promptly started listing his misgivings regarding the journey as soon as he’d spotted Konneth and Thean inching closer to the group of prisoners.
Konneth laid the chains gently on a bed of moss, then strode over till he stood next to Thean ten paces away. He took a deep breath, preparing to perform the spell, and-
“Don’t hold your hand out,” Thean said quickly. “And don’t say the words.”
“But it’s faster that way!”
“And more risky. We can’t afford someone suspecting you’re a part of this.”
Konneth mumbled a few choice words under his breath, then looked pointedly at a tree to the side of them. Several seconds passed before Thean heard the shifting, crackling sound of chains unlinking from one another. When the sound died down, he walked over to inspect them. “Good enough,” he said, passing a hand over the mostly broken chains. Some were still linked together, though not enough that it would prevent the slaves from running or helping one another.
“Good enough,” Konneth repeated, walking over to inspect his handiwork. “You sound as grumpy as Zezumo.”
“Sorry,” Thean murmured. “I’ll be happier once we all get through today alive.” He began to cover the chains in dirt, just enough so they wouldn’t be noticed should a child stroll over to relieve themselves.
“You’re really worried, aren’t you?” Konneth asked, kneeling down to help him.
“Aren’t you?”
The other boy shrugged. “Suppose I am,” he said. “But it’s sort of nice, having something worth worrying over.”
Thean nodded, though he struggled to understand. Not having something to worry over? It was hard for him to imagine. The closest he’d come to that was during his days in the woodcutting camp after being separated from his family. His terrified thoughts regarding their fates had been interspersed with long stretches of apathy, during which he had detached himself from the world around him. Those days, he had wondered if that was how his mother had always felt. Her sudden silences had seemed more sensible.
“Coming back to the fun?”
Konneth had stood up without Thean noticing, hand stretched out to help him up. Thean sighed, hesitating one final moment before taking the offer. Those bits of respite from his charade as Raven made it all the harder to put the mask back on.
Talon had diligently kept his post between two trees, though another had joined him. The light of the dawning hour showed the green in her dress. She stiffened at the sight of Konneth and Thean approaching, exchanging a few harsh whispered words with Talon.
Thean grimaced as he locked eyes with her, still unable to put a name to her face. He’d brought these children on a dangerous mission, and he couldn’t even remember their names.
“Marigold,” Konneth murmured beside him. Thean threw him a grateful look before turning his attention on the two younger children.
“Well done, Tal, thank you,” Thean said to the boy. “Marigold, did you not rest?”
“Raven.” The girl bowed her head deeply, a practiced movement. “I did rest, but- I was wondering if…” She cleared her throat, looking askance at Talon. “I was hoping to be the one to wake up the others. If that’s alright with you, of course! Sadovy usually only lets the older children do it, but I’ve been watching Gemma, and…”
“Oh. Is that all? Yes, of course. Just don’t be as loud as Gemma- no need to wake up the birds early, too,” Thean said, smiling encouragingly.
“Thank you!” Marigold squeaked, bowing her head swiftly before darting off. One by one, she shook the shoulders of each child, kneeling down to whisper to the more stubborn risers. Despite being a mage student and not a servant, Talon went to join her.
“That’s what servants look forward to?” Thean said, bemused.
“Mm. They’re a strange lot.”
“Don’t tell Gemma that. She’ll put worms in your next lunch.”
“She would, and that would be an overreaction!” Konneth said, throwing his hands up dramatically. “Like I said. A strange lot.”
Thean gave a chuckle, surprised he could still find a bit of joy on such a day. Perhaps he was getting used to the madness of his life. He wasn’t sure if he should feel proud of that, or disconcerted.
The children woke up groggily, muttering their discontent as Marigold and Talon made their way through the ranks. Those who were awake enough to feel hunger stumbled over to where another serving girl was passing out rations of dried fish and day old bread.
“Do you think I should give a speech?” Thean murmured to his friend, the thought coming to him as he watched the hunched shoulders and despondent looks of the group.
“A speech?” Konneth repeated, frowning. “What for?”
“I don’t know. Our king always gave one to his knights, whenever morale was low.”
“We have no kings,” Konneth said solemnly. “And a single speech isn’t going to raise our morale, no matter what fancy words you use.”
Thean had to agree with that argument; he certainly couldn’t have created a speech of that talent, though he wasn’t convinced King Arthur wouldn’t have been able to, had he been there. Not for the first time, he wished he could converse with Arthur as he did with his father. Where Merlin advised secrecy and caution, Arthur spoke of courage, of which Thean felt himself lacking when he looked inward.
Thean and Konneth parted separate ways, the latter going to sit amongst the mage students. They had to be careful not to spend too much time together. After securing his share of rations, Thean sat on a patch of grass where he could see the rest of the camp. He chose the spot so he could keep an eye on everyone, and so anyone with questions regarding the journey could approach him. None did.
The prisoners had been woken up by the brutes, the more inspired of the children using their feet and fists to do the job. Each prisoner was handed half a loaf of bread. Some stood as they ate, Percival included; they wanted to show they still had strength left. Others remained sitting, appearing as though they had not slept.
As the children finished their meals, they began to cast glances in Thean’s direction. Konneth had claimed a speech was futile, but Thean had seen they did occur amongst the Departed Lands; Inoth had made one himself on one of the first nights Thean had infiltrated the castle. What was that phrase of his?
With the husk of bread still in his hands, Thean stood, looking out at the gathered children. They quieted quickly, elbowing one another to silence. How many had been entrusted to his care? Fifteen? Twenty? Insanity.
“In Hazard, Bind Chaos,” Thean said.
“In Hazard, Bind Chaos,” they repeated back, just as they had done for Inoth. They dipped their heads deeply, then looked up at him expectantly.
“Let’s, er, get this over with,” Thean said, face reddening at his stumbling words. He hadn’t thought they’d wish for him to say anything more.
To his surprise, he was awarded with a few laughs of appreciation and a smattering of smiles as they broke off into separate groups. For just one moment, they’d been able to see him as another child, and not someone to be tiptoed around.
Camp had been set up quickly the night before, and it was disassembled that dawn just as quickly. They carried the bare minimum of supplies, and were taking the journey entirely on foot. Thean had thought it strange, as many of Camelot’s original horses were kept crammed in the castle stables. He’d asked Konneth about it shortly after their journey began; the other boy had explained that most children did not know how to ride horses, as only the wealthiest parts of the Departed Lands had them.
Though the revelation wasn’t a monumental one, it reminded Thean of how little he knew of these children. He had lived only at the extremes of life; in slavery at first, and then with the highest amounts of wealth under the Pendragon family. These children had been somewhere in the large in between, not totally without care, but lacking many of the opportunities he’d been afforded in the last year of his life. The freedom Thean had had in Camelot to learn and pursue interests as he wished had been robbed from these children. By the age of ten, they were confined to a lifetime of pursuing only one aspect of themselves, and denied the right to see those they cared for on a regular basis.
Thean looked about himself, at the shifting captives and children who took in the outside world with suspicious eyes. Perhaps not all those imprisoned were in chains.
A headache began to settle into the back of his right eye, in the same spot that had plagued him for those few days when he and Gemma had been at odds. Stress was returning to him. He tried to find solace in the nature surrounding him, as his father often had. A branch still glistening with morning dew, the water gleaming in the sunlight. A bird and its newly hatched chicks chirping as their group passed by. Most striking of all was a waterfall twice as tall as Thean, pouring over rocks-
A waterfall. Gemma had said there would be one when the end of their journey was near.
Thean bowed his head, rubbing a hand absentmindedly against one side of his pants. He waited until he could see Konneth at the edge of his vision before reaching out with the communication spell; he’d redrawn the runes that morning when they’d begun practicing the breaking of the chains.
Pa. We’re close.
We’re ready, Merlin said without delay. His voice sounded clear, as if he was the one walking behind Thean.
Good, came Thean’s short reply, unable to think of anything else to say amidst his nerves.
His father seemed brimming with things to say, his nervous energy being transmitted across the short distance with his words. If this goes awry, as these things tend to do- drop everything, and find Arthur and me.
What? Thean said, the footsteps behind him sounding louder. The mission-
Forget the mission. You’ve done enough, Thean.
Caught in a dizzying inner conflict at his father’s words, Thean let the communication spell drop for a moment, turning his head to meet Konneth’s gaze; the other boy offered him a small smile before quickly averting his gaze. Behind him strode all the children who’d been forced to join him. The older children walked with fake confidence, the younger ones with thinly hidden fear; some purposefully alone, others finding comfort in conversation. Prior to his arrival amongst them, they’d all just been nameless, faceless individuals, nothing more than a threat to the life he’d cherished in Camelot. Now Thean found himself overwhelmed by their individuality, a myriad of lives lived that he knew so little about.
He had no intention of leaving them yet. But if he had learned anything from his time with the Departed Lands children- and from his father’s stories, too- it was that sometimes, a lie was necessary to bring about change.
Okay, Pa. I will.
He could hear his father’s sigh of relief, and for a moment, Thean wished he could rid himself of his commitment. No matter how dedicated he remained to liberating Camelot, a desperate part of him wanted to go running back to his family. With them, he could be a child again.
Though he dropped the communication spell, a sense of his father’s presence still lingered, as they both could continue to speak with each other as needed due to the runes kept on Thean’s arm. Knowing that he was getting ever closer to his father was simultaneously a source of comfort for Thean and a reminder of his dread of the chaos ahead. Their plan was, in truth, not much of a plan at all. Konneth’s spell would unchain the prisoners, and Percival would lead them to where the Camelot and Nemethian knights were waiting. Everything else that transpired would be up to fate, and up to Thean’s ability to command the children to let the prisoners go. Demand retreat too early, and he risked exposing himself as being complicit in their escape; let the children attempt to capture them, and both sides could get hurt in the process.
They did not walk long before the messenger child scouting ahead- Liri- came running back to them, breathless and distressed. She ran straight for Thean, speaking loud enough for the others to hear. “Barbarians up ahead!” she gasped. “In the clearing we’re supposed to cross!”
“Are you sure?” Thean asked as murmurs broke out. “How many?”
“I- I don’t know. At least twice the number we have.”
“Did they carry weapons?” one of the brutes demanded.
“Some had swords… maybe archers?” Liri shook her head in distress. “I didn’t want to stay too long.”
The murmurs grew frantic and fragmented. Thean put his back to the messenger, turning to face the children. The brutes and handlers had edged closer to the prisoners; the mages had separated into smaller groups of similar ages, friends seeking comfort from one another. How quickly their coalition dissolved when fear manifested.
“We’ll approach slowly, get a look at these barbarians,” Thean said, eyes shifting from one group of children to the next. “If the path is truly blocked, we’ll plan an alternate one. They may simply be on a patrol.”
He waited with a controlled expression of confidence, beneath which he dreaded the possibility of another child questioning his decision. As they remained silent, Thean grimly accepted that there was some benefit to having a position that inspired fear.
They shuffled onward, their collective group becoming less spread out as they walked. Though there was a mutual dislike between the different sections of children, they were far more afraid of the outside world than of each other. Thean wondered how many of them had traveled at all outside of their original journey from the Departed Lands to Camelot. He himself felt as though he’d hardly seen any of the world, but he did not cower like some of these children.
When they reached the bottom of one unremarkable looking hill, Liri paused, pale despite the warmth of the day. “Up there,” she said softly, pointing to where the tree line broke.
Thean nodded, taking a few steps forward, and then turning around when he did not hear footsteps behind him. There was only the shuffling of self-conscious feet, and the glares of the brutes and handler apprentices trying to look tough as they trembled.
He wanted to let them remain there, where it was safest. But if the children remained at the bottom of the hill, then so too would the prisoners. Despite being better at lying as of late, Thean couldn’t fathom a lie good enough to justify separating the prisoners from the rest of the group.
“Come on then,” he said with all the confidence he could muster, nodding towards the tree line. “We should all know what we’re dealing with.”
Konneth was the first to come forward, the mage children following his step. The rest of the children did the same soon after; they had learned from a young age to follow all commands without regard for their fear. The clanking of chains told Thean that the prisoners were being brought along as well.
When he reached the last few paces to the tree line, Thean strode forward, barely able to suppress his anticipation at the sight he knew would greet him there. He was the first to reach the end, and rested his hand against an oak tree as he looked out. Beyond the forest lay a plain sloping gently down, at the center of which a camp of blue and red had been set up. They were at enough distance so that Thean could make out only figures, not faces. No banners waved amongst the Camelot knights, yet the colors reminded him of the first day he’d encountered the legends of his childhood stories. He felt himself a different person than he’d been then, yet the red capes still inspired the same sense of awe and anxiety he’d experienced on that day many moons ago.
“Balance,” swore a brute, having been one of the quicker ones to reach the tree line. “Liri was right. There’s more of them than us.”
“But not nearly enough to make an army,” Thean said, keeping his voice loud enough to reach the rest of the children who gathered behind him with trepidation. They stood on their tiptoes to get a good look at the knights, but stayed far enough to not risk being seen.
Thean’s heart started thrumming faster as he put his back to where his father and Arthur were waiting. Any moment.
He smiled reassuringly at the children gathered, hoping none noticed the way his legs shook. “Looks like it’s a patrol, as I thought,” he told them. “We’ll need to take a longer path to stay clear of them. Liri, Sten, see if you can scout out-”
When Thean looked back on that day, he’d think that maybe things might have ended differently had he kept talking then, and covered the sound of chains slithering to the ground. The moment he heard the noise, the tension in his chest released- only to tighten again when he realized that half the prisoners were still in chains. There was a pause of mutual shock between all parties gathered. The stillness fractured when a man at the head of the line broke free and ran out onto the plain.
An older brute was the first to react, letting out a cry of outrage and unsheathing his hooked sword. As he ran after that single prisoner, the rest of the prisoners became unchained in a second wave. Some started forth in desperation. Others lingered, ushered forward only by Percival and the more aware of the prisoners.
But they had lost the advantage of surprise; the brutes and handler children had overcome their initial shock, and the fastest of the children- the messengers- had run to intercept the splintering groups of prisoners. Dimly, as if from a great distance, Thean heard Konneth speaking. “Stay back!” he said. “We may need reinforcements!”
Reinforcements? Why would they need that? They’d already lost.
A hand met his shoulder, dragging him forward. “Come on,” Konneth said, shaking him a little. “They’re your people! So help them.”
And then they were on the battlefield- no longer a plain, for things were no longer that simple. The Camelot and Nemethian knights were growing closer; some were notching their arrows, aiming but hesitating as prisoners and invaders fought for freedom and its opposite. In the writhing pairs, only one individual seemed to evade becoming entangled. Percival weaved among them, continually crossing the field to go back for more people.
For a moment, he felt himself thrown back to the hills of the Medora mountains, only this time, the dead were still dying.
Somehow, Thean found his voice again. “Fall back!” he cried, but his plea fell on deaf ears. Each child was lost in the cacophony.
Not far from him, a girl jumped on the back of a woman, sending them both tumbling to the ground. Before more fists could be swung, Thean pulled the girl back by the collar of her dress, earning himself a punch in the face. The girl’s fist uncurled when she recognized him.
“Did you not hear me?” Thean rasped. “Fall back! ” He wiped the blood from his nose in frustration, knowing the pain would come later.
He did not wait for the girl’s confused response, rushing towards another pair of foe and foe. This pair, he did not reach quickly enough, stopped in his tracks by the sound of a sickening crunch. A woman managed to wrest a hooked sword from a brute boy, and returned it to his face. She looked down at his fallen body before raising her eyes to Thean’s. She did not like what she found there, and so she ran from him, hooked sword still in hand.
The struggles had begun to ebb; Konneth had taken to spreading the call to fall back. Either the children were listening, or realizing they had no other choice if they wished to survive.
Thean scanned the battlefield. Percival led an elderly man towards the unofficial border of where Camelot and Nemeth had set up camp. Knights stood at the ready, awaiting their arrival with swords brandished.
One lone and stubborn Departed Lands child limped after them. He shouldn’t have stood a chance of catching up, had the elderly man not been so feeble.
A fire rose to separate them, spreading out across the battlefield in a wavering line. Thean had sent it forth. He had not known himself capable of creating flames of that size. There was no one he could brag to, though; aside from Konneth and the child who’d been pursuing Percival and the old man, no one living was left on their side of the field. The dead would not hear him.
He turned to go back to the tree line, for he did not know where else he could go. But when he walked, the shadows cast by the flames grew higher, calling on him to look back.
*****
There were times when Arthur felt that to be a king was to be granted a bird’s eye view of suffering, yet only have the chance to intercede on occasion. He felt that sentiment keenly as he watched the people of his kingdom flee across the field, some falling before they could reach the other side.
They had not planned well for the chance of a struggle, for they dreaded having to ponder it. As it became clear that the Departed Lands children would not let their prisoners go without a fight, their group was faced with an impossible choice- let the innocent perish, or kill children who fought from a place of fear and indoctrination. Not even the commanders amongst them, Arthur included, were able to make that call. A few knights helped those of the prisoners who came closest, and some archers let loose their arrows, but most remained as Arthur did- watching. Waiting.
Waiting, as Arthur had for over ten years, to catch sight of those bright blue eyes. Not until a fire rippled across the field did he spot Thean. His hair was longer this time, and his magic stronger. He was going to run again, but just then, Merlin stepped up beside Arthur, adding his own strength to the fire. No Departed Lands child would suspect it was of Thean’s creation after that.
Thean looked out towards them. He was close enough that Arthur could see the shock of battle nestled deep into his features.
There he was, the boy Arthur had sworn to protect the day they’d met- across the flames, in a field strewn with the newly departed.
How did I get it all wrong?
He should make it right again. He had to at least try, he owed them that much. He stepped forward as the fire began to dim- only to be held back by a hand on his shoulder.
Merlin was there. “Don’t,” he murmured.
Arthur shook his head. There was a sad, yet determined look in Merlin’s eye he could not comprehend. “Why? Don’t you want him back?”
“Desperately. But he’s made his choice.” Merlin nodded back to the field. There, Thean had once more turned his back to the flames.
“No,” Arthur said, watching as the refugees- his people- had their wounds tended to. “None of you chose this.”
Merlin remained quiet, gaze trained ahead, and Arthur stayed with him. They waited until they glimpsed the last of Merlin’s son disappearing behind the tree line. Onwards he ran towards an uncertain future, carrying with him the hope, prayers, and fates of two peoples.
|
Maid To Serve: Toggle
Technically, Anne was too old for the swing set. In practice, she was the only one here, so she could what she liked!Which, right now, meant idly pushing herself back and forth with one foot, and listening to the chains of the swing creaking back and forth. It was a really nice day out today. The sun was starting to set, and was turning the clouds a brilliant rose color.And Anne was feeling pretty good, too. And that was always worth feeling happy over. She wasn’t feeling too high, she wasn’t feeling too low. She was right in the sweet spot, and Anne really hoped that she could stay here for a long while. It had already been a week, and Anne wasn’t sure how much longer her luck would hold.Anne lowered her gaze a bit, and looked out beyond the small playground she was sitting in. The busy street on the far side of the fence was a lot less fun to look at, but she supposed she might as well go and hit it. Her phone said that she had to be suited up in half an hour, and most of that time would be spent walking.Hopping off of the swing, Anne started towards the entrance of the playground. She had a good feeling about tonight’s patrol. And she knew why she was looking forward to it.Missy. Vista and Toggle, patrolling together and fighting off whatever evildoers were to be found in the Towers. And since that was a high-rent district with a lot of police presence, that meant that Anne just might have the chance to do something that was a lot less focused on Toggle and a lot more focused on her.Like seeing if Vista wanted to grab a bite to eat from a food truck and hang out on a rooftop while they watched the world go by. That sounded nice. That sounded really, really nice. Anne felt a blush appear on her cheeks as she thought about it. The two of them could talk about anything and everything and she’d get to see Missy smile and she would look so cute…Anne sighed. That would be nice. That would be really, really nice. Or getting to do pretty much anything else with Missy.Anne thought about Missy a lot. How the other girl was so brave and heroic and sweet. And how she had shown Anne so much when she had just been starting out as a superhero. And how even when Anne was sullen and depressed and didn’t want to talk to anybody Missy still spent time with her. Or, on the other hand, when Anne felt like there was an electrical current inside of her and she had to keep on moving and talking or else she would explode, Missy didn’t try to push her off to someone else.And, of course, Missy was cute. That kind of thing wasn’t really as important to Anne as it seemed to be to a lot of people. In the books and the movies, a cute girl made people want to do all kinds of things to her, like have sex with her. Anne just didn’t see her and Missy doing that. Holding hands and hugging and maybe having Missy sit in her lap, yes, Anne thought that she would die from happiness if she got to do that with the white, blonde girl. But getting naked and rubbing bits against each other? Nah, that sort of thing just seemed completely boring. And even kind of disgusting.And Anne was sure that Missy wouldn’t want to do that kind of thing, either. After all, they were still just kids! Not that Anne was ever going to tell Missy that. She knew how her friend could get when people talked down to her just because of how young she was.Anne jerked a bit as her phone buzzed. She blushed a bit harder in embarrassment, then pulled it out of her skirt pocket. Mom was calling.“<Hello, Mother,>” Anne said, dropping into Chinese.“<Hello, Anne,>” Mom said. Anne thought she could hear the sound of the TV on, faint and barely audible. “<I just wanted to make sure that you knew what the time was, and that you were on your way to your job.>”“<I’m already on my way over there,>” Anne said, peering down the street. Right at the very end, she could see Brockton Bay proper. And then a right and a bit more walking. “<But thank you for reminding me,>” Anne said, more or less telling the truth.“<Not at all, honey,>” Mom said. “<And either Father or I will stay up for when you come home.>”“<See you then,>” Anne said.Sliding the phone back into her pocket, she sighed. It was good that Mom had called her. There had been a few times when Anne had needed that call to get to the Wards on time. She just wished that she didn’t need the push. That she didn’t get so high or so low that she forgot all about whatever it was she should have been doing.Heh, there was one way that she would really like to lose track of time in. Being with Missy. Last week, the two of them had spent the entire afternoon at Anne’s apartment, watching movies and talking and laughing. It had come as a real shock when Anne had looked outside and realized the street lights were on. It had been a pity to say goodbye to Missy, as she went off to whatever it was that she had to go and do. Homework or something, probably.Well, with any luck, tonight would fly by as well! Or, of course, they might actually fight some crime, even in the Towers. They had done a great job when the neo-Nazi’s had rolled into town, and Anne was sure that she and Missy could be just as effective against the Undersiders and their network of thugs and crooks.Smiling and walking a bit faster, Anne kept going down the street. She had her best friend to meet, and maybe, just maybe, tonight Anne would get up the nerve to ask Missy if she wanted to be a bit more than that.A few minutes later, Anne arrived at the Protectorate building. And she kept right on walking, ducking into a building on the other side of the street. And then, a few minutes later, she was actually inside the Protectorate building, her feet clattering on the metal staircase that led up from the tunnel.A few minutes after that, Anne was changed and dressed, her mace swinging against her hip. She smiled at Clockblocker as he looked up at her from the console. He gave a small smile back. Anne had heard that Clockblocker’s name used to fit his personality, but she had never really seen that.“Hi, Clock,” Toggle said, leaning against the console, and looking down at the displays and controls. Nothing leaped out at her, so she supposed she was still on for the Towers, instead of going to put out some fire somewhere. “Everything quiet?”“As the grave,” Clockblocker said, gesturing at the console. “Waiting for Vista?”“Yep,” Toggle said, idly drumming her fingers against the top of the console. “She’s not here yet?”Clockblocker shook his head“Hi, Clock. Hi, Toggle,” Missy said, the door to the Wards common room creaking open. “Be back in a sec!”Toggle watched the small, blonde girl enter the female changing room. She smiled. Just a few more minutes, and she could start talking with Missy. Toggle supposed she could have followed her into the changing room. And she knew that some people would love to see a cute girl like Missy half-dressed. But Anne just didn’t see the appeal. Everyone looked better wearing clothing than they did naked, and Missy especially looked really cute as Vista. It was probably the way she tried to look so tough and intimidating with her visor and breastplate. While still being really short and slightly built.“You’re staring,” Dennis said.Anne flushed and whipped her gaze away from the changing room door to the center of the room. The TV was dark and dead, so there wasn’t anything for Anne to focus on instead. She tried not to hear Clockblocker’s chuckle. But he didn’t actually say anything.Not until Vista reappeared, slightly wiggling her helmet to put it into the best position. And even then, it was just the standard pre-patrol briefing about where they were going, what they were expected to do, all that boring stuff that everyone on the Wards could fill in while half-asleep. And apparently had, if some of Missy’s stories were true.And after that, Vista and Toggle headed up to the roof of the building. Anne blinked as they stepped out onto the flat roof. While she had been inside, it had gotten dark outside. Most of the light was coming from the city now, with only a hint of the sun just above the western horizon.“Let’s see…” Vista muttered to herself. “We need right… there.”Anne stayed quiet. Even though Missy was so skilled and awesome, there was no reason to talk to her and distract her while she was forming a bridge between this roof and some building a few miles away.After a few minutes, it was ready, and the two of them crossed one at a time. Toggle smiled as she watched Vista walk in front of her. Her friend was just so cute. And a badass. And friendly. Anne really hoped that even if Missy didn’t want to be more than friends, they could still stay friends. It would really suck not to be able to spend time with Missy, after everything Missy had shown her.With Vista’s bridge, it only took thirty seconds of walking to cross a good chunk of the city. As Toggle stepped onto the roof of some apartment building, Vista theatrically snapped her fingers. Toggle looked over her shoulder, and was sure that the bridge of twisted space-time had vanished, though it was too dark to really see the usual warping that there would normally be.Toggle applauded a bit, and smiled as Vista sketched a curtsey in return. Then the two of them looked around the roof they had ended up on. It was one of those garden roofs, with rows of vegetable boxes running along the length of it. Anne breathed in deeply, and smelled a nice, fresh scent that was a lot better than what the city normally smelled like.“Shall we go?” Anne asked, nodding at the door to the stairwell on the other end of the roof.“Sure thing,” Missy said, starting off towards it. Anne followed, her longer legs eating up a lot more ground with every step. “How have you been doing, by the way?”“I’ve been good,” Anne said with a smile. “Dad’s came home yesterday. It’s nice to have him around.”“Right, that mapping trip on the other side of the portal,” Missy said, nodding at the shining circle that was visible from up here. “Find anything interesting.”“A bunch of minerals and stuff,” Anne said, opening up the door and letting Missy go through first. “I’m sure he’s been spending all day at the university going over them with microscopes and whatever.”“You ever asked to go on a camping trip with him to the other side?” Missy asked as they clattered down the stairwell. Anne supposed they shouldn’t be talking about her personal life in a place like this, but oh well. “Could be fun.”“Ugh,” Anne said, scrunching her face up underneath her goggles, “how could going somewhere without electricity and running water be fun?”That got Missy to laugh. It was a nice laugh to listen to, and Anne felt her heart beat a bit faster in her chest. Then she remembered something else.“Are you doing anything tomorrow, Vista?” Anne asked as they reached the bottom of the stairwell and stepped out onto the evening streets of Brockton Bay. “It would be nice if you could come over for dinner. Meet Dad and Isaac properly.”“Um…” Vista said, looking skyward as she tapped her chin in thought. “Yes, I think I could. I’d need to leave right after though. I’ve got some stuff to take care of.”Well, that was enigmatic. But Anne didn’t ask for anything more. Not when she was feeling so happy.“Oh, that’s great,” Toggle said, reaching over and pulling Vista into an one armed hug. Missy squeaked as her helmet banged against Toggle’s armor and she futilely tried to get free. Anne could see a passerby laughing at them, but ignored the man. “Don’t worry, you’re going to love it. Have you ever had real Chinese food?”“I’m guessing that anything in the restaurants doesn’t count?” Missy said, finally managing to pull herself free as Toggle let her go.“Nope,” Anne said, shaking her head firmly. “Not even if the cook came from China six months ago.”“Have you ever been to China?” Missy asked as they walked past block after block of nice-looking apartment buildings. “You said you were born in L.A., right?”“Yeah, that’s right,” Anne said with a sigh. “The closest I’ve ever been is the end of that really long pier you see in the movies.” Her face twitched a bit. “And I’m not going to get to back until the Emperor is dead.”Anne could see Missy giving her a look out of the corner of her eye. Anne coughed a bit and flushed.“I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone use that tone and that much emphasis without having a few swear words bracketing it,” Missy said carefully.“Right. Sorry,” Anne said, feeling her face flush a bit.“No, it’s fine,” Missy said, patting Anne on the arm. “Why can’t you go?”“Mom and Dad are both communists,” Toggle said. “They’ve still got their party membership cards. No way they’re allowed back in while he’s in charge.” Anne sighted her shoulders, feeling the weight of her costume hanging off of her. “I’ve got a bunch of aunts and uncles and cousins back in China that I’ve never even seen photos of.”“Oh,” Missy said, her voice sounding a bit unsure. Anne winced again. “I didn’t really know.”“And you shouldn’t have,” Anne said, not quite looking at Missy in case her friend saw how embarrassed she was feeling right now. “Sorry for dumping all of that on you out of the blue. Seen any good movies lately?”That was a smooth, smooth change of topic. But Anne didn’t really care. Just so long as it got them talking about something else, it would all be good. And it worked.An hour into the patrol, and there had been next to nothing happening. Well, at least it was burning off some calories. And since Anne’s favorite foods came with words like ‘fudge’, ‘double-stuffed’ and the like, that was really good. Although right now, Anne was starting to be interested in foods that just came with the words ‘can eat right now’. It was about an hour past her usual dinner time, and she was getting hungry.“See any good food stalls around here?” Toggle asked, looking from side to side.“Give me a second,” Vista said, pulling out her phone. Looking over her shoulder, Anne could see her pulling up a search engine.“Oh, excuse me!” A voice said from behind them. Toggle turned and saw a mother and her kid, a five-year-old boy walking up the sidewalk towards them. “You’re superheroes, right?”“Yes, ma’am,” Toggle said, turning away from Vista and spreading her legs and putting her hands behind her back. “Is something wrong?”“Oh, no, not at all,” the woman said, the light from the streetlamp above her shining on her black face. “I just wasn’t sure at first if you weren’t… well, never mind, that!” She laughed lightly.Toggle didn’t laugh. She was pretty sure the woman had been wondering if they were just two girls playing dress-up on their way to a party or something. Toggle flexed her power a bit, and a multi-colored outline of herself appeared behind her, flat and two-dimensional.“Yes, ma’am, I’m Toggle and this is Vista,” Anne said, waving a hand at Missy, who was looking up from her phone.“I’m not interrupting superhero business, am I?” the woman asked. “Oh, and I’m Jasmine, and this is my son, Enriq. Say hello to the nice ladies, Enriq.”“Hello,” Enriq said. He was looking up at the two of them, his eyes wide as he stared over Anne’s shoulder. “That’s pretty.”“I’m glad you think so,” Anne said, mentally commanding her outline to float around her and extend a hand down to the young black boy. “You can touch it if you like.”Enriq hesitated for a second and glanced up at his mother. She nodded, and he gingerly reached out and pressed a hand against the outline. Nothing happened, and he smiled wider and pressed down harder.“By the way,” Jasmine said, “if it’s not too much trouble, could I get your autographs?” She laughed, sounding a bit self-conscious. “It’s a hobby of mine, to get autographs from any heroes I meet.”“Of course,” Vista and Toggle said at the same time, their words slightly overlapping each other. All three women laughed.“So, Jasmine, right?” Vista asked, pulling her notepad out of her belt. “Spelled the way it sounds?”“Yes, and thank you so much for doing this,” Jasmine said, smiling widely.Toggle smiled back at her. Her outline was playing a game with Enriq, and the little boy was grinning from ear to ear. It was really cute to see.Anne jotted down her own autograph, a quick little note of appreciation. Then she spent a lot more time making sure her signature (as Toggle, not as Anne Huang) was big and clear and legible. Then she ripped the page out of her notebook and handed it over to Jasmine, just a few seconds before Missy finished her own.“Thank you both so much,” Jasmine said, beaming down at the two of them. “And I hope you have a good rest of the night, too. Say thank you to the nice ladies, Enriq.”“Bye,” Enriq said, waving a pudgy fist at the two girls as Toggle’s outline vanished.The small family left Anne and Missy with a smile on both girls face. Toggle glanced at Vista as they resumed their patrol. She could easily tell that her friend was feeling good, and that felt really good to know.“Have you given out a lot of autographs?” Anne asked, looking for something to talk about while she worked up her courage to ask what was really on her mind.“Oh yeah,” Missy said, her blonde hair bouncing a bit as she nodded. “Kind of rare on patrols, though. You know how it is at meet and greets, though.”Anne nodded. She did know. A couple of times, her hand had cramped up before the event was even halfway done. And it was a good thing that her goggle lenses had some kind of auto-polarizing tint or something or she would have been blinded from the photos people wanted to take of and with her. Compared to that, a patrol in the bad part of town was… pretty crappy, actually, but in a completely different way.“So, uh,” Vista said, looking around herself at the mostly empty street, “now that we’ve got a bit of privacy,” Anne felt her heart start to beat a lot faster and her head swung around to stare at her smaller friend, “we’re still on for the display when Senator Windbag comes by?”“Yep,” Anne said, nodding her head up and down. That wasn’t what she had hoped for, but she would take it. “Everything just like what we talked about.” She paused for a second. “And, Vista?”The two teenage superheroes turned to look at each other. Anne screwed up her nerve (something that was a lot harder than taking a swing at a crook attacking her) and put her hands on Missy’s shoulders. She couldn’t feel anything but plastic plating underneath her fingers, but it was still nice.“Thank you for doing this with me,” Anne said. “You didn’t have to do this-.”“Oh yes, I do,” Missy said, nodding her head firmly. She reached up and grabbed Anne’s forearm. “You’re my friend, T. I’ve got your back.”“And I’ve got yours,” Anne said, feeling a warm feeling spreading through her body. Oh man, she wanted to reach down and pull Missy into a big old hug right now. “Through thick and thin.”Anne opened her mouth to say something more. To ask something more. But then she glanced around. No, this was too public. This was way too public. There were already some people looking at the two girls in bright, colorful costumes. No, this wasn’t the time or the place to ask Missy that.Over dinner tomorrow night. Yeah, that would be a lot better. Well, not over dinner. After dinner, once Missy was stuffed with dumplings and chicken. Because if the thought of asking Missy to be her girlfriend in public was embarrassing, asking Missy to be her girlfriend in front of her parents and brother was mortifying. Yes, after dinner in Anne’s bedroom would be a lot better.Oh, and Anne better make sure that her bedroom was picked up. She didn’t want to ask Missy while trying to kick a pair of jeans underneath the bed or something. So, wait a little less than twenty-four hours, and then, if Anne was lucky, she’d have a girlfriend!Anne was barely aware that they had started patrolling again as pink thoughts filled her mind. Oh man, getting to be with Missy would just be the best. They could go on walks through the park together and hug each other and pick out clothes for each other to wear, and it would be the best thing that had ever happened to Anne.There was a literal skip in Anne’s step as she walked down the sidewalk. Underneath her goggles, her face was turned upward in a wide smile as she thought about how nice it would be to get to rest her head on Missy’s lap and feel the other girl stroke her hair. Wow, just thinking about this sort of thing while being next to Vista was like when Anne was in one of her maniacal states, with none of the bad stuff. All of the energy filling her up, with none of the sense that she had to be doing more and more right this very minute. It was amazing.“Something on your mind?” Vista asked, glancing up at Toggle as they turned a corner, listening to the cars zipping by a few feet away.“Oh, uh, no,” Toggle said. “I’ll tell you tomorrow, okay?”Anne flushed again as Missy turned a skeptical eye on her. She could feel her partner’s stare, even through Missy’s green visor. She coughed and looked up along the street, hoping for a distraction before Vista could comment on how Toggle’s cheeks felt so red that they had to be visible from orbit.Sadly, there wasn’t a convenient supervillain attack that would both distract Vista and let Toggle see how cool Missy was in a fight. There were just people, some businessmen and women, some families, nothing out of the ordinary. And nothing that needed two superheroines walking around, either, but Toggle wasn’t going to change that. She was going to get yelled at enough soon enough, she didn’t need an additional chewing out for leaving her patrol zone and heading into the bad part of town.Although…“Hey, Vista? Can I ask you a question?”“Sure thing,” Vista said. “Is it about whatever that was back there?”“No,” Anne said, blushing and shaking her head back and forth. “It’s more… you were really cool a month or so ago, when you found out about that stash Skitter’s goons were guarding. Do you have any leads on anything else like that, so we can go and do some good?”Side by side, fighting together, was what Anne thought, though she didn’t actually say that. Ut she thought it. She thought it really hard. After all, now that the fatigue and the pain and the risk and the general unpleasantness of the Aryan Brotherhood was over, Anne had some fond memories of getting to fight with Missy so much.After all, Missy was a really good fighter. Just like how she was good with almost everything else she did. She looked cute and badass fighting, and Anne felt her heart start to go a bit faster when she watched Missy practicing in the gym. And getting to see Vista fighting when they were actually making a difference in the city instead of just in the training ring would be even better.Not that Toggle would spend too much time watching, of course. She didn’t have nearly as much experience as her friend, but Anne could still fight.“N-no,” Vista said, hesitating for a second. “I haven’t heard anything on the street recently.”“On the street?” Anne asked, ribbing her friend and feeling her elbow bouncing off of the armor plate. “You live in a house. An actual house, in the good part of town and everything.”“So?” Vista replied, sounding a bit flustered. “I still have, you know, secrets and stuff. You don’t know.”“Meeting shady guys in back alleys to get the down low?” Anne asked, smiling widely. “Doing the, um, slang slang slangy slang?”“I can’t keep anything from you, Toggle,” Vista said, her slight shoulders relaxing slightly. “You know all of my secrets.”“Really? Toggle said cheerfully. “Then you don’t have a favorite color? Because I don’t know that.”Now it was Toggle’s turn to get an elbow to the ribs. She started laughing, and after a second, Vista joined in. That got quite a few heads turning their way, and some other people smiled as well.“It’s blue, by the way,” Vista said once she had mostly calmed down.“Oh, that’s my favorite too,” Toggle said. She glanced over at Vista’s forest green and white costume. “Though I wouldn’t have guessed,” she added, waving a hand at Vista.“Well, when I joined, there was already a guy in blue on the team,” Vista said. “His name was, oh, Whirlpool or something? He left, like, three months after I joined, but by then it was way too late to change this. And I’ve grown used to it.”The two girls walked down the street, nodding and greeting the people they passed as they chatted with each other. It was great. Toggle could feel a warm feeling sweeping through her chest, that was making her feel really nice. And it wasn’t just getting to spend time with Vista, though that was obviously a good thing. Meeting new people and chatting with them for a few minutes was also nice. Anne wasn’t certain if she’d ever meet any of them again, but it sure couldn’t hurt to do this.Eventually, they found a food truck selling grilled cheese sandwiches. Not the kind of food Anne normally thought of being sold on the street, but the smell was good enough that neither of them spent any time looking for anything else. They bought a bacon and five cheese sandwich to share, and then went up to the top of a nearby roof to take a break.“The city looks really pretty at night, doesn’t it?” Anne said, looking over the roof tops as her feet kicked back and forth, fifty feet up into the air.“Yeah, it really does,” Missy said, pausing to take another bite out of her half of the sandwich. “Flying up around so high in the sky, and looking down at all of the little lights…”“You can fly?” Anne asked, a bit surprised. “I thought that your power wasn’t responsive enough for you to do that.”“Oh, um,” Missy said, staring out over the cityscape and taking a really big bite out of her sandwich. Lines of cheese connected her lips and the sandwich for a second. “Glory Girl took me flying once. Before you came here.”“Oh,” Anne said, nodding. “That makes sense.” Missy slumped forward a bit, leaning over to look at the little dots of people moving below, dashing from yellow circle to yellow circle along the sidewalks. “I’d like to go flying someday.”“We’re in the right line of work to make that happen,” Missy said, taking a swig from her canteen. “And we’re both still young enough anything could happen.”“Yeah,” Anne said, looking at Missy again. “Anything could.”Finally, it was time for them to head back to the base. The two of them started looking around for a building they could climb up to get high enough that Vista’s space warping wouldn’t affect anyone else. It had been a nice, quiet patrol, with not a single thing happening. Beyond getting to spend time with Vista, which was always a good thing in Toggle’s book for reasons that had to be so obvious they weren’t even worth mentioning.“So, don’t remember,” Toggle started to say, before she actually listened to what she was saying. “Ugh, I mean, don’t forget, shut up,” she added as Missy giggled, “tomorrow night at five thirty for dinner, okay?”“I’ll be sure to be there,” Vista said as they stepped out of the stairwell into the night air. “I’m sure it will be really fun to try authentic Chinese food.”Toggle’s smile grew as the two of them started across the bridge back to the Protectorate base. Wow. Oh wow. Today had just been great. And tomorrow? Anne hoped that tomorrow would be even better. |
The Games They Play
Chapter 24
“Do you have everything you’ll need this year?” Blake questioned Harry over breakfast, feeling smug and thoroughly satisfied, he’d gone to Gringotts, and he had been successful in getting the cup. Thanks to the goblin who had taken him down to his fault, a simple Wandless ‘Imperio’ had the goblin doing what he required without a fuss. Once it was all over he got them back to his vault and Obliviated it and continued on with his day. Bellatrix would never know the cup was a fake, she certainly hadn’t known whether the sword of Gryffindor was a fake back then so it wasn’t her expertise. Helga Hufflepuff’s chalice was now amongst the rest of the Horcruxes just waiting for the right moment to strike. He could either destroy them all or he could use a spell to get the soul pieces back together like a jigsaw puzzle. Now all he had to do was get Nagini and he was in for the win.
Shaking off his thoughts, steeling himself, he was not going to get smug about it, especially just in case it all blew up in his face. Narrowing his eyes on Harry, he subtly began to test his mental defences, which were still impressive; the Horcrux had not drained him. He had also tested Harry’s ability to understand Parseltongue; it seemed both of them were still Parseltongue’s despite the two different ways the Horcruxes had been removed from them.
“Yes, everything’s packed,” Harry answered giving Blake a knowing look, he could feel him probing at his mental shields, he wasn’t going to get passed, he hadn’t been able to for a while now. Even when he did get passed it was never for long before he pushed him out. It had taken him a long time to get this far and he was actually proud of himself. The fact that Blake was proud of him just gave him that extra push required to desire it done.
“And you’ve only packed the books that will not be frowned upon?” Blake continued his questioning. He hadn’t given Harry any books that the ministry had deemed unsuitable for anyone to read for his own collection. However, Harry did have access to his library and the books in his office. It seems their debates over chess had truly opened Harry’s eyes to magic despite the prejudice surrounding certain practices of magic.
“Only the books you’ve bought me,” Harry said with a shake of his head, no he hadn’t put any other books in except the ones he hadn’t read yet and of course, his school books for this year.
“Good,” Blake said nodding firmly. He contemplated informing Harry that Hermione wouldn’t take well to his new worth ethic that she would get jealous and worked up over it. Perhaps even accuse him of cheating, but he nixed the idea, he wasn’t going to have Harry working below his best, this was his second chance, he was going to make sure Harry got the grades to do whatever he wished. Due to the war it wasn’t something he had come to be able to regret constantly on the run, but that wasn’t going to happen here. He absolutely refused to allow it, not that Harry really needed to work, when he took over the Potter lordship he would have all the money he could spend in his lifetime.
“I still can’t believe Dumbledore doesn’t know you’re going to be a teacher!” Harry exclaimed unable to keep silent about it.
Blake smirked slowly; he was truly looking forward to the look on the old fools face when he went to Hogwarts. It was truly going to be a sight he would never forget. It was so rare for Dumbledore to shed his mask and actually show the world what he was truly thinking or feeling. The old fool had probably been looking for him and Harry the entire time, it was foolish, very risky given what he knew, he could have Dumbledore arrested for Merlin’s sake. “Oh, I’m sure he’s done his best to find out,” Blake chuckled in dry amusement. “Even with all his contacts he won’t know,” Dumbledore hadn’t known about Umbridge until Cornelius Fudge had decided to tell him, relishing in the expression on the old fools face while he did it no doubt.
“I hope you show me the pensive memory,” Harry said with a little bit of vindication. He had every right to feel it; Dumbledore had known Sirius was innocent. He had let him rot in Azkaban for over a decade. He would never forgive Dumbledore for that, no matter what he said or did. The thought of still revering the wizard made him feel sick, and he would have done if not for Blake, if he hadn’t somehow ended up back in time.
“Perhaps,” Blake said thoughtfully, before returning to his food, wishing to eat it before it got cold. They’d slept in a little more today, since it was the last long lie Harry would have before being at Hogwarts again. Surprisingly he had slept in as well, which wasn’t like him, he normally couldn’t sleep past six or seven o’clock in the morning.
“Are you going to keep up my lessons?” Harry asked thoughtfully scooping up his scrambled egg and consuming it as he waited on an answer.
“Yes, on either Saturday or Sunday afternoon, I’ll leave you to pick.” Blake answered immediately, it was of no consequence to him when Harry chose to make his lessons, except the occasional time when he wasn’t able to attend but he could tell his ward well beforehand.
“I’ll get my timetable before I decide,” Harry murmured around the piece of toast, keeping his mouth mostly closed, he wasn’t Ron thank you very much.
“That will probably be for the best,” Blake agreed, glancing at the time, he wasn’t going to allow Harry to be late for the Hogwarts express, he’d already missed it once. Although he wouldn’t be about to let Harry get on a flying car with him, but the train ride was the most fun part of returning to the school. “Kreacher has folded your school uniform, it’s on the bottom of your bed, remember to put it in your bag.” he added, before flinging over a sack of galleons. “Don’t spend it all on the trolley,” he added sarcastically. Usually it was always three galleons he spent on sweets from the trolley most of it getting shoved down Ron’s throat as quickly as possible.
“Funny,” Harry replied, refraining from rolling his eyes, oddly touched by the fact that someone cared to make sure he had everything he needed for school. It wasn’t something he was used to experiencing; the hastily asked question from Molly Weasley as they got ready to leave for the train didn’t come close to it. He’d always had money for the train ride though, having some left over from buying his school supplies, but he hadn’t had to buy any of that this year, Blake had done it for him, judging by the weight there was at least seven galleons in that pouch it would do him until Christmas.
“Go on, get your things together, we have to leave,” Blake informed him after a few moments silence as they finished their breakfast, although really they probably should have had brunch it was nearly lunch time.
Standing up himself, he moved over to the door and began to clip his sheathed daggers onto his trouser belt. Pressing against his calf and forearm to make sure he had both his wands with him. Giving a nod of satisfaction, he put his winter cloak on, knowing from experience how cold it was at the train station. Plus he didn’t want to alarm the students with his weapons, at least not yet he thought with amusement.
By the time he was done Harry was dragging his trunk towards the door, his bag over his shoulder, Blake Wandlessly shrunk Harry’s trunk who promptly plucked it from the ground and put it in his bag.
“Lunch for Master Harry,” Kreacher said, popping in front of him, holding out a Tupperware box for him.
“Thank you, Kreacher,” Harry said looking amused as he took the plastic container and it joined his trunk in his bag, which like everything else he had was brand new and had a nifty weightless and expanding charm on it so it would never be full or heavy no matter what he put inside.
As soon as Harry took the container Kreacher disappeared.
“So when are you going to Hogwarts? After you drop me off at the train station?” Harry questioned curiously, grabbing his own winter cloak and putting it on, it had a warming charm imbued in it, and it was already making him a little too warm. The cottage was always warm, except for at night.
“An hour or so after that, yes,” Blake answered, grasping a hold of Harry’s shoulder, waiting until he’d settled before he Apparated them both to the magical side of the barrier. “Do your best, and really think about what you’d like to do, your Head of House will be asking you that this year, and if you know what you want to do, then she’ll be able to help you reach your goals. If she doesn’t you come to me, do you hear me?”
“I will,” Harry promised he still had the leaflets for all the different kinds of jobs you could get in the magical world, which was more than he’d always assumed. He’d thought the Ministry or being a shop worker was the only thing really available, but it wasn’t, there were so many careers to choose from. Being a painter and creating magical paintings or portraits, like the ones at Hogwarts. Being a curse breaker, ward constructor or deconstructing wards, builders, interior decorators, and the list was endless. That were only things that required a Mastery or knowledge in, there was also book writers and such as well that didn’t require grades or working your ass off at it for three to four years.
“Well, well, well, you must be Blake Slytherin, you have been the talk of the Ministry for weeks now,” Lucius Malfoy said, tapping his cane on the floor as he loomed over Harry and Blake, no doubt to try and intimidate them.
“Malfoy,” Harry said sharply, green eyes gleaming with hatred.
“I don’t know if I must be,” Blake said sardonically, his face impassive, the urge to gouge out those bloody eyes was strong, but he refrained, he wouldn’t get away with such an action after all. However, there were many spells in the future that did not have any counter-curses that he could use on the filthy wizard if he caused any problems. “Go on before all the seats are taken, I’ll see you soon enough.” completely ignoring Malfoy now, judging by the tightening of his hand on his cane he did not like it.
“I’ll see you later then,” Harry said a delighted grin on his face before he turned and ran towards the closest door on the Hogwarts express. The look on Malfoy’s face, both of them, had just made his entire year. Malfoy Senior pissed off at being ignored and Draco shocked and indignant because his father had been ignored no doubt.
“How dare you mock my father! Just like you mock the Slytherin name which isn’t yours to use!” Draco snapped, unable to keep silent.
“You really should control your son,” Blake told Lucius, his lip curling just slightly. “Speaking out of turn against your betters, Muggle-born’s have more decorum than you yourself are portraying at the moment.”
“You filthy little--” Lucius snarled, until he realised where he was, then forced calm upon himself from sheer willpower alone. “I will find out who you are and expose you for the pretender you are.” Lucius vowed vehemently.
“Oh? Pretender am I?” Blake said amused, his eyes gleaming maliciously. “Hilarious, you spout of nonsense that Muggle-born’s and Half-blood’s are inferior but your family married them, keeping the line pure. Added to the fact you follow in your own words a Mudblood, powerful one, yes, but no less ‘dirty’ as you’d put it tainted with Muggle blood.”
“What?” Draco squeaked out gaping in horror at what he was hearing.
“You didn’t tell your son that you were going to enforce his subjugation to a wizard with a Muggle father?” Blake sneered; Lucius was frozen, stiff as a board, his eyes warily glancing around as if he suspected this to be some sort of set up. “Your Dark Lord isn’t the last heir of the Slytherin line, no matter what he likes to think.” Blake didn’t even twitch when he felt the wards from his home emitting Severus. It had to be, Harry was on the train and only Severus was allowed in, even Black still had to come through the Floo and be accepted in.
“Draco, get on the train,” Lucius stated never removing his gaze from Blake Slytherin.
“I’ll be seeing you soon,” Blake hissed out, in Parseltongue, watching fear bloom in the faces of both the Malfoy’s, chortling in amusement, he Apparated back to the cottage, now that had been awesome. It wasn’t very often he was able to get one over Lucius Malfoy, whether he liked to admit it the wizard was one hell of a dueller, nowhere near as good as Severus, Voldemort or Bellatrix but he was right up there.
Sniggering in amusement, he turned to face Severus, who he could sense in the living room, “Good afternoon,” he said after he gained control of himself.
“And what has you so amused?” Severus said, feeling rather jealous that someone could elicit genuine laughter from the man in front of him. While he could get him to chuckle sometimes he hadn’t been able to make him laugh, it was such an irritating thing to be jealous over that it made him want to slap himself.
“The look on the Malfoy’s faces, they were accusing me of being a pretender, basically thinking I wasn’t a Slytherin and he was going to ‘find out’ who I was and ‘expose me’ I think they’re believers now, I spoke to them in Parseltongue.” Blake said, green eyes glimmering in vicious amusement. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen them so terrified of anyone that wasn’t the Dark Lord.”
Severus felt a smirk of his own spreading across his face, “He won’t want to tell the Dark Lord, but will do so, he’d be too worried that he will find out from someone else that he already knew.” it gave a whole new meaning of kill the messenger, the Dark Lord was going to be furious with this piece of information added to the fact he had now lost his snake.
“Correct,” Blake nodded confirming that this was his belief as well. “I assume you were able to get the snake if you are here?” Severus wouldn’t have wasted his time coming to tell him he had failed; he would have simply mentioned it after he was settled in at Hogwarts.
“I did,” Severus said proud of his own accomplishments.
“I have a terrarium set up for it in the bottom of my trunk; it will go next to the other Horcruxes until it’s time to deal with them.” Blake informed him.
Severus nodded his understanding.
“Follow me,” Blake added, moving out of the living room, unsurprisingly leading Severus to his office, it was where he kept the Horcruxes after all. Or had, since they were now in the hidden ‘Fidelius charmed’ compartment of his trunk. He was taking no risks of anyone being able to see them, or worse getting to them. Severus had cast it so he (Blake) could be the ‘Secret keeper’ he’d been annoyed to realise it wouldn’t work any other way. He couldn’t cast the spell and be the secret keeper.
Opening the trunk he turned it to the last compartment and withdrew the terrarium glass tank he’d created for this purpose. Severus meanwhile withdrew the shrunken unconscious snake; he was just about to set it to its right size when Blake spoke.
“Don’t, leave it that size, it will be perfectly safe and fine, if it wears off the terrarium is large enough for her to be comfortable in.” Blake stated, opening the lid letting Severus put the snake in; they replaced the lid, sealing it closed and unbreakable. She’d get plenty of breathing room of course; she just won’t be able to break it by smashing herself against it. Pressing his wand through one of the holes, he cast a spell that would wake her up. Neither of them waited for her to come around fully, well aware that the Dark Lord could possess her, instead the black cover was thrown over the tank and it was replaced inside the trunk, locking and setting it to rights. “There, that’s as good as it’s going to get.” he had added that piece of information to the will if anything happened to him and Severus so that Harry would know what to do. He took each and every precaution necessary, especially after what Dumbledore did to him. Died without telling him how to destroy the Horcruxes, he’d had to find out himself.
“If you want to see the look on Dumbledore’s face, I suggest you make your way to Hogwarts now, I do believe they’ll be sitting down to lunch getting reacquainted isn’t that so?” Blake mused thoughtfully.
“Indeed,” Severus confirmed Blake’s thoughts.
“Perfect,” Blake purred.
Severus forced himself to stay still, shifting would alert Blake to something amiss and that was the last thing he needed. He didn’t want Blake to withdraw from their friendship because of his budding feelings. He didn’t think for a moment that his feelings would be reciprocated, not after all he’d been through. Instead he forced himself to chuckle, “I will see you there,” he told the wizard, before exiting Blake’s office, walking down the hallway and back into the living room to grasp a handful of the Floo powder before stepping into the Floo and shouting out his destination, returning to his quarters to drop off his luggage, he definitely wasn’t going to take his time, so as soon as it was removed from his pockets and returned to its normal size, he vacated his quarters and made quick work of the familiar halls, he definitely didn’t want to miss this for the world.
Albus hated Blake without knowing who he was, hated him for having ‘Harry’ for disrupting the Order, leaving him without anyone to help him with the Dark Lord when he became ‘active’ he had cursed for hours that there was nobody to watch the prophecy, and had tried to get him (Severus) to help, but he was already spying, he wasn’t going to be caught sniffing anywhere near the Department of Mysteries. Then there was the fact he had ousted him in front of the Order letting them all know he knew about Sirius Black including to Black himself. He was disgraced, he should just consider himself lucky that the general population didn’t know and that Harry (or rather Blake) wasn’t pressing charges.
“Ah, Severus!” Albus called out, smiling in welcome as the reticent wizard stalked into the Great Hall looking preoccupied.
“Albus,” Severus said curtly, making his way to his seat, which he was pleased to know gave him vantage point on absolutely everyone’s reactions. Not that he cared overly much about everyone’s reaction, only Albus’ for it was going to be spectacular. |
Rick is bored. Being bored is really the bane of a demon’s existence, considering that there’s so much out there to do in the world. He sighs and thinks about whether he should go bother the drug dealer on his floor who’s now sporting two black eyes and a broken ribcage due to customer complaint. But he decides that’s so yesterday, so he just keeps on staring up at the bumpy ceiling of his apartment.
He’s cleaned both the grime off the glass and the body from the corner, so the apartment is now spic-and-span and liveable, which means that Rick can see his reflection from where he’s lounging on the bed. Damn he’s sexy. He tilts his head so that he can fully examine his curls. Hmm. Springy. He pulls his head back and stretches his neck out taut. Niiiicceeeeeeeee. He lifts his hips. Mmmmmm. He rolls his chest. Yeeeeeesssssss.
Ah, fuck it. What does he have to do anyway until the afternoon when Lori and Judith take their stroll? He shakes himself out, going from his hidden human appearance to his full on demon glory. And then he lays there naked on the bed and touches himself.
He closes his eyes and imagines the deep, dirty things that demons do to each other--the rolling and the fucking and the sucking and the bucking. He arches his head back and his horns knock hollowly against the headboard. His wings twitch as they’re captured under his back and his tail swishes anxiously to join in. Rick grins and lets it.
His tail curls around the nightstand’s handle and pulls open the drawer, drawing out a bottle of lube. He grabs it with his right hand and pops the bottle while fondling himself with his left and then watches, gasping, as he pours lube onto the tip of his tail. It’s triangle in fashion like all demon tails, but with soft edges instead of hard and really, when you come down to it, it’s the absolute perfect appendage for what Rick wants to do to himself.
He watches in the mirror as his own tail knocks at his opening while his hand speeds up its work on his long length. “Such a naughty, naughty boy,” he says to the mirror and blue demonic eyes wink excitedly back at him. He pushes his tail inside, squeezing his muscles just right to create pressure and a good solid sting. “Oh, baby,” he says, “harder.” He obliges himself--pushing his tail in and out, rubbing it against his prostate deep inside. He strokes himself firmly and uses his other hand to fondle his balls as things get tighter and deeper and harder and ready.
“I’m going to come,” he says to his reflection. “Yeah, you do it, bitch. See what you made yourself do? Oh, hell.” He bites his lip as he arches up on the bed, holding on for just a few more seconds. “Not yet, not yet. Mmmm….” He bites his lip again. “Tell yourself you’re sexy. Oh, baby.” He makes eye contact with the mirror. “Yes, yes, yes!” He lets himself go, pumping for all he’s worth and watches as he twitches and then finishes, thick white strings coating his stomach and getting all over everything. He grins and then laughs to himself, flopping down bonelessly. He really is the only one that can make himself finish like that. He smiles. After all, he is the sexiest beast in all the seven circles.
***
Rick saunters up to the park for day two and finds Lori pushing the stroller same as the day before, no angel in sight. He hmms to himself, but follows her and Judith around, making faces at the baby as they go. Judith giggles and Lori leans over to coo at her daughter, naively thinking it’s herself that’s making Judith so happy. They arrive at a sandbox this time and Lori sits Judith down with another girl--baby soft blonde hair with a pink bow attached to her head. Rick sits cross-legged beside them.
Judith plays with the sand and grabs a truck that’s put out for the kids to play with. She knocks it against the ground and pushes it around, moving it as best as she can with her chaotic baby limbs. The other baby spies the toy and gets jealous, makes a reach for it and tears it from Judith’s hands. Her eyes tear up and Rick watches her wave her baby fist. He grins. He is always a man of opportunity.
“Punch her,” he tells Judith and swings his fist through the air in mockery of the action. “She stole your toy. Punch that girl.” Judith’s frown turns into a full on angry grimace and she beats at the air with her closed fist. “That’s my girl!” Rick says, cackling. “That’s my little monster. Punch the bitch. Do it.”
Judith puts a scowl on her face and crawls over to the other girl, snatching the truck away. The other girl cries and reaches for the truck again, but Judith wields it like it’s her personal avenging hammer and smacks the girl in the face with the full force of plastic fury. The girl goes down and Rick sees blood.
Soon the parents are shrieking and cowering over their infants. The blonde girl’s mom is speaking at a mile a minute, holding her daughter’s face between her hands and saying, “It’s broken, it’s broken, I think her nose is broken,” over and over again. Judith, for her part, is sitting down with her truck, happily moving the wheels through the sand.
“Judith,” Lori says and takes the truck from her. “No, no. We do not hit.” Judith starts crying and the blonde girl starts crying harder and the parents start arguing and all in all, Rick is about as happy as a clam.
That is until the father of the blond girl cuts through all the shrieking to say, “Amanda! Look, she’s fine.” Fine? That girl was not fine. Rick swings his head with a glare to see the blond girl smiling, a trickle of blood still caked to her lip, but otherwise no worse for the wear. “Kids, huh?” the man tells Lori and scoops up his daughter. “Just try to be more careful next time.”
Lori nods fiercely. “Of course. I’m so sorry about your daughter. I don’t know what’s gotten into Judith. These last two days she’s been a terror.”
The man shrugs. “Terrible twos coming early, I guess.” He smiles and he and his wife head off out of the park. Rick pouts and looks around for the offending force which just has to be the angel. But he finds nothing except fluttering insects, bouncing dogs, the shriek of children and the far off hum of a motorcycle.
***
The days tick by the same. Rick spends his life cooped up in his apartment except for the afternoon stroll out to the park. He encourages Judith to hit other children, to spit on adults, and to pull the tails of all of God’s creatures, big and small. He walks in front of the stroller and snaps his fingers, makes strangers fall on their faces or makes their dogs get loose off their leashes. Judith laughs at the antics and Rick laughs at her laughing.
She gets older, bigger. The fall colors fade into the pastels of winter and snow starts to sprinkle the ground. Judith arrives with big, fluffy coats and hats with puffballs on top of them. She stumbles around the park causing mayhem and ruckus and Rick follows her, bad luck coursing behind him like a river.
The angel doesn’t show itself, but Rick knows it’s there. The woman with the skinned knee finds a twenty dollar bill. The girl who almost falls into the freezing lake suddenly catches her footing just in time. The man who is caught ogling his son’s babysitter makes a save as he gives his wife a dozen roses. In short, all of Rick’s hard work is for naught. It’s sickening.
And it’s predictable. Which means the days are getting more and more boring by the second. Rick paces in his apartment while the wood creaks, the wallpaper uninteresting and expected. His reflection no longer excites him quite like it used to. Judith’s cackles are no longer as endearing, the faces of a man who lost his wallet no longer worthy of Rick’s full attention.
He needs change.
But all he has are four walls of a shitty apartment and a park that he visits for two hours everyday. This day is no different than the countless others that have come before. This time, Lori is wearing her pink sweater and Rick makes a gagging motion at himself for being able to pick out Lori’s closet by now. Judith is wearing pink, too--one of her big coats and brown booties that are fit for the cool weather.
Rick walks beside them as he always does, silent and frowning. He’s pretty sure that his grumpiness is contagious and that Judith is catching it, because she’s fussy, too. It’s particularly easy today to get Judith to tell her mom no and throw a walnut in her face and it’s especially simple to get her to smack her mother when she gets in trouble.
Lori gives her a swat on the hand for misbehaving and Judith wails like a banshee, but her cries of pain don’t excite Rick. In fact, none of Judith’s little sounds of agitation send a thrill through him anymore like the sounds of others tend to do. The rest of the city can cry and shout and bemoan, but not his little monster. She deserves the world. So as they pass a ten-year-old with a lollipop, Rick swipes it as easy as taking candy from a kid and hands it to Judith, who gurgles in happiness at her personal demon.
Judith sucks on the lolly, Lori ignores it, and Rick walks. Same old, same old. He sighs and casts his gaze about for the angel as he tends to do everyday on autopilot. He finds himself hoping that this will be the day that he or she pops out of nowhere and engages Rick in a evil-vs-good fight to the death. After all everything is so very, very dull and Rick is getting, well...lonely.
***
Rick sifts through his options, but finds he has none. His usual circle is full of other demons--Maggie mostly, even though that does him more harm than good. But he’s damn sure that Carol isn’t going to like him flying down to Hell for a social visit and every demon that he knows on Earth is deep into their assignments of creating conflict in the Middle East or working on political campaigning. So Rick sucks up his pride--all million and a half gallons of it--and knocks on the drug dealer’s door.
His name is Randall and he’s a young little pissant who tries to make everyone happy all at once and only succeeds in making the world suspicious and pissed at him. Rick holds up a six-pack and offers free beer if he doesn’t ask any questions, so he’s let into Randall’s one-bedroom, roach-infested digs and shown to the T.V. and the some city vs. some city ballgame.
Randall tries to make conversation and Rick wants to throw himself off a bridge. But this is what he came for, isn’t it? Company that’s older than a year-and-a-half and who can mostly control his drool. So Rick sighs and concedes.
Randall pulls out a little baggie filled with white substance and proceeds to make a line on his coffee table. Rick rolls his eyes and wonders if the guy is a walking pharmacy. “Want some?” Randall asks. “Got some killer E, too.”
Rick shakes his head. “Not my vice.”
Randall shrugs and goes back to fixing his drugs just how he likes them. “What is?” he asks casually.
Rick scoffs. “Got seven. Which one you want?”
But that one seems to soar right over Randall’s head or maybe he didn’t hear Rick over the loud snorting, but either way, the conversation turns south. “Did I ever tell you about that job I had down in San Antonio?” Randall asks, as if they’re buds who spend Sunday evenings together. Rick grunts and Randall must take that as a no. “So, this guy. Really macho gang type, yeah? Asked me for this god awful amount of stuff. Said he was going to give me half a mil, can you believe that? So I show up--” Rick’s eyes go a little glassy. Is this what humans have to deal with everyday? “--and there’s this car, right? This unmarked car and this guy gets out with these sunglasses, just like in the movies, dude.” Rick knows just how many bones are in a man’s body. He wonders which one he could break to make it hurt the worst. “And he says to me, I shit you not, ‘your buddy betrayed you,’ like fucking SVU, you know? Or is that Law and Order? Are they the same shit?” Rick imagines his head on a spike. “And then I’m like ddddddduuuuudddde. This guy is a cop, right? So I start running like a cheetah. Like zoooooommm,” Randall holds out his hand and smacks it into the second one. “So fast.” The slowest poison known to man, Rick recites to himself, is the-- “And this guy just chases me and I leap a fence.” Maybe instead of sugar, he’ll turn everything into antifreeze this time. “--and fall right into this sack of garbage, dumpster pile of restaurant leftovers. But you know the funniest shit? Guy stopped chasing me.”
Randall nods over at Rick and Rick refuses to respond except to hold his gaze evenly. Randall puts one finger over his right nostril and snorts with the other to clear his nose. Rick snaps his fingers and turns him into a pigeon.
The pigeon, for a moment, is incredibly shocked and makes a squeaking kind of sound like it’s trying to speak. Rick thinks it’s annoying, so he grabs it by the wing and throws it out the window, latching the lock after that's done. The pigeon makes a half-hearted attempt to fly, but, upon shitting itself in fear, clings to the ledge like a kid to his mother’s skirts.
Rick studies the apartment around him and wonders if he should move. He decides the place is a dump and he does not. |
Everything was fine until the headlights went dim in the dark and desolate desert. The chime of the car dinged again and again until Dad took the keys out of the ignition.
They were about to travel into outer space, to another planet. Briefly. For a wedding. Aiden was so nervous, her stomach was churning and her skin was clammy. Not a good sign. Who knew this would be a moment for a xanax? No, no, she would be fine.
And then the headlamps went out.
Shadows. Horns. Childhood fears of demons in the night. Dull gleam in the sliver of light from the car’s dome light. Armor. Weapons. Whoa. Scary. Really very scary.
The car doors slam shut, darkness reigned, and the doors in Aiden’s mind slam with them.
The meditative British accent of this alien, telling his story, lulling, calming, pulling, pulling. But don’t trip in the desert. Wear heels to a wedding, yes, but a hike through the desert? When you might need to run away? But how far could you run from Loki?
It’s okay, Aiden, the story seemed to say. See? Just a normal guy, just normal childhood hijinks. Back when he was a hundred.
“Twelve,” a distracted part of her said. It was the part that could memorize and return facts without checking in with Aiden’s emotions, or her hindbrain. The former had checked out as hysterical. The latter had checked in as fight or flight. Her analytical self said something else, but it wasn’t important.
The story continued, regardless of Aiden’s mounting fear, her pounding heart. Goat’s horns? Goats aren’t scary. Goats will eat your shirt and give you milk and cheese in return. Maybe he’s not scary? Maybe.
Blinding light. More armor. More weapons. More alien warriors. One bowing to her. One sweeping her off her feet. Heart pounding. Heart pounding! Adrenaline rush. Fight! Or flight! But pick one! Right the hell now!
No, stay still. Keep it together, Aiden. Oh, God. Horns approaching. Touching her head. Just a goat. Not scary. Right? Darcy trusts him. Darcy trusts him. Darcy trusts him!
Stomach calms, body instantly notes. All else remains the same.
Heart pounding, pounding, pounding. White light all around, pulling, flying, trapped by the alien warrior. Gasping for air. Can’t breathe in. Need inhaler. Inhaler in purse. Purse in hand. Hand in wormhole, frozen in fear.
Can’t inhale.
Can’t inhale.
Can’t inhale.
Landed. Put down. Sunk to knees. Fumbled with purse. Lost a shoe. Inhaler. Inhaler. Inhaler.
Albuterol sulfate. Each actuation delivers 108 mcg of albuterol sulfate equivalent to 90 mcg of albuterol base from the mouthpiece. Count of ten.
Head bowed. Humiliation at bay until breathing recommences.
Shake it again. One more time. Please, please, please open my lungs.
Albuterol sulfate. Each actuation delivers 108 mcg of albuterol sulfate equivalent to 90 mcg of albuterol base from the mouthpiece. Count of ten.
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
Austin, next to her on the ground, with her missing shoe. Little brother. Golden ground. Black three inch pump.
Welcome to Asgard, Doctor Aiden Lewis.
Die of embarrassment.
Aiden stepped from the truck and rounded the front of it. She waited at the door to the diner for Jane, Darcy’s teenaged boss, to get her wallet from the back. There were only a few lights on, and the sign on the door said ‘CLOSED Come again!’ but when Jane came around, she knocked on the glass door and waved to the woman inside.
Aiden watched, bemused. There was so much to take in, but Jane was so normal. Very chatty, but most people were chattier than Aiden. Certainly everyone in the family was. Jane felt very… comforting in that way. To just let Jane’s chatter flow over her was… nice. Making conversation was the worst when Aiden actually had to hold up her end of it.
“Brenda! Oh, my gosh, you guys are so wonderful to take our order! Thank you so much. We really owe you one.”
Apparently, Jane was chatty with everyone. And it was getting them dinner after the place was closed, so clearly there’s some merit in the practice, even though Aiden herself sucked at it.
“Honey, you must have come from one hell of a costume party. Come on in. All your food’s ready. Got enough to feed the Chinese Army. Want a couple of pies? We’ve got two left tonight.”
Food sounded like a really good idea. Normally after a panic attack Aiden was nauseous and vomiting, but not this time. Whatever Loki did was damn good and Aiden really wanted to know what it was. And how long it lasted. And under what conditions it would be useful. And if there were any side effects. And on what percentage of people it was usually effective. And what percentage of time it was efficacious. And on how many different species of sentient bipeds it was efficacious. And if it only affected her nausea. (It clearly wasn’t helpful for the rest of the symptoms of her panic attack.)
“Oh, sure!” Jane said, “Throw them in. Actually, it was kind of a theme wedding. Crazy, beautiful, very cool. My intern got married. You remember Darcy, right?”
“Sure, sure, the cute one with glasses. She marry that hunk that’s been around the last couple of days? The English one?”
“She really did, Brenda.”
“Aw, that’s nice. They make a real cute couple. Reminds me of my nephew and his girlfriend. Just a real cute couple. So a theme wedding, huh? And how you wanna pay for this, honey?”
Aiden watched as Jane fumbled in her purse, muttering to herself.
“Where did I put it? Where did I put it? Oh, Darcy will kill me if I’ve lost his already.”
The waitress ran the credit card once Jane located it, interestingly, not in her wallet, but then held it out and whistled.
“Woooeee! Never seen one of these things before. And who’s this Loki of Asgard?”
“Darcy’s new husband. I promised to grab the food for them. But I swear I have permission to use it.”
“Oh, honey, I believe you. And I know where you live if I need to track you down. Now, sign here, and remember you owe me one as you think about that tip. You need a hand out to the car?”
“Sure!”
Jane stared at the bill for a second, then scribbled on the receipt and put the card away, muttering about remembering where she put it this time. It was the back zip pocket of her purse, Aiden noted. Just in case.
“Are you sure we need this much food?” Aiden asked Jane quietly.
Brenda the waitress laughed as she grabbed two bags and then held the door open for Aiden with the pies, and Jane with yet more food. “I guess you’ve never seen that boy of Darcy’s eat, huh? He sure can pack it away. Must have a hollow leg. Worse than a teenager. Metabolism, probably. Don’t have any, myself. I can look a slice of pie and gain weight. Just by looking, mind. Alright,” she said, putting the bags of food on the floor of the back of the truck, next to the canvas bag of flowers. “Let’s go get the second round.”
“Hey, you want some help?” Aiden heard Austin call from behind them.
“Sure, now you ask,” Aiden replied as he jogged forward. He’d handled himself so well when when they’d first arrived on that planet. God, Austin was just so kind and gentle. If Aiden could develop half the bedside manner her EMT brother had, she’d be content. A quarter, even, would be enough. When he'd seen that she could breathe again, he had gently pulled her inhaler out of her hand to see how many more pumps she had left on her counter. He stowed it in her bag silently and pulled out her xanax. Asked her if she could dry swallow and pushed a pill through the back of the pack. He handed it to her without speaking, just rubbing her back. As she kneeled on the floor, wondering if Darcy was going to come in at any moment, Austin just rubbed her back, whispering to her that she was going to be okay, calling her Aidie. He helped her to her feet when she was ready, held his cell phone out in front of her with the camera on reverse so she could fix her makeup. Then and only then did Loki cross the space and ask after her health. She was grateful that he’d held off, and she gave him the only answer she could. She was fine. Everything was fine. It was always just fine. Except when it wasn’t.
When Brenda greeted Austin it knocked Aiden out of her memories. “Oh, hi there. So I guess you went to the wedding but missed the theme?” Brenda asked Austin as she held the door for both of them, and Jane as she made her way back in, too.
“Yep,” Austin replied. “Felt totally underdressed, too. Oh, wow, smells great.”
“Thank you. Now one more load, I think,” Brenda said.
They grabbed more bags of food and hauled it out to the truck. Aiden couldn’t help but think about the incongruity of it all. This tiny little desert town. Good, homey, rural folk. An ancient, sorcerous, alien, warrior prince eating at the diner. Eating a lot, as it turns out.
“You have a good night, now!” the owner of the diner called to them as she walked back to the door.
“Thanks, Brenda. You, too,” Jane said, pleasantly.
“How much farther? Mom’s being a pain,” Austin whined, and Aiden was briefly relieved that she hadn’t had to deal with their mother when she was in one of her moods.
Jane perked up as they walked around to the front of the truck. “Oh, it’s only, like, a two minute drive from here. If you want to stretch your legs, why don’t you walk? Go straight down this street and then turn left on Maple. We’re at the end of Maple - you can’t miss the gas station. And you’ve been there. It’ll take you five minutes. Seven, if you drag your feet.”
“You’re a lifesaver, Jane. Thanks,” Austin said and wandered back to the car, undoubtedly to tell Dad.
They settled into the silence of the truck and Aiden realized this might be her last quiet moment with Jane.
“This has all been kind of crazy,” Aiden started softly, “but would you mind if I talked with you sometime about the medical implications of what you’ve witnessed on Asgard? I… I have about four and a half years left on my residency, but I’d really like to be involved, if I can.”
“No, totally! Here, wait, let me dig out my phone. Uh, hold on.” Aiden watched as she flipped open one of the two wooden boxes and stared at the books inside, while murmuring to herself. “Now. Where would they have put my cell phone? In with clothes? The purse was easy to find. Should I just sit here and search? No. Food’s getting cold. Huh. Bag. Bag. Bag. Bag. Bag. Bag. Bag,” she said, looking around the interior of the truck before taking down a cotton sack and carefully dumping out the contents into a corner. Aiden watched as Jane muttered softly to herself and took something small from the lid and put it in the bag. She held her hand in it for a moment and pulled out her cell phone. She tossed the bag into the corner, fiddled with the interior of the lid of the wooden box and shut it with a satisfied noise.
“I officially love magic. There. I said it. I love magic and I have a PhD in astrophysics. The two are not mutually exclusive."
Jane handed Aiden her phone. “Here. Take this and call yourself.” She made her way to the front of the truck and slid behind the wheel. “That way you’ll have my number. Things should be pretty quiet while Darcy and Loki are away on their honeymoon, which I’m about to start encouraging them to take, like, immediately in the great hopes that they’ll get some of their extreme horniness out of their system, and I’ve got a lot of planning to do, but really, I’ve got a lot of time to do it in. And honestly, I’d love to have someone to bounce some ideas off of who is actually in a different scientific field than I am. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I love physics. But really, if we can get the Institute to the place where we’ve bridged the understanding gap between science and magic? Seriously, there are implications for every single field.”
No one had said anything about her panic attack, and Aiden was grateful, but she wanted to share what little observations she had about the small amount of magic that had been done to her.
“Loki did something before we left, touched my forehead. It took my nausea away.”
“Yeah, he did that to me, too. And Darcy. I guess it’s only travelling the first time on the Bifrost that does that, but he was super sweet about it. But wait, you were nauseous before? Are you okay?”
“I, um. Yeah. I’m okay. This is all just a little much to take in. But, I’m glad I’m here,” Aiden hastened to add. Really, she would have hated herself if she’d skipped Darcy’s wedding, just out of spite. What kind of older sister would that have made her? A really, pathetically awful one. Still, she was glad Darcy didn’t know about the panic attack. Maybe she’d tell her later. If it came up naturally. In a few years.
“Och! You’re telling me! Twelve hours on Asgard with Frigga - Darcy’s mother-in-law - who is this amazingly zen four thousand year old sorcerer queen who has just been planning this day for centuries, and I have so much information it’s going to take me days to just parse it out. Oh, we’re here! Okay. Hopefully the lovebirds are fully clothed. Because, yeah. Okay. Right. Food.”
Aiden smiled a little, trying to imagine Loki as Jane knew him. A beneficent, beautiful, scientific savior. It almost got the image of an horrific desert demon with horns out of her head. Almost.
Clint Barton loved his job. There was some seriously weird shit out there and he loved watching how other people reacted to it. Some people ran away from it. Some people studied it. Some people shot it in the head. And some people, apparently, had a lot of sex with it, then eloped with it.
It’s not like this particular 084 was hard on the eyes. Heck, if the guy had an available sister, Barton might be willing to consider giving up on his decades-long crush on his favorite mistake. But, then again, he wasn’t really the type to have that reaction to weird shit. He preferred to study it. Usually from afar. Though he would shoot it in the eye, given the right orders.
He quietly unwrapped another hard shelled taco - chicken, hot, extra cheese - and watched the scene unfold before him. They were bringing a kitchen table and chairs outside and doing some rearranging with the existing picnic table and benches. They put the setup right in the middle of the Harry Potter Day-Glo Magic Circle of Doom By Ax. Whoop, then 084 turned the lights on. And no one found that eerie? Well, maybe it was just him.
“Hawk, report,” the tiny voice of Coulson sounded in his left ear, with the combination hearing aid/comm device.
Barton glanced down to look at his tablet where the audio transcription was, not that the lovebirds were saying much just now.
“Well, we’ve got the research van and one of the rental cars returning. All accounted for except… we’re missing Brother, but… no, wait, he hoofed it from somewhere near by, I can see him walking up Maple. I’d say the diner, but it’s closed. 084 and Intern - that’s a crappy code name, by the way. In fact all but one are totally crappy, who’s responsible for that, I’d like to know--”
“Focus, Hawk.”
“You know it’s true,” he murmured, knowing he’d be heard. “I’ve had eyes on for the last two and a half hours since they left, and 084 and Intern never walked back in, so I’m going with the theory that Mr. Potter apparated, probably directly into the bedroom, which I bet you twenty bucks is still radio silent no matter the upgrades we’ve done. Loverboy clearly wants private things to stay private.”
“You are unusually chatty tonight, Hawk. Everything okay?” Coulson asked, and Barton could almost hear the smile in his voice.
“It’s the tacos. I really like tacos.”
“I’ll remember that. Keep me posted.”
“Yep.”
After a few minutes of radio silence, “You want some more tacos?”
“Yep.”
He took another bite and glanced down at the tablet. Blah, blah, blah. Greetings all around. Bringing all the food out. Ooo, now that was interesting.
“084’s doing more day-glo lantern magic for their dining pleasure, except this time he’s utilizing the entire color spectrum, beyond that creepy-ass pale green. Nope, they’re all yellow, now. Oh, hey, he’s making the entire circle of doom by ax yellow. Still a circle of doom, but really, much more inviting now.”
“Do we really need the feng shui commentary, Hawkeye?” Coulson asked.
“You want eyes, I’m giving you eyes. 084 isn’t overtly planning world domination, or actively seducing the Mrs. He’s really just using god-knows how much magical power to decorate a table. I shit you not. I couldn’t make this stuff up. You know I have no imagination. Dinner looks good, by the way. I’m counting on those tacos, or I may have to go crash a wedding reception just so I don’t starve to death.”
Radio silence.
Barton glanced down to the tablet briefly, but no one was saying anything particularly interesting, so he ignored it for a while. If he spent too much time glancing between the tablet and his target in the far distance he was going to have a hell of a headache by the end of dinner, despite the exercises he did for his eyes, daily. Besides, he was more interested in their body language than what they were actually saying. And they were just out of range for him to read their lips accurately, anyway.
Mom’s a bit huffy. Wonder why? Barton would have thought that a child becoming royalty would be pretty acceptable to the average American mom. Dad’s clearly playing referee. Brother and Sister are distancing themselves from the parental units, but that’s the story of most kids in most places, so nothing new there. Hmm. Interesting. Sister is trying to get as far away from both Mother and 084 as possible, while still staying at the table. So not everyone’s drunk the Kool-Aide, then?
Barton glanced down to the tablet and swiped back a bit to see if something had been said that would explain Sister’s reaction to 084. Nope. Nothing. No off-color joke, no rude remark. Hmm. Not something he’d done just now, then. Barton looked back up, and yep. Sister didn’t want to be near Mom, but she didn’t want to be too close to 084, either. Very closed off posture. Not a happy camper, Sister.
What happened in the desert, 084?
Whoa, shit. Shit.
“084 just looked directly at me. I think I’ve been made. Should I pull out?”
“Hawk, don’t be ridiculous. You’re three hundred yards away.”
“Papa Bear, I’m telling you, 084 looked directly at me. We had eye contact. He gave me a bemused look. I gave him a startled one. We practically had a moment, and then I dropped my taco and hit the deck.”
Barton grabbed the tablet and scrolled back to see if whatever had just happened had interrupted his targets and their conversation. Apparently not.
“Hold position. Let’s give them a few minutes. You following the transcript, now, Hawk?”
“Affirmative,” Barton responded, slightly disappointed to only be reading dialogue. Apparently Intern was answering rapid fire questions from Brother. No, now Stargazer was chiming in. Boring, boring, boring. And his taco was a lost cause, all spilled out on the rooftop gravel. Happily he had one more in the bag before he had to desperately wait for Jones to get up here. Probably at least another seventeen minutes. Unless he was pulled out by then. Which was totally possible.
Shit, how did that happen? How was he suddenly made? Dammit. Dammit.
Could 084 hear them? Well, anything was possible. They only knew that 084 was more physically advanced than the average human, but they knew nothing about his actual limitations. But no, Barton hadn’t been speaking, and Coulson had been quiet, too. No, no, he’d just been watching and doing analysis. Normal stuff. And 084 hadn’t been doing visual scans, not even casually. When he made Barton, he looked directly at him. Sharp, like someone would if he’d just said something offensive, or something. And right in the eyes, too.
Okay Barton, go over it again.
Radio silence.
He was eating a taco.
He’d been on visual only.
He was doing systems analysis. - Where was he in the analysis?
Okay. He’d gone past Mom and Dad. He hadn’t started on Brother, Intern or Stargazer yet. Sister. He was noticing Sister’s body language. Right. He was wondering what 084 had done to piss off Sister in the desert. Should he mention--
Panic attack.
Wait, shit, now he was making stuff up. There’s no way he could know that.
Well, no, said a mental voice that Barton was startled to realize... might not be his own. A chill ran down his spine. You couldn’t know it. That’s why I told you.
The mental voice seemed to have a British accent.
And sounded like a very particular 084. One whose limits hadn’t yet been defined.
And may never be, if I have my way, Agent Hawkeye.
Barton broke out into a cold sweat and wondered if he should report in. Yeah, no. And be instantly pulled for a pysch eval. No, he’d need proof, at least something slightly more substantial than wandering thoughts.
How silly you are, Agent Rooftop. How can I possibly provide anything of the kind with you hiding as you are? a voice said in Barton’s head.
He swallowed and wondered if it was more nuts to wonder if other people were participating in your own mental commentary, or to actually ask them about it.
You have not gone insane. But my new sister did have a panic attack, which I really don’t think was my fault, at all.
You don’t think? Barton couldn’t help but to rebutt. Why don’t you just read her mind and find out?
Not all are so clear and open to me, Rooftop. Besides, that would be a gross invasion of her privacy, even if I could.
And this isn’t? Barton thought hotly, even as his eyes were idly on the transcript which was about a two hour massage, apparently.
| 084: (LAUGHS, INTERRUPTING CONVERSATION)
| INTERN: MISCHIEF, WHAT ARE YOU UP TO, NOW? OKAY, FINE, BUT I WANT TO HEAR EVERY SINGLE THING IN PLAY-BY-PLAY FORMAT LATER. GOOD GRIEF, YOU KNOW MOVIE REFERENCES BUT NOT FOOTBALL?
| 084: (STILL LAUGHING SOFTLY)
| BROTHER: OH, DUDE, WE SO HAVE TO CATCH YOU UP.
Barton blinked. Wait. Were you laughing at me?
Isn’t it obvious, Rooftop? You express your indignancy at my invasion of your privacy even whilst you and yours invade that of me and mine? Wouldn’t you find that hilarious? You seem to have a reasonably decent sense of humor. Though perhaps not a sense of fair play. Really. Attempting to listen in our bedchamber? How very low of you. Unless you know not how to pleasure a woman, in which case you have my sympathy, but still not my cooperation.
I need something concrete before I can take this to my superiors.
Well, then. It behooves me to give you no satisfaction whatsoever, doesn’t it?
Oh, you asshole.
| 084: (LAUGHS, INTERRUPTING CONVERSATION)
| INTERN: MISCHIEF, REALLY. REALLY? OKAY. OKAY!
| BROTHER: WELL, I GUESS IT WAS BOUND TO HAPPEN. I MEAN THEY HAVEN’T KISSED IN LIKE THIS WHOLE TIME SO FAR. I THINK THAT’S A RECORD.
| STARGAZER: IT’S TOTALLY A RECORD.
| SISTER: IT’S SWEET.
| INTERN: WE’RE RIGHT HERE.
| BROTHER: AND THEY’RE GONE AGAIN. I MEAN, THEY’RE HERE, BUT NOT REALLY HERE. NOT WHEN THEY’RE LIP LOCKED LIKE THAT, YOU KNOW?
| STARGAZER: ANYWAY. SO LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT THE TOTALLY AWESOME TRUNK THAT FREGUH GAVE ME. AIDEN’S SEEN IT, A BIT, BUT YOU HAVE TO CHECK THIS OUT, SERIOUSLY.
You complete asshole.
Barton was silent for several moments, not moving a muscle, no longer looking at the transcript, and was focusing his mind and his gaze on his shoe to keep from randomly thinking about other things.
But there was nothing else.
You utter and complete asshole. Say something.
Nothing. Nothing for a very long time. Barton still stared at his shoe, steaming.
“Hawk, pull out. Back to base. Your tacos are here.”
Well, that was totally fucking infuriating. Barton jammed his gear back into his pack, wondering if maybe he’d been on too many back-to-back missions, or if life in the fast lane was just catching up with him. Or if maybe the royal magical ambassador from Mars was having a hoot fucking with his head.
The latter. Definitely the latter. Enjoy your tacos, Agent Rooftop.
Fucking asshole! |
A loud, painful cough thundered in your lungs making you wince. It was just a cold, but still, you felt like hell. You groaned, lying back down on your bed, tossing the tissue to the side. Suddenly, you began to think about all the school you were missing and felt worse. It was only a week, but still missing five days of school could be the equivalent of missing a month depending on the subject.
While in the midst of your self-loathing, you heard a shout from outside your window.
“Oi! (Y/N)!” Okuyasu. You groaned, begrudgingly getting out of bed and opening the window. “Hii, (Y/N)!”
“Hi, Okuyasu,” you grumbled. Not that you weren’t happy to see him, he always seemed to brighten your day, but frankly, you didn’t want to see anyone right now. “Shouldn’t you be in class?”
“No! We just finished.” You furrowed your brows, it couldn’t be time for home already, could it? A glance over to your clock proved that school was indeed done for the day. “Hi, miss (L/N). Can I come in to see (Y/N)? I have some work for her.”
“Not for too long. Wouldn’t want you getting sick too!” Your mom replied, stern but somehow still cheery.
“Ookay.” With that, he was practically running up the stairs to your bedroom and bursting through the door. “Hey! How are you feeling?”
You sighed with a roll of your eyes. “Okuyasu, you’re going to get sick, don’t- hey! No, don’t hug me-ah!”
“I missed you!” He had lifted you up into a bear hug. A very warm and comforting bear hug. You couldn’t really be mad at him as he gently set you on your feet and started going on about what had transpired the week you were away. Though you weren’t entirely sure it was true, it was entertaining getting all the info on the drama when you weren’t there.
“Wow. Didn’t think she’d do something like that,” you comment as he’s telling you about what one of the cheerleaders did to the other. It made you feel so glad you didn’t join the team or any other team for that matter. You were perfectly happy and busy running around after your lovable fool and his friend.
“Yeah, it was wild. Teachers didn’t even know what to do! They were just as shocked as we were,” he burst out laughing, tossing his head back and wiping away a tear.
Suddenly you were sent into another coughing fit, covering your mouth with your elbow. At first, he panicked, then saw the tissues and the glass of water on your nightstand, running to grab them. He knelt next to you, eyes wide while he rubbed your back until it subsided. He offered you the glass first before settling down to sit cross-legged. You groaned when he pulled you closer so you were leaning against him.
“Okuyasu, you’re gonna get sick,” you mumble, eyes slowly drooping into sleep. He was so warm and comfy. The perfect human pillow. He laughed at you.
“I never get sick! And if I do, I just go to Tonio’s! Heyy, that’s an idea! Let’s go to Tonio’s!” Okuyasu was suddenly getting up, pulling you with him. Then, he went through your closet, looking for something for you to wear.
“I really don’t think I’m in the best of shape to go somewhere.” You sit down on your bed with a sniffle.
“It’ll be fine!” He reassures you. “Besides, isn’t fresh air supposed to be good for you? Here, wear this. I’ll be downstairs waiting.”
He tosses some nice-looking, comfy clothes and excitedly exits your room. You sigh. There really wasn’t a way to stop him at this point, so you got into your clothes, changing the shirt to something less cartoony to a plain single-coloured tee with less stains. Maybe he was right. You would feel better if you went outside and something other than your mom’s cooking sounded so nice right about now. Whatever, what’s the worst that could happen.
When you got downstairs Okuyasu had already sold your mom on the idea of going out. She cheerily told you to have fun and be back before curfew as you walked out the door. He grinned proudly, wrapping an arm around you while you made your way to the bus station.
--------
The bus ride to the little restaurant by the graveyard was full of idle chatter about school again and what he was planning on doing when he got home. A new game came out recently, so he and Josuke agreed to play it together.
“You can come-” he asked, quickly covering it up with a hasty “-if you want! I don’t know. Josuke isn’t one to share his games, but I might convince him.”
You laughed. “Well, if you can convince my mum to let me outside, you can probably get anyone to do whatever you wanted. But, Okuyasu, I’m sick, remember.”
“Ha! Just wait. Tonio can cure anything with his food. It’s the best in the world.” You rolled your eyes, only half believing him. You hadn’t been to Tonio’s before but your boyfriend never shut up about how good the food was.
“As long as you’re paying,” you elbowed his side, teasing him. He looks shocked.
“Of course, I am! What kind of man doesn’t buy his lady food?” He mutters under his breath, seriously asking. You just laugh again.
The walk from the bus stop to the restaurant was thankfully short, but you swore could smell the food cooking from a mile away. Okuyasu grabbed your hand, gently pulling you behind him. He burst through the doors, happily calling out Tonio’s name. They exchanged hellos while you were sat at the table.
“Um, is there a menu?” You asked awkwardly. They laughed.
“No! Tonio makes whatever you need. He knows everything! Here, have the water.” He sets your cup down in front of you while Tonio goes off to make whatever it was he thought you needed. Your boyfriend practically shook with excitement while he waited for you to take your first sip.
Your eyes grew wide with shock as the water hit your tongue. It was the best water you had ever had. Was it from a well or something? You glugged down the rest, then suddenly you were crying and couldn’t stop. Okuyasu, though still smiling, rubbed your back, soothing you. Just like that, it stopped and your eyes felt better than they ever had before. They weren’t scratchy or tired. You were wide awake!
“See? Don’t you feel better?” He asked, petting your head.
“Yeah, actually. I do. What the hell is in that water?” He chuckles to himself, muttering something that sounded like ‘sand tomes?’ You were about to ask him to say that again, but Tonio came back with a bowl in his hand.
“Chicken noodle soup! Enjoy!” He called out, disappearing back into the kitchen.
It was the best-smelling chicken noodle soup. Without wasting another minute, you dug in. Okuyasu was right. This was the best food in the world. You finished in record timing, humming happily. Then you started coughing again. You grabbed a napkin and coughed into it. It felt like you were literally hacking up a lung or some other organ. One large inhale of breath and it magically subsided.
You could breathe so much better now! How? That was- how?
Okuyasu leaned back with his arms behind his head and his feet kicked up on another chair. You could feel the confidence radiating off of him.
“How do you feel, (Y/N)?” He asked, cocky as all hell. “Wanna go hang at Josuke’s?” You stared at him awestruck while he laughed loudly. The only thoughts you had were: thank you? Then, my boyfriend is crazy and finally what the hell just happened? |
As soon as Rey lifts the pen from the dotted line, Ben slides the stack of papers back into its leather casing, places it into his briefcase, looks toward the entrance of the lounge, and gives an upward nod. She barely has time to catch her breath when from seemingly nowhere, Mitaka crosses the bar to their table, Ben hands off the briefcase, and just like that, Mitaka is gone.
“What was that?” Rey expels in confusion, looking quizzically between Ben and the door. “Are you all transporting the crown jewels or something?”
Ben chuckles to himself, an eyebrow cocked along with a smirk that makes it difficult for her to stay in her seat. She quickly reminds herself that jumping across a table to practically maul a man would be frowned upon by society. But damn, if Ben didn’t make her forget all about table manners.
“Mitaka’s on his way to my attorney’s office to get the paperwork finalized,” he replies, all business, though there’s a certain glint in his eyes. “In the meantime, I’ll give you two options, Rey.”
She wonders if she’ll ever get used to hearing her name from those lips.
“One - we finish our drinks, and move along to our dinner reservation. Two - we skip dinner, I give you a tour of my apartment, and you let me see what’s under that dress.”
Rey’s mouth goes completely dry.
“Two. Two is good.”
He grins, satisfied, while she can’t seem to move her eyes away from his mouth.
“Shall we get another drink?” she offers in an attempt to snap out of the lust clouding her mind. “Mitaka could be a while.”
Ben stands from the table, loosening his tie and unfastening the top button of his shirt collar. “No need, I drove. That is - if you’re ready?” He looks toward her, hand outstretched.
She takes just a moment to study his face, eyes flitting from one mole to another, almost as if to connect the dots across his pale skin. His demeanor has softened slightly, his gaze almost pleading with her. Maybe, she thinks, he might need this as much as she does.
Rey takes his hand and stands from the table, her free hand smoothing her dress down her thigh. She can hear a soft exhale escape Ben’s mouth as his eyes follow the trail of her fingers. She watches as he momentarily refocuses and moves toward the back of the bar, her hand never leaving his grip. He leads her down a dark hallway toward what appears to be an employee entrance. When he opens the door, an employee stands, keys in hand, waiting next to a sleek, black sports car. Rey’s jaw drops.
“You have a Carrera 4S?!” she exclaims excitedly, a hand gliding over the car’s gleaming, dark exterior.
He stares at her, nonplussed. “You know cars?”
She looks back at him playfully, scrunching her nose. “You would drive a Porsche.”
He takes the keys from the attendant, walking her over to the passenger side.
“Careful, sweetheart,” he says, only loud enough for her to hear, “or I’ll take you straight back home.”
She lowers herself into the vehicle with his help, her hand lingering for just a moment.
“I doubt that.”
Ben’s eyes widen. He gently shuts her door and crosses around to the other side, getting in himself - his sizable body almost comical compared to the confined interior of the car.
“So you have a bit of an attitude, do you?” he replies, keys in the ignition bringing the car to life. He brings his hand to rest on her thigh, his massive fingers just brushing the skin underneath her dress. “We can fix that.”
Her pulse quickens, but she won’t give in just yet. “I think you like a bit of attitude, sir.”
She watches as his jaw clenches, his eyes never leaving the road. His grip tightens on her thigh, the hem of her dress hiking up another inch.
“You know, Rey,” he answers sternly. “Good girls get rewarded.”
Her breath hitches as his hand slides further and further up the inside of her leg. He lingers for a moment, ghosting the crease where her thigh meets the most needy part of her, before she feels a finger just barely brushing against her panties. She can’t help it when a whimper sounds from her throat.
And then, as soon as he’s there, he’s gone. His hand comes up to grip the steering wheel, his knuckles white.
“But…” she whines.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” he grits out through closed teeth. “You have to be good for me.”
“I’ll be good, I promise...just please,” she pleads, feeling the wetness between her legs.
“We’ll see.”
They drive in a comfortable silence for a while, though Rey is anything but comfortable. Her skin is burning - her center pulsating, demanding relief. As if her prayers had been answered, the car finally slows to the curb. Ben quickly steps out of the car, straightening his jacket, and walks around to open her door. As she stands, he tosses his keys to the valet, and places a hand on her back, escorting her through the front doors of his building, nodding to the doorman.
She moves alongside him to the elevators toward the back of the lobby. As soon as the doors open and they enter, Ben huffs out a quiet laugh to himself, leaning forward to press the button for the top floor.
“What’s so funny?” she asks, feeling the fingers of his hand on her lower back moving up to play with the zipper resting along her spine.
“We seem to have a history in elevators,” he replies, smiling to himself.
Rey softly smiles back. It seemed like a century ago when she locked eyes with him from across that rooftop. She thinks back to his hands, carefully tending to her. His eyes, focused on nothing but her as she answered his questions. The way he watched as her cab drove away. So much had happened in such a short amount of time.
Feeling a bit bold, she turns to him and closes the gap between them. She rests her hands on his chest, feeling the expanse of muscle causing the buttons of his shirt to strain against him.
“What if we made this time different?” she whispers, edging her face forward to kiss him.
His finger comes to rest upon her bottom lip. “Not just yet, sweetheart.”
Frustrated in every sense of the word, she decides to take action. She touches her tongue lightly to his fingertip, then slowly moves down the length of his finger to take him into her mouth.
“Fuck, baby,” he bellows, the desperation in his voice causing her to throb with need. She moves back up, swirling around the pad of his finger, and releasing him with a wet pop.
“What did I tell you about being a good girl, Rey?” he mutters, trying to maintain composure.
Finally, the doors of the elevator open not to a hallway, but straight to one apartment door. His apartment. A sleek penthouse on the top floor. At this point, Rey shouldn’t be surprised by his wealth, but it may take some time for her to get used to.
She stands frozen in place after he escorts her inside, taking in the modern, open floor plan with windows spanning the entirety of the space, while he moves into the kitchen, tossing his keys onto the counter. She can hear a sharp inhale through his nostrils as he takes off his jacket and grips the edge of the marble slab, appearing to gather whatever strength he has. Maybe her move in the lift was a bit much?
“Everything alright?” Rey asks, sauntering over to him while still taking in her surroundings. Everything was so crisp and clean - masculine, polished. Much like Ben himself.
“Yes - Sorry,” he answers, staring determinedly at his phone screen. “Just waiting on an important text.”
“You know,” she replies, coming to stand behind him, lightly tracing the indentations of the muscles along his shoulder. “I could help get your mind off things. I’m very good at distracting people.”
He whips around sharply, grasping her small wrist in his colossal hand and pushing her up against the wall. His other hand, still gripping his phone, comes up to their side, caging her small body under his. Suddenly she can’t remember what oxygen is. His eyes, deep pools of honeyed brown, stare directly into hers, short breaths close enough to feel on her lips.
“Not yet. ”
“God, why?” she whines, exasperated.
“I just - I’m waiting...on a text,” he practically bites down on the words, jaw clenched, mere centimeters away from her mouth.
“What could be this damn important?” she demands, practically baring teeth - her body’s frustration building into an actual fury.
Vibrations issue from the phone in his hand, and both of their gazes snap toward his screen.
Message from Mitaka:
Signed and notarized by Hux. Finalized and complete.
“About fucking time,” Ben exhales.
And with that, his lips are on hers. |
I just want you for my own More than you could ever knowMake my wish come trueOh baby, all I want for Christmas is you
Christmas Eve
Lucifer grimaced as he caught sight of his reflection in the Detective’s kitchen window. He flicked the fluffy white pompom that was dangling tauntingly by his ear with disgust. The tacky Santa hat (he would never understand why humans delight in the idea of an overweight old man breaking and entering into their homes) was completed by an incredibly gaudy, and itchy, Christmas jumper.
He felt ridiculous in the ensemble and wandered how he’d managed to be talked into wearing such a monstrosity of an outfit. He didn’t have to think too hard though - the doe eyed looks both mother and daughter had given him, he was always powerless against. Apparently horrendously garish jumpers, such as the one he was currently sporting, were a must at this time of year.
The two Deckers had dragged him shopping with them to purchase said items – the spawn and her ever growing gangly limbs had grown out of her previous one and so needed a replacement, and with a conspiratorial look between mother and daughter they insisted he was also in need of one too. Lucifer had been aghast at the suggestion and pointed out that any knitwear that graced his body was custom made and of the highest quality Italian wool. His protests however fell on deaf ears.
And so they had ended up in an overcrowded supermarket/ department store that he would usually avoid like the plague, and would never dream of purchasing clothing from.
The Detective and her devilish offspring took great delight in picking out the most offensively ugly jumpers for him. He had flat out refused to even touch anything adorned with sunglasses wearing Santas, reindeers or dancing elves – much to their amusement. His mood did however pick up and he grinned mischievously upon finding one with two large baubles and the slogan ‘Well Hung’. Chloe had quickly confiscated that one before Trixie could see it, deeming it unsuitable for young eyes.
After dismissing many more of the duo’s suggestions as being only appropriate for Hell loops, Chloe’s eyes had sparkled with amusement as she held out a jumper with a well built snowman flexing his arms, and the slogan: ‘I’m sexy and I snow it!’. Lucifer had grinned at her find and tossed it into the cart, declaring that if he was going to be forced to wear one of these ‘garments’ then at least this one was accurate, and the least offensive of their suggestions.
Whilst the child was occupied looking for her own crime against festive fashion, Lucifer decided to get his own back on Chloe by insisting that they weren’t leaving the store until she too was the (not so) proud owner of one of these monstrosities. He took great delight in offering her such gems as ‘When I think of you, I touch my elf’ and another with baubles and the slogan ‘I like your balls’.
Chloe’s incredulous huff and customary eyeroll as she unceremoniously shoved the offending items back onto the rack had made up for his previous trauma.
He leaned down and purred into her ear, rather enjoying himself now, “But Detective, that last one is very accurate – you do like my balls. In fact, only last night you were saying how much you lo-”
She quickly slapped her hand over his mouth before he could finish that sentence, which only caused him to laugh happily.
“You’re infuriating – do you know that?” Chloe had tried her best to give him a stern look, but the tug of her lips into a smile and the way her eyes sparkled in amusement gave her away.
Lucifer just grinned – he did know that. And he also knew that she loved him for it.
“Oh, this is perfect!” Lucifer declared after a few more minutes of searching. He proudly held up a bright red jumper with little white presents embroidered along the top and bottom, and in the middle in large lettering were the words ‘I’m the Gift’. “Who knew my father had a clothing line?!”
This was obviously once a touchy subject for them, but it spoke volumes about how far they’d come in their relationship that it was no longer an issue and something they could joke about.
This time Chloe didn’t hide her smile of amusement, and instead surprised him with a soft kiss to his cheek before taking the jumper from him and dropping it into the cart next to his.
He would never admit it aloud, but that little shopping expedition had been surprisingly fun. It was one of many festive activities he’d partaken in with his two favourite humans over the past few weeks of December. Lucifer had never celebrated Christmas before – the devil celebrating such an occasion always seemed absurd to him. He had of course had Christmas themed nights at Lux before, with many a scantily-clad woman dressed in a ‘sexy-Santa’ suit – those had always been fun. That however was the extent of his engagement with the holiday. Christmas was a time that humans celebrated being with their families – and it always reminded him that he hadn’t had one of those in millennia.
But that was until he got into a relationship with one particular miracle of a detective – his Detective, whom he adored beyond measure. Chloe.
Upon finding out that in his infinitely long life Lucifer had never celebrated Christmas before, and the notably sad reason why he tended to spend the day alone in his penthouse - with only the company of his favourite scotch, she had declared that there would be no more of that and that this year would be different. He had protested, albeit weakly, that there were worse ways to spend a day than drinking the finest single malt scotch money could buy. But Chloe had been adamant that he would not be spending the day alone, and instead that he would be joining her and Trixie – if he wanted to that was.
Lucifer had been incredibly touched at the offer, and of course he would always love the opportunity to spend more time with her – and these days he even found himself looking forward to spending time with her miniature. The Decker women really had put a spell on him.
“That’s very generous, Detective” he’d told her. “But I wouldn’t want to intrude. I know Christmas is a time people like to spend time with their families.”
Chloe had looked at him with a mixture of bewilderment and sadness shining in her beautiful sea-green eyes. She stepped into him and took his hand in hers. Her voice was soft but resolute as she looked up at him. “Lucifer, Christmas is a time to spend with your family – with the people you love. And that’s why I want to spend it with you.” At his confused expression, she cupped his cheek gently in her palm. “You’re my family, Lucifer. You’re who I love.”
Lucifer swallowed, his eyes glistening with moisture. “Oh” was all he managed to choke out past the ball of emotion that had become lodged in his throat. He realised in that moment that he saw Chloe in the exact same way – she was his family too, and she had been for years.
She leaned up and kissed him then, understanding that he was too overwhelmed for words.
“Thank you” he murmured when she pulled back. “I’d be honoured to spend Christmas Day with you and the urchin.”
“You can be part of our traditions” Chloe told him, and as she squeezed his hand affectionately, she added “And we’ll make some new ones too – just the three of us.”
Lucifer smiled gratefully, blinking back the tears that threatened to fall. “I’d very much like that, Chloe.”
There was one festive tradition that Lucifer was more than happy to partake in – mistletoe. During their Christmas jumper expedition, the stall of white berried foliage had caught his eye, and with a grin he had deposited the store’s entire supply into their cart.
“I’m being festive, Detective!” he’d explained at Chloe’s raised eyebrow.
“Uh-huh” she’d replied with an amused smile.
Lucifer had then proceeded to hang it in every room in both of their homes – usually in multiple locations, and made good on the tradition at every possible opportunity.
He had also hung some above her desk at the precinct – much to her initial embarrassment when he’d, with mischief in his eyes, gestured towards it and leaned towards her. “It’s tradition, Detective. And you did say you wanted me to get in the festive spirit.”
She bit her lip – in that charming way she always did when she was trying to pretend she didn’t find his antics amusing.
After glancing around to ensure they didn’t have an audience, and to his sheer delight, she leaned in and kissed him quickly.
An “Aaaahh! You guys are the cutest!” coming from Ella’s lab confirmed that they had in fact had an audience, and caused Chloe to blush and proceed to hide behind her computer screen.
Lucifer repeated this action every day upon arrival at the precinct, replacing the mistletoe every so often with fresh sprigs.
Chloe for her part became less and less shy with obliging his ‘festiveness’, meeting him fondly with firmer and lengthier kisses. At times she even initiated the tradition herself – those times were his favourites.
It was no secret at work that they were together now - not since Chloe had assuaged his fears that she was ashamed of him, by clarifying to the bullpen that they were now partners in every sense of the word. And it always warmed his heart that she openly showed affection to him in front of her colleagues.
He had also been happy to indulge his passion for cooking when Trixie had excitedly pleaded with her mother to be allowed to make some Christmas cookies.
Lucifer grinned, cast the recipe book carelessly aside whilst donning his ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron and told them to prepare for a baking masterclass.
Trixie, standing on a step stool to decrease the height difference, had been a willing pupil under his tutelage – stirring, mixing and rolling when instructed. She was also a surprisingly quick learner in the art of icing and piping skills.
Chloe had mostly left the two of them to it, watching with a fond affection at their matching dark heads bent over the worktop, studiously working on their creations. Her heart burst with love as Trixie giggled at Lucifer’s obsessive attention to detail and how she beamed with pride when he praised her efforts. Her daughter clearly adored Lucifer, and had done ever since they’d first met. And however much he would deny it, the feeling was most definitely mutual.
Of course Lucifer hadn’t been able to resist turning the activity x-rated. When Trixie had eaten her weight in cookies and fallen into a food induced coma on the couch, his eyes sparkled with devilish mischief and he grinned like a naughty schoolboy as he slid a plate of his own ‘personalised’ cookies across the table to her. “I made these ones just for you, darling.”
Chloe tried really hard not to laugh at Lucifer’s inventive take on Christmas cookies and the look of glee on his face. “Lucifer, those are some…interesting looking candy canes.”
Lucifer’s smirk was sinful. “Oh these are far more pleasurable to put in your mouth than candy canes, Detective - as you well know.”
Chloe blushed furiously and snapped her head over to Trixie to make sure she was still sleeping. “Lucifer!” she hissed.
The only effect her reprimand had was to make him grin smugly and poke his cheek suggestively with his tongue.
He was a ridiculous, overgrown child, but he was her ridiculous, overgrown child - and she loved him. She rolled her eyes affectionately and giggled. The way he had managed to ice his phallic looking cookies to make them look festive was actually quite impressive. “You’re insatiable, do you know that?”
Lucifer just beamed, deeming it a compliment. “Oh, I know!” He then gestured pointedly at his apron.
Chloe snorted in amusement, but leaned forward anyway to ‘kiss the cook’ as instructed.
“I actually have some leftover icing – you could try your hand at decorating the real life version later if you like?”
This time Chloe couldn’t help but laugh out loud, His childlike joy was infectious. She loved seeing him like this – so carefree, and she was infinitely glad that being in Hell for so long hadn’t stolen his precious ‘Lucifer-ness’. She squeezed his hand. “I love you. Don’t ever change, Lucifer.”
The reverent smile he gave her made her fall in love with him all over again.
…and they did put the leftover icing to good use that night.
A fond smile tugged at Lucifer’s lips as he watched Trixie teeter precariously on a step ladder, her mother stood protectively beside her, as she placed mismatched baubles asymmetrically all over the 7ft Norwegian spruce that had been delivered earlier that day.
He had been aghast when he’d seen the Decker’s sad looking plastic imitation and insisted that if they were adamant on decorating a tree, then said tree should actually resemble a tree.
Real fir trees were notoriously sparse and difficult to come by in LA, but Lucifer was not in the slightest bit phased and no more than 4 hours later, after calling in one of his many IOUs, a sprawling, elegant Christmas tree that was fit for the White House had been delivered.
Trixie’s eyes had lit up - quite literally like a Christmas tree when she’d seen it, and Lucifer couldn’t deny the warm glow that making the child happy had created in his chest.
Said child was also wearing her chosen Christmas jumper – adorned with festively dressed, ice-skating penguins - which, as absurd as the notion was, he had to admit did make her look rather cute.
And Chloe too was wearing her ‘I’m the Gift’ jumper – which may as well have been made for her, coupled with a pair of fitted black jeans -that allowed him to appreciate her delightfully long, toned, legs. The black and red combination was one of his favourites, and he was fairly sure she knew that because she had been wearing it rather more frequently since they’d gotten together.
“Lucifer, come over here – this part you need to do!” Trixie called out, turning to him with mischief written all over her face.
Curiously, he made his way over to them and heard Chloe snort when she saw what her daughter was holding out to him. He scoffed, in a mixture of affront and amusement when the miniature Decker thrust an obviously homemade devil with angel wings into his hand. It looked like she had pulled the head off a regular angel tree decoration and replaced it with what appeared to be a devil emoji stress ball – which to be honest was rather comical, especially when he imagined the look of horror that would be on his dick-head twin’s face if he were to ever see it.
“It’s for the top of the tree – you get pride of place” Trixie explained as he examined her inventive creation. “Me and Mom have our own decorations, and I thought you should have one too.”
Lucifer felt that warm feeling in his chest again at being included. He smiled softly. “Yes, well – thank you, child.”
“Do you like it?” she asked hopefully.
“I do” he told her honestly. “It’s very…original.”
Trixie beamed at the praise.
“Although just to be clear, I’ve never worn one of those dresses – that’s more Amenadiel’s jam.”
Mother and daughter giggled at his comment as he reached up and placed the unique tree topper atop the tree. As he stepped back to regard the perfectly imperfect finished product, Chloe slipped her hand into his and Trixie leaned into his side - and he felt very much like part of a family. It was a particularly wonderful feeling.
“Okay Lucifer, out with it?” Chloe told him firmly after they’d retired upstairs later that night. She couldn’t take his distractedness and nervous fidgeting any longer.
“Detective?” Lucifer asked, apparently not having realised he’d been behaving any differently.
“You’ve been quiet for the past hour - staring at me when you think I’m not watching.”
“I’m just enraptured by your beauty, darling.”
Chloe rolled her eyes fondly. “That’s sweet, but I can tell there’s something on your mind. You haven’t stopped fidgeting with your jacket and you have that nervous look on your face – the one you get when you have something literally earth shattering to tell me and you’re trying to figure out the best way to break it to me. You’re making me nervous! So come on, spit it out - whatever it is, I can take it. Whatever the latest celestial drama is, we’ll deal with it together - we’re partners Lucifer. We’ll always be partners.”
Lucifer smiled fondly at her rambling. “Funnily enough Detective, that’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.”
Chloe’s nervousness increased tenfold and she felt a jolt of dread in her stomach. “About being partners?” she asked timidly.
“Yes.” Lucifer looked nervous too.
“Are you...are you not happy anymore - with us…with me? Are you...breaking up with me?”
Lucifer’s eyes widened in horror and disbelief. How did she not know how immeasurably happy she made him?! In his millennia long life, he’d never been even minutely as happy as he had been since meeting her, since loving her. She was his entire world. “What?! No! Of course not, Detective - never! Nothing could be further from the truth!”
Chloe breathed an audible sigh of relief. “Oh - okay, good. Well, what is it then? Because you’re kinda sending my blood pressure through the roof here.”
“Apologies, Detective - this is coming out all wrong. I’ve rehearsed what I wanted to say so many times in my head, but I can’t remember a single bloody word!”
Chloe took his hand, her voice soothing as she spoke. “Lucifer, it’s okay - I’m here, you can tell me.”
Lucifer took a deep breath and intertwined their fingers, drawing courage from her. “Detective, Chloe...you were right - there is something I’ve been wanting to tell you. Something I’ve been wanting to say to you for a very long time, but I could never quite get the words out. You see, I was scared to say them...to break down the last of the walls that have protected me for millennia - to fully give you my heart.” He placed a hand on her cheek, stroking it softly with his thumb. “But what I didn’t realise was that you’ve owned my heart since the day we met. I told you before that it was complicated, but my feelings for you, now that I understand them, actually couldn’t be more simple. I apologise for taking so long to say it, but that didn’t mean I didn’t feel it - because I did. I do - very much so.” He took another deep breath and gave her their smile.
Chloe felt her heart thudding in her chest at the anticipation of his next words.
“I love you, Chloe Jane Decker - with all my heart. I always have done, and I always will do.”
The happy tears that had welled in her eyes could no longer be prevented from flowing freely down her cheeks. “Oh Lucifer, I love you too! I am so in love with you.”
She smiled that beautiful, radiant smile that lit up her whole face, and could quite easily light up an entire universe. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she kissed him fiercely with a happy sob.
When she pulled back, Lucifer glanced over at the clock on her nightstand - that now displayed the digits ‘00:02’, and then back to her. “But that wasn’t all – now that it’s officially Christmas Day, there’s also something I want to give you…or more precisely, something I want to ask you.”
Lucifer looked really nervous now. Chloe felt her heart thudding in her chest - it couldn’t be...right?...there was no way Lucifer was about to-
He swallowed and reached into his jacket pocket - for probably the hundredth time that night, and Chloe finally understood why.
Her eyes widened and her breath caught in her throat as he pulled out an intricately crafted little walnut box.
He really was about to.
“Chloe.”
The reverent way he said her name, in a way only he could, and in a tone reserved only for her, made her lift her stunned gaze from the box up to meet his.
“Oh, I forgot!” He slipped off the bed and down onto one knee. “I believe it’s customary for the man to be on bended knee for this part. Congratulations Detective - you’re the first person, mortal or otherwise, to get the devil on his knees!”
Chloe chuckled in stunned amusement…but then when he opened the box, she gasped. “Lucifer! Is that...?”
Lucifer’s voice was soft as he replied. “It is. It’s the ring your father gave to your mother when he asked her a very important question.”
“My mom gave this to you?”
Lucifer looked indignant. “Well I didn’t bloody steal it!”
Chloe giggled. “No I know, it’s just my mom loves that ring.”
“She does. She told me that she always wanted you to have it, and that she wanted- she wanted the man who would make you as happy as your father made her, to give it to you. And I very much hope that I’m that man.”
Chloe swallowed as her eyes teared up. “Lucifer, you are.”
Lucifer smiled. “Right then. Well, if you’ll stop interrupting me, I might be able to actually get to the question!”
Chloe bit her lip to try and control her smile. She couldn’t believe this was about to happen – she had dreamed of this very moment so many times, but never dared hope that it would actually happen.
After taking a deep, calming breath, Lucifer began. “Chloe, you are the love of my immortal life. I promise that I will love and cherish you forever, and I give you my word that I’ll do everything in my power to make you as truly, wonderfully happy as you make me. Whether you’re a gift, a miracle, or just a human with an impossibly boring middle name, I don’t care – because you are, put simply, my world. You complete me, and I may be vulnerable around you, but you make me feel invincible. Thank you, for loving me.”
“Yes!” Chloe blurted out immediately, her eyes glistening with moisture.
Lucifer blinked in surprise. “Detective, I haven’t even asked you the question yet! Really, you’re even more impatient than your offspring when there’s confectionary in the vicinity!” he admonished, trying his best not to smile. He wasn’t expecting quite such an immediate yes, but it did very much warm his heart that she was so eager.
“Whatever the question, the answer is yes!”
Lucifer beamed, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Really?” he purred, “Well, I’ll bear that in mind for later!”
Chloe laughed and tapped her foot impatiently. “Lucifer, come on!”
“I’m trying Detective, but you keep interrupting me!”
Chloe giggled happily. “Okay, I’m sorry. I’m sorry - go ahead.”
Lucifer huffed teasingly. “Well, as I was trying to say…Detective, Chloe… I can't imagine my life without you next to me. Our past has been so very memorable - one might even say incredible, and I’d very much like for our future to be infinite. Our story so far is only the beginning - let's write our own happy ending.” He took a deep, steadying breath. “Will you choose me?” He held the ring out to her. “Chloe, will you marry me?”
“Yes! I will! Lucifer of course I will!” After she’d said those words, Chloe had a flashback to Lucifer’s ‘Detective, I do – of course I do’ all those months ago in the evidence closet – only this time neither of them were in any doubt as to the depth of each other’s feelings. “And for the record, I chose you a long time ago.”
“Really?” Lucifer’s vision blurred as his eyes filled with happy tears.
“Yes, really!” Chloe laughed, equally as happily, and fared no better as her own tears could no longer be contained, rolling unbidden down her cheeks.
Lucifer’s face broke out into an all-encompassing, breath taking smile, and his eyes sparkled beautifully like the stars that he’d created. “Right then, I guess we’re doing this!”
His smile was infectious and she beamed back at him, practically giddy with excitement. “We are.” Her hand trembled slightly as she held it out to him.
When he took her hand softly in one of his, Chloe felt a similar tremble in his hand, and she realised that as big of a deal getting engaged was to ‘mere mortals’ such as herself, it was so much more profound for someone who’d lived as long as Lucifer had, seen everything the world had to offer, and most significantly, experienced such pain, loss and betrayal. So the fact that he was here now, even half as incredible as he is, and giving his heart to her like this, was quite simply amazing. “I love you so much Lucifer.”
His eyes softened, as they always did when she said those words to him, and then he slid the ring onto her finger. “And I you, Chloe.”
It was of course, a perfect fit – just like they were.
“It’s beautiful” Chloe whispered, mesmerised as she watched the ring sparkle in the moonlight.
Lucifer opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by the bedroom door being flung open and ricocheting against the wall, swiftly followed by 4ft5’ of overexcited 11-year-old bounding into the room. He jumped in surprise at the intrusion, but Chloe only laughed – well used to her daughter’s habit of announcing her presence in such a manner.
“Do you like the ring Mom?!” Trixie asked excitedly, her smile a mile wide as she looked from Chloe to the new addition on her finger and back again. “I helped Lucifer design it!”
“Child, were you listening the entire time?”
“Duh!” Trixie rolled her eyes at the thought of him expecting her not to do that. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to wait ‘til morning and I wanted to hear Mom say yes!”
Lucifer’s face softened, clearly touched at how confident she was in Chloe’s acceptance.
Chloe watched the banter between her two favourite people with fond amusement.
“Wait, you had Trixie help you design the ring?”
“Of course” Lucifer replied as if that was a given. “I know the eavesdropping urchin is the most important person in your life, and so I wanted to get her blessing to marry her mother - I wanted to include her. Also, since she’s half you I figured her opinion on the ring would be worthwhile - I wanted to make sure you’d like it.”
Chloe felt her eyes misting up again at how utterly adorable and sweet he could be. She smiled gratefully and squeezed his hand, hoping he knew just how much his gesture meant to her. “Thank you Lucifer.”
Lucifer returned her smile and then turned back to Trixie. “Good thing we hadn’t started celebrating when you burst through the door, child.”
“Lucifer!”
Trixie just giggled knowingly – she had after all spent many years around Maze.
Lucifer was then caught off guard when the mini Decker flung herself around his waist. “I’m glad you’re gunna officially be my step-devil now, Lucifer.”
An astonished huff escaped Lucifer’s throat in lieu of actual words at Trixie’s statement as she moved to wrap her gangly limbs around Chloe. “Congratulations Mom – I’m really happy for you. And it’s about time!”
Chloe snorted and placed a kiss to the top of her daughter’s hair. “Thank you, baby.”
Trixie was still beaming, as though her mom and Lucifer getting engaged was the best Christmas present she could have wished for, when she extricated herself from them and made her way out of the room. Before she closed the door though, she turned and smirked mischievously at them. “I’ll leave you to your ‘celebrating’.”
Lucifer grinned in amusement and raised a suggestive eyebrow at Chloe once they were alone again.
Chloe rolled her eyes fondly. “So, ‘step devil’, huh?” she teased.
Lucifer huffed and blushed adorably, but Chloe could tell that he was touched by Trixie’s sentiment from the slight pull of a smile tugging at his lips. “Yes, well…I do hope the child isn’t disappointed – I haven’t the first clue how to parent.”
Chloe’s heart clenched at the insecurity in his eyes. Given the tumultuous relationship he had with his own father it wasn’t surprising that he was nervous about taking on the responsibility of a child. And he was nervous because he didn’t want to let either of them down. Her kind, generous, loving, beautiful angel. She cupped his cheek in her hand and smiled softly. “Lucifer, don’t you see – you’re already doing it. You listen to her, you support her, you protect her, and you care about her – that’s all any child could ever ask for. Just keep being you.”
Lucifer’s eyes went from insecure to tender and awed – just like they always did when she complimented his character, when she told him he was good. And it made her fall in love with him all over again. “Thank you.”
“Thank you” Chloe replied. Knowing Lucifer as well as she did, she could tell when he needed a breather from emotional overload, so she changed the subject. “So, that time you were so eager to babysit her a month ago, you guys went shopping?”
The amused glint in her eyes told him she wasn’t annoyed, and the way his eyes lit up mischievously told her that he was rather proud of himself. “Well I did spawn-sit, did I not? And you weren’t specific with regards to how I should entertain her – the only caveats, if I recall correctly, were: nothing age-inappropriate – for her, make sure she eats something other than sugar, oh and under no circumstances is she allowed to drive. I believe jewellery shopping fitted within those boundaries, hmm?”
Chloe giggled and shifted so she was leaning into him. “You think you’re very clever, don’t you?”
“Oh I know I’m very clever” he teased, his gravelly voice tickling her neck and making her giggle more. “Now” he added, taking her newly ringed hand in his. “Before said spawn barrelled in and interrupted us, I believe I was going to tell you about the ring…”
Chloe’s face lit up again and her heart skipped a beat as she looked down at their joined hands. It was then that something occurred to her. “You made it into a trilogy ring.”
Lucifer smiled, looking proud at her jewellery knowledge. “I did. You really have been watching a lot of Desperate Housewives of Beverley Hills, haven’t you?!”
Chloe snorted. “Real Housewives” she corrected, but didn’t deny his assumption.
“Same difference.”
Chloe’s amusement softened into a tender smile as she looked down at the ring again. “Past, present and future” she said, touching each stone in turn before lifting her gaze to meet his.
It was Lucifer’s turn to smile tenderly. “Indeed” he replied softly. “It’s us.”
Chloe’s chest suddenly became very tight and her eyes very blurry. She couldn’t wait a second longer without being in his arms and so practically launched herself at him – Trixie style, eliciting a surprised “hmph” from him.
After hugging him tightly she settled onto his lap and placed soft kisses on his eyes, then his nose and finally on his lips, before resting her forehead on his. The happy, contented sigh he emitted warmed her heart.
When she regained her composure she leaned back slightly, but didn’t let go of his hand. “What are the black stones?” She traced her finger lightly over the two what looked to be slightly smaller black diamonds that stood proudly on either side of her parents’ diamond in the centre.
Lucifer smiled softly. “They’re from my ring, darling.”
Chloe’s eyes widened in surprise and she flipped their hands over. His ring still adorned the same finger it always had, but the prominent black stone in the middle was only about half the size it used to be. She had thought it looked smaller before, but she’d just brushed it off thinking she was imagining things. Plus, he had a habit of using those rather talented fingers to distract her. She felt herself welling up again. “You used your ring to make mine?”
He nodded. “It’s the one thing I brought with me from the Silver City. I- I wanted you to have a part of me, to go with the part of you - because we’re a team, we’re partners.”
The way he didn’t even realise how romantic and heart-warming his words were was what finally did her in and caused tears to stream down her face.
Lucifer brushed them gently from her cheeks. “These are happy tears, aren’t they Detective? You humans tend to cry at any and every given emotion so I can never be sure.”
Chloe chuckled happily, her eyes glistening and her heart exploding with love for him. “Yes, they’re happy tears, Lucifer. I love the ring – I love how thoughtful it is, and I love you.”
Lucifer’s smile was as reverent as it was beautiful. “As I love you, Chloe.”
Chloe knew without a doubt that she would never, ever, tire of hearing him say those words.
They shared the sweetest of kisses – a declaration of everything that they had been, that they had always been, and a promise of everything that they would be. When they pulled back Lucifer was smiling widely. “Can I give you the rest of your gifts now?” he asked, in that excited way Trixie did at 5am on Christmas morning when she pleaded to be allowed to open her own gifts.
Chloe’s eyebrows rose. “There’s more?”
“Of course!” Lucifer replied with a wave of his hand, as if it were preposterous to think otherwise. “As you’ll recall, I am not cheap!”
Chloe giggled at the reminder of how indignant he had been at the insinuation during their fake engagement for a case years ago.
Seemingly out of nowhere he produced a rather full looking stocking, embroidered with a ‘C’ on the front. Last she’d seen it it had been in the lounge, one of three that had proudly adorned the fireplace since they hung them there a week ago. The second was an identical one sporting a ‘T’ for Trixie, and the third was a new addition this year. Chloe would never forget the touched look on his face when she hung it next to theirs and he saw the ‘L’ that signified it was for him, and more importantly reinstated that he was part of their family.
“You know I’m always a fan of slipping a little something into your stocking, Detective”
“I’ve been waiting for you to make that joke since the moment we hung them up. I’m surprised it took you so long” she jested.
“Just waiting for the opportune moment, darling. You know what they say about delayed gratification” Lucifer teased back, topping it off with a sinful swipe of his tongue along his cheek.
Chloe chuckled and felt a familiar flutter low in her belly. If she wasn’t aware of the delights of delayed gratification prior to getting together with Lucifer, she most definitely was now. A fact that he was all too aware of.
He grinned smugly, knowing exactly where her thoughts had gone.
She rolled her eyes good naturedly and then smiled excitedly as she looked back down at her gifts. “Shall I open them?” His childlike enthusiasm was infectious.
“Well that was the idea” he teased.
Chloe giggled. She carefully tipped the gifts out onto the bed. Being from Lucifer, they were of course perfectly and intricately wrapped in expensive paper and ribbon. They were almost too pretty to open – almost. Her curiosity and excitement got the better of her though, so she picked up the closest and carefully unwrapped it.
“You unwrap presents in much the same way as you drive, Detective – like an elderly turtle.”
A smile tugged at her lips and she rolled her eyes in amusement. “Shut up – I don’t want to rip it.”
“Well I have a whole roll of gift wrap left if you’re that fond of it.”
Chloe ignored his teasing and concentrated on unwrapping her gift instead. Her smile widened and she looked up at him with a raised eyebrow when she saw what was inside. Lucifer’s eyes sparkled with mischief as she opened the box from a very exclusive lingerie store on Rodeo Drive. Of course her devilish boyfriend would not let an opportunity to buy her underwear slip by.
Expecting something risqué and barely there, she was surprised after moving the fancy tissue paper aside to find an exquisite, intricate baby blue lace bra and panty set. It was classy but also very sexy. It was beautiful, and something she would absolutely choose for herself…obviously if she was into spending what was likely 2 weeks wages on underwear. She smiled softly at him. “You know me well.”
“That I do.” Lucifer grinned, clearly happy that he’d gotten it right.
Chloe didn’t need to check if he’d gotten the right size – rather annoyingly as it was at the time, he’d guessed her bra size long before he’d had the chance to divest her of such items.
“I can’t say that one is an entirely altruistic gift though, given that I’m hoping to get rather a lot of enjoyment out of them too.”
Chloe snorted and leaned in to kiss him. When she pulled back her eyes were sparkling with mischief too. “Maybe I’ll give you a fashion show later.”
Lucifer beamed.
The second gift was less extravagant, but no less thoughtful – a bumper supply of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups – her favourite. Much to his chagrin and insistence that Swiss chocolate was far superior to her ‘overly processed American rubbish’. But just like with the ‘orange abomination that’s more plastic than cheese’, he always bought them for her anyway – because she liked them.
When she opened the next gift, Chloe’s jaw dropped comically, her face flushing scarlet as she was torn between laughing and dying of embarrassment. Lucifer was positively gleeful at her quandary and made no attempt to hide the amused delight written all over his face. “Oh my g-. Seriously – horns?!”
Chloe held up the Halloween style, bright red devil horns headband accusingly, as flashbacks to a rather erotic sex dream she’d had about him – prior to having experienced the live version, flickered to life in her mind.
“Come now Detective – no need to be shy. We both know you’ve got something of a horn kink, so I thought it might be fun to try a little role play.”
Chloe choked on air. She had never shared that particular fantasy with him, thinking he might be offended given that he didn’t actually have horns. “How did you-?”
Lucifer just grinned wider at her lack of denial. She should have realised that anything to do with sex, and in particular, sex with her, he would jump at the chance at.
“Maze!” She surmised with a huff, remembering waking up from said dream to find her demon roommate watching her, complete with popcorn, as if she were a pay per view. “I’m gunna kill her.”
Lucifer just frowned in confusion. “What does Mazikeen have to do with your penchant for horns?”
“She told you about my dream...right?” At his blank look she felt her face flush further. “Actually, forget I said that.”
His confusion quickly turned to abject delight. “No, she didn’t. But it’s wonderful to know you’ve been having these naughty little fantasies about me for years! Really darling, you should’ve told me sooner – I’d have been more than happy to help you turn fantasy into reality!”
Chloe just huffed, seeing no point in denying it now. “So how did you know then?”
Lucifer smirked. “Well you do have quite the habit of talking in your sleep, Detective. And sometimes, when you’re having a particularly pleasant dream, you also add actions.”
Chloe’s jaw dropped again. She closed her eyes as she willed the mortification to subside. Although considering their many, many sexual exploits over the past few months, there was not an inch of her he hadn’t seen (or touched), so embarrassment was fairly redundant at this point.
Lucifer chuckled and stroked her cheek affectionately with his thumb, and in doing so returned her jaw to its usual position. “It’s quite adorable, I assure you.”
Chloe bit her lip, trying (and failing) to stop the smile that was betraying her indignation. She put the horns headband to one side on the nightstand…but didn’t rule out giving them a trial run at some point.
The soft, excited smile returned to Lucifer’s face as he picked up one of the remaining gifts and handed it to her.
“Lucifer!” Chloe gasped when she opened the next gift box to find a voucher for a weekend away for two, to a fancy spa resort they’d visited a few months back during a case.
“No nefarious reprobates to hunt down this time” he joked.
Chloe chuckled.
“You work so hard, love. I just thought you deserved some time to relax.”
She smiled softly and squeezed his hand.
“And what better way than spending two days away, gloriously naked with the devil at LA’s finest spa resort?”
Chloe laughed at that – there was the cheeky, mischievous Lucifer-ness she’d missed so much when he’d been gone. “Sounds like the perfect way to relax to me.”
Lucifer’s smile was a mile wide. When he handed her the final gift he managed to look equal parts innocent and sinful. “You may like to make use of these during our little getaway. Or at any time really – they’re very versatile and can be cashed in 24/7.”
Chloe looked at the small, rectangular book-like gift curiously, wondering what it might be. She couldn’t control the bubble of laughter that escaped her throat as she unwrapped the ‘Lucifer Love Coupons’ book, emblazoned with a winking devil face emoji on the front
“I had it custom made” he added helpfully, looking rather pleased with himself.
Opening it to the first page, that statement was glaringly obvious, given how specific it was to their…tastes. “Hmm, you don’t say!” she teased. Chloe’s eyebrows rose in amusement as she flicked through the coupons. “Lucifer, these are all x-rated.” She felt her face getting hot, along with other body parts, on seeing a certain coupon that required the use of his piano.
“Not all, Detective – there are some for cuddles in there.”
“Naked cuddles” she pointed out, trying not to laugh as she showed him the relevant coupon.
“The best kind I believe.”
Chloe laughed happily and stroked his cheek affectionately. “Thank you, Lucifer.”
Lucifer sighed contentedly and leaned into her touch. “Although I am rather fond of all kinds of cuddles – as long as they’re with you.”
Chloe’s heart melted. She couldn’t not kiss him again at that, and so she did. She would never get over how he could be flirty and sex crazed one minute and then unbelievably romantic and sweet the next. “Me too.”
Wrapping her arm around his waist she rested her head on his chest as they leaned back against the pillows, knowing how much he loved this particular type of cuddle – even if it wasn’t x-rated. Her beautiful, loving, kind hearted angel who used to go rigid at the mere thought of a hug and couldn’t understand non-sexual affection, now couldn’t get enough of it and actively sought it from her. She swallowed the lump in her throat at the thought of how far he’d come in the five years she’d known him.
“Babe, what did you get for Trixie by the way?” Chloe asked as she traced patterns lightly on his arm with her finger. “Remember I told you not to be ridiculously extravagant – you already spoil her.” She had a sudden thought that it may have been pertinent to ask him this question earlier.
“I do nothing of the sort, Detective!”
Chloe looked up at him, her eyebrow raised in amused disbelief. “You bought her an $1800 phone last month.”
Lucifer looked at her with a ‘yes, and?’ expression and waved her off, as if he’d just bought her a candy bar. “But that was a necessity, darling – that deplorable little miscreant at school broke hers and she can’t be without a means of communication. The little urchin has to be able to contact us if she ever needs anything.”
Chloe’s heart melted at his use of “us”, her face softening into a tender smile as she decided not to point out that the phone he’d given to her delighted daughter was worth 10x that of her old one. The fact that he cared so much about Trixie’s wellbeing and safety, that he loved her little girl, would never not warm her heart. The mile wide smile on Trixie’s face and the subsequent way she’d barrelled into Lucifer, hugging him with such force she’d almost knocked him over – coupled with the surprised but affectionate look on her celestial boyfriend’s face, could almost justify the excessive cost.
“I bought the child a trip to space camp” Lucifer added, answering her original question. “She’s always wanted to be the president of Mars…and whilst I can do many things, that might be out of even my realm of capabilities, so I thought this would be the next best thing. Do you- do you think she’ll like it?”
There was no bravado in his question – he was genuinely nervous about his gift and anxious that the little girl would like it.
Chloe smiled and sat up so she could see him properly. “She’ll love it, Lucifer” she told him softly. “That’s really thoughtful of you.”
Lucifer beamed. “Oh, and I had this made for her too.” He pulled out another box from his jacket pocket – this one a little larger than hers, and handed it nervously to her.
Chloe’s eyes immediately filled with tears as she opened the box and found a beautiful little gold star pendant.
“It’s the Morning Star” Lucifer explained shyly. “Beatrice has always been so gracious in welcoming me into her family – unfathomably, right from the start. And I just wanted her to know that I see her as part of my family too.”
“It’s not unfathomable Lucifer – she loves you. We both do.”
Lucifer’s smile could have melted ice caps. “As I do you, Detective – both of you.”
It was Chloe’s turn to beam widely now. After kissing him again – because you know, she could do that now and they had a lot of time to make up for, she practically bounced off the bed in her excitement. “Okay – I wanna give you my gifts now!”
Before he had time to reply, she had disappeared out of the room and down the stairs. Less than a minute later she returned and closed the door as quietly as possible with her foot, so as not to wake Trixie, as she clutched Lucifer’s stocking and precariously balanced a large box on her hip.
After depositing her haul onto the bed Chloe climbed back in and settled against him. “My wrapping skills aren’t quite as award winning as yours” she joked.
“Nonsense Detective – your wrapping is perfectly acceptable, if not a little rustic” Lucifer teased. He laughed when she smacked him lightly on the arm. “Besides, didn’t anyone ever teach you it’s what’s on the inside that counts?”
Chloe snorted. “Uh-huh, so you trying to get me into bed from day one was because you were attracted to what was on the inside?”
“Absolutely – I was very attracted to what was inside your clothes.”
Chloe full on laughed out loud at that and Lucifer joined in, both just revelling in the carefree banter that they’d always shared and had sorely missed when they’d been apart.
With her eyes shining with fondness and affection, Chloe passed him the large box. “Here, open this one first.” She had spent a long time thinking what to get him – after all, what do you get for the man who had or could buy anything he wanted? So in the end, she decided to go for things that would show him how much she cared, how much he mattered.
Lucifer’s excitement was palpable as he looked down at the festively wrapped box that had been deposited in his lap. He looked so achingly young and as though he’d never been given a present before, which heartbreakingly Chloe realised he probably hadn’t. She blinked rapidly to chase away that thought, not wanting to dampen the moment. But she vowed then and there that as long as she had anything to do with it, Lucifer would never be without affection and he would always know that he was loved.
Chloe bit her lip in anticipation as he peeled back the paper – just as delicately as she’d done with his, but she didn’t call him on it. She watched as his excitement turned to intrigue, and then to tenderness when he realised what it was.
He looked up at her with a soft smile. “A telescope.”
Chloe returned his smile. “LA’s not exactly the best for stargazing, so I thought this might help you to see the stars – your stars. And maybe you could show them to me too?”
There was no mistaking the moisture glistening in Lucifer’s eyes. His voice was hoarse as he replied, “I would love to show you the stars, Chloe. Thank you.”
She squeezed his hand, feeling herself begin to well up again – they were quite the pair! “You’re welcome.”
Lucifer cleared his throat and looked excitedly back down at his remaining stack of presents. “Right then, which one would you like me to open next, darling?”
“Hmm…” Chloe regarded them for a moment before coming to a decision and handing him the smallest of the gifts.
When he opened this one his expression turned to confusion as he held up a key chain, complete with keys, and looked at her accusingly. “Is that my Monopoly piece? I wondered where that had gone!”
Chloe couldn’t help but giggle. “You mean the one that mysteriously disappeared from our set?”
Lucifer blushed, realising that he’d just dropped himself in it.
Chloe just smiled softly. “Don’t worry, me and Trix always knew you’d kept it. Besides, I think it’s sweet you wanting to be the shoe.”
Lucifer smiled bashfully. “Yes, well – a Louboutin, obviously.”
Chloe snorted. “Obviously.”
In his indignation about his Monopoly piece being ‘stolen’ and turned into a key chain, he hadn’t seemed to pay attention to the actual keys attached, or realise what they were for – so she explained. “I know you don’t technically need keys - what with your lock mojo and everything, and the fact that you’ve been strolling in here unannounced since the week we met.” Lucifer grinned smugly at this. “But I thought it would symbolise that you’re always welcome here – that my home is your home too.”
The way Lucifer’s eyes glistened with moisture, sparkling in the moonlight as he looked at her with such awed adoration, was one of the most beautiful things she’d ever seen. “As mine has, and always will be yours” he choked out.
Chloe smiled tenderly at him. They practically lived together anyway, having barely spent a night apart since they got together – her things had intermixed with his in his bedroom and he’d also rather sweetly cleared a section of his impressive closet for her to keep some changes of clothes (even though more often than not when she was there she would wear his rather than hers, much to his delight). He also had a spare suit (obviously including waistcoat, dress shirt and of course a customary pocket square) kept in her somewhat smaller closet in her apartment. But a thrill of excitement ran through her at the thought of making that a permanent arrangement, where they’d have one home - that would be ‘theirs’. She couldn’t wait.
Lucifer was patiently but eagerly awaiting permission to open his next gift when she came out of her very pleasant daydream, looking at them and then back to her with that childlike excitement again.
“Go ahead” she told him softly.
He grinned happily and picked up the smaller of the two remaining gifts first. After carefully peeling back the paper, his smile turned to one of tender reverence as he ran his fingers gently over the outline of her face in one of the two photo frames inside. “I remember this.”
“Me too” she replied fondly. “That night was perfect.”
The photo he was currently looking at was taken after their first official (and also first successful) date together when they’d got back to the penthouse – and after they’d continued their celebrations just the two of them. She’d snapped the shot on her phone as they lay together in bed – wanting to remedy their lack of photos together; him shirtless and her wearing her favourite of his white dress shirts. His hair was adorably curly and hers was also slightly mussed – a result of their prior activities. But it’s the looks on their faces that makes her love this photo so much. They’re laughing at something, eyes crinkled in absolute happiness and looking at each other like nothing else exists outside of their own idyllic little world – like they are each other’s world.
They look completely and utterly besotted, and totally in love.
“It very much was, Detective. One of the best of my life.”
Lucifer’s expression was both fond and amused when he looked at the second photo she’d gifted him. This one was of the two of them, plus Trixie, during a trip to the beach. Lucifer for once wasn’t wearing a three-piece suit and instead had donned some wonderfully fitted dark jeans, an equally well fitted white tee shirt and he’d completed the ensemble with a leather jacket and aviators. He looked like something straight out of her teenage fantasies and she’d be lying if she said her mouth hadn’t watered when she first saw him. Just before they’d packed up to go home after a blissful day together, Chloe had asked a kindly old lady - who’d gushed about what a beautiful family they were and how alike Trixie and ‘her dad’ looked, to take a photo of them.
Lucifer’s eyes had widened comically at the assumption, but he made no attempt to correct her. Trixie had wanted Lucifer to give her a piggy back for the photo, a request he’d initially objected to – profusely. But no more than a minute later, after turning on her puppy dog eyes (which he’d never been able to resist), Trixie was perched on his back, her arms wrapped around his neck and his arms hooked protectively under her legs to stop her from falling.
“Be careful where you’re scuffing those sandy shoes, child!” he’d fussed, causing Chloe to chuckle. The lady had snapped the photo at the perfect moment – Trixie was beaming widely over the top of Lucifer’s head, looking beyond smug, Chloe had her arm wrapped around his waist as she looked up at them both with amused affection, and Lucifer was trying to hide the smile pulling at his lips as he pretended to be indignant.
“I still can’t believe the spawn managed to convince me to let her climb on my back as if I were a pack horse. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she was some sort of jedi – both of you actually.”
Chloe knew he only played at being annoyed, and that even though he’d never admit it, he enjoyed the banter and camaraderie with Trixie, and even more so being able to make her smile. “I know how” she told him with a knowing smile. “It’s because you love us.”
Lucifer huffed before smiling shyly back at her. “Yes, well I suppose that would explain it.” He looked back down at the photos, that he was cradling as if they were precious jewels. “They’ll take pride of place on my piano.”
Chloe felt a warmth envelope her chest at him wanting to put the photos of them somewhere so prominent, where he’d always see them.
When he caught her gaze again, his expression was hopeful but also a little nervous. “And then perhaps we can find a suitable place for them, together – in our shared home?...wherever we choose that to be. …I mean, that is what happens with this marriage business – the two intended spouses cohabit in the same residence, is it not?”
Chloe smiled at his rambling, happy that he seemed just as eager as her to officially live together. She reached out to cup his cheek. “Yeah, it is. And I’d love that.”
Lucifer exhaled in relief. “Excellent! Right then, well I’ll get onto my realtor and get him to draw up a list of possibilities that would meet with yours and the spawn’s requirements.”
“You’d leave the penthouse?” she asked, surprised at how easily he was willing to leave behind the only home he’d ever known on Earth.
Lucifer frowned, seemingly confused as to why she was surprised. “Well I wouldn’t sell it – it’s hardly like I need the money.” He smiled softly as he added, “And the place does hold some rather lovely memories of you. But yes, I would. My home is wherever you are Detective, not in bricks and mortar, and I thought you might like somewhere new - somewhere that was both of ours? And besides, it’s not overly practical for your tornado of an offspring. I may have wings, but she unfortunately does not – and so she gives me terrible IBS whenever she ventures anywhere near the balcony. Perhaps somewhere with a little less gravitational pull would be more suitable?”
Chloe’s heart all but melted at how concerned he was for Trixie’s safety and his adorable overprotectiveness. He had absolutely nothing to worry about with regards to being a good ‘step-devil’ – he was already doing an exemplary job. “You can be very, very sweet sometimes. Do you know that?”
Lucifer blushed. “Yes, well…don’t tell anyone – I have a reputation to uphold.”
Chloe giggled. “Your secret’s safe with me.” She squeezed his hand as she added, “And choosing somewhere that’s all of ours would be lovely. Just nothing ridiculously expensive.”
“Define ridiculously expensive.” Lucifer’s eyes sparkled mischievously.
Chloe rolled her eyes in amusement. Given that money had no meaning to him -considering he had more of it than any human would ever be able to spend in several lifetimes, there was obviously some disparity between them on what constituted expensive. That would be a conversation for another day, but they’d always worked well together, and she was sure they’d be able to find a balance between Lucifer’s penchant for lavishness and her somewhat less extravagant tastes. To be honest though, whether they were living in a palace or a motel, as long as they were together, she would be happy – because that’s all she needed.
There was one more gift left and it was Chloe who looked mischievous this time as she handed it to him, remembering what it was.
Lucifer noticed her look – because of course he did, and raised an intrigued eyebrow. His face then broke into a face-splitting grin when he found out what was inside. “De-tec-tive!” The way he crooned each syllable of her title told her how absolutely delighted he was. “Well, as positively lovely as these are, I’m not sure they’re my size” he teased, holding up the red and black lacy bra and panty set. “I do love how in sync with gifting we are though!”
Chloe giggled, and then her gaze turned sultry as she shifted so she was straddling his lap. “They might not be your size, but I’m pretty sure they’re mine.”
Lucifer beamed and ran his hands slowly up her legs, settling at the tops of her thighs as his pupils dilated with desire. “Do you know, I think I rather like this holiday!”
“Well, it is Christmas now, so maybe I could put them on and you could unwrap me?” she murmured, leaning down closer and closer so their lips were only millimetres apart. “Because I really, really, want to make love to my fiancé now.”
The look of reverence on Lucifer’s face at being referred to as her fiancé for the first time was unmistakable. “I can’t think of anything more perfect, darling. I’m all yours.”
And he was, all hers – and not just tonight, but forever. As she was his. “Merry Christmas Lucifer.”
Lucifer smiled their smile. “Merry Christmas my love. My Chloe.” |
Chapter Six, Plans Made
"I'm sorry what? I swear I heard you wrong Puppy." Sirius said in a deadly calm voice. Honor shared a look with Draco before clearing her suddenly dry throat as she answered her dad again. "I said I'm pregnant daddy." The tension in the room increased with the extended silence it was so thick you could have cut it with s knife. "Please say something Daddy, Papa." Honor whispered looking at the two men fearfully.
"No this is a nightmare," Sirius stressed as he started pacing. "I'm going to wake up and this all would have been a horrible nightmare, my daughter is not pregnant and engaged at fifteen going on sixteen." Sirius stopped pacing when he heard Honor's heart wrenching cries. "Oh baby I'm so so sorry I never meant to upset you, it's just a lot to take in. I swear Puppy that I never meant to hurt you I'm just angry at the situation you find yourself in." Sirius tried to explain as he crouched down in front of her and Draco.
"Honor, cub you know Sirius's mouth runs away from him before his brain has a chance to catch up. I know that is no excuse but we both know Sirius would never do anything to harm you sweetheart. And neither would I." Remus said seriously as he kneeled next to his husband. "Though we would like to know why you got yourself into this situation. You're starting your Sixth year in September and it will be a lot harder than last year as you'll be studying and practicing for your N.E.W.Ts, but no matter what you decide to do sweetheart, know that your father and I will always stand by you." Remus told her stroking his thumb over her knuckles.
Honor pushed herself off of Draco's lap and into her dad's holding onto his shirt tightly as she cried. Sirius looking concerned at his daughter as he kissed her head and rubbed her back soothingly. "Shhh, shh it's okay sweetheart everything will be okay I promise we'll all help you and Draco get through this. I admit I had my doubts about Draco at first about whether he'll step up to the mark but I'm glad to see that he will. But know this Draco you better not be marrying her because she's carrying your child otherwise there'll be hell to pay." Sirius growled.
"What Sirius means," Remus days throwing Sirius a look. "Is that marriage is a big thing and shouldn't be entered in lightly or on a wim. To marry someone you're committing to spending the rest of your life together, we just want you to understand. You don't have to be married to bring up your baby if you decide to keep it." Remus told them, but he wished he hadn't said the latter when his daughter turned round and glared at him. Anger and hurt flashing through her eyes. "You want me to get rid of my baby?" Honor whispered her eyes filling up with tears as she wrapped her arms around her still flat stomach.
"No baby, no. Of course I don't want you to get rid of your baby. I just wanted you and Draco to understand that you can't just enter a marriage because your pregnant. We have no problems with you being engaged but as long as you don't get married until after you have finished all of your schooling. We just don't want you to rush into things and come to regret it later and start hating each other, as it will be no place to bring up a child and I know Narcissa and Andromeda feel the same as us." Remus tried to explain to them.
"I didn't ask Honor to marry me because she's pregnant. I've been thinking about it for awhile now," Draco told them. "Mother only gave me grandmother's engagement ring as she caught me looking at them a couple of times and she told me that she wanted her mothers ring to be used if I wanted to. I gave it to Honor because I thought the emerald on it would bring out her eyes." Draco sighed giving his head a small shake to get rid of those thoughts. "We didn't mean for this to happen but it did. It was after the Ministry and we were overwhelmed to see each other that.... we got carried away.
And as neither of us believed in contraception Honor got pregnant. Earlier while we were at Aunt Andy's, Honor and I talked about the baby and the engagement. Neither of us wanted to get married so early, and we want to keep our baby no matter how hard it will be or what people say. We know it will be hard but we want to raise our baby ourselves or as much as possible with our N.E.W.Ts coming up. I love Honor and I want to do what's right for her and our baby, and we decided anyway not to get married until we were ready which wouldn't be until after our last year at school." Draco told them firmly, though he smiled softly at Honor when their eyes locked.
There was a moment of silence in the room as everyone seemed to take in all that had been said in the last couple of minutes. "Then we won't have a problem with each other than Draco," Sirius said standing up, Honor held tightly at his side as he rubbed her back soothingly. "Welcome to the family. But if you hurt her or my grandchild I will hex you into oblivion." Sirius stated firmly as he held his hand out to Draco. Nodding his understanding as he'd really not expect anything less from Honor's dads he shook their hands promising to do everything he could for Honor and the baby.
"I can't believe we're going to be granddads Remus," Sirius groaned as he sat back on the sofa next to Remus, Honor cuddled up on his lap giggling at her dad. "Are you trying to give me grey hairs pup?" Sirius asked her accusingly. Honor shook her head as she couldn't breathe through her laughter. "Seriously though Pup, Remus and I will help all that we can with the baby don't you worry." Sirius said kissing her head. "Thank you daddy, papa." Honor said gratefully as she hugged them tightly kissing both of them on the cheek. Sirius and Remus just smiled and held her tighter.
"Honor I'll help you go shopping for new clothes for you and the baby. We can have a girly day out." Tonks said excitedly for her friend. "Though I don't know any good baby shops." She mused. "It's a good thing that your mother and I do then." Narcissa told her niece who blushed slightly having forgotten that the older women were there, though by the looks on Honor's, Draco's and Sirius's faces they too had forgotten. "Honor after you have collected all of your school things from Diagon Alley with Sirius and Remus, Andy and I will take you shopping to start getting things ready for the baby." Narcissa promised her.
Honor thanked her as she rested against her dad. It felt good now that she was away from the Dursleys and that everyone important to her at the moment knew of her situation. She could just relax and listen as plans were made over the next few weeks for Narcissa, Draco and Lucius to move into Grimmauld Place permanently to get away from Voldemort and the other Death Eaters as Narcissa promised them that Lucius was a spy like Professor Snape as he was forced into being a Death Eater by his father and has been ever since the vile man died.
Honor never even noticed that she had fallen asleep until her dad was gently shaking her awake. "Honor sweetheart can you wake up so we can say goodbye to Andy, Tonks, Cissa and Draco?" Sirius asked her softly. Confused Honor sat up from where her head had been resting in her dad's lap and noticed not only how dark it was outside but that someone had put a green fluffy blanket over her. "Oh, I-I'm sorry I was meant to help.... with the planning." Honor said through a rather large yawn.
"Don't you worry about it Cub," Renus told her as he gently brushed her hair out of her face. "It's been a stressful few weeks for you, but it stops now. You're home and this is where you'll be staying. No more Dursleys I promise."
"Really?" Honor asked.
"Really pup." Sirius says kissing her forehead. "Everything has been sorted out sweetheart. Narcissa, Draco and Lucius will be moving into the guest rooms on the second floor slowly so as not to rouse suspicion. First Draco will be moving in then Narcissa and Lucius a week later. I don't want you to worry about the Weasleys' as Remus and I will deal with them. This our home and if they don't like it they know where the door is.
Andy will be coming around to check up on you once a week to start of with to prescribe you with some nutrition potions. The rest of the plans don't matter at the moment we'll explain more later, but why don't you say goodbye then head on up to bed." Sirius suggested smothering a laugh as Honor's face was almost split in two by another large yawn. Nodding her agreement Honor kissed Draco goodbye which turned into a rather passionate kiss when Draco deepened it, but before it could go any further Sirius interrupted them by clearing his throat.
Blushing Honor gave Draco one last kiss before going to say goodbye to everyone else. Once the two Malfoy's and the two Tonks's had left through the Floo, Honor kissed her dad and papa goodnight as she headed upstairs to her bedroom which just so happened to be her uncle's old bedroom. She quickly changed into her nightie before climbing into bed. She was asleep before her head even hit the pillow. |
Words are swimming in front of Stiles eyes. He can no longer distinguish individual letters and is about 95% sure he’s about to have an aneurysm. He slams the textbook shut, much to the chagrin of his fellow library patrons. Stiles ignores the judgmental and/or disappointed stares. He cannot be bothered to even pretend to care at this point; his head is pounding.
He leaves the stuffy campus library and doesn’t put the textbook back. Deliberately. Stiles knew college wouldn’t be easy, knew he’d have to work hard but he didn’t count on what feels like an endless headache. He’s probably going to die due to stress. Keel over right here into the dismal patch of begonias. It’s not very classy but Stiles is so tired that he’s actually beyond caring.
The sun is bright overhead, Stiles has to shade his eyes to see. He shrugs off his plaid shirt, tying it round his waist. The campus quad outside the library is littered with students doing numerous activities from studying to an intense game of ultimate Frisbee to what appears to be a beyblade battle next to the fountain. It’s noisy and chaotic, which only adds to Stiles headache.
Theoretically he could go back to the dorm room but it’s more than likely that Scott has put a sock on the door. Ever since Scott met Kira, Stiles has been sexiled to the library more often than not. Stiles loves them both, they’re good friends but they fuck like rabbits. Stiles is pretty sure that Scott has dipped in Stiles stash of condoms. Stiles would be mad but at least someone is using them.
Stiles needs quiet. He needs calm. So he heads for the woods that border the campus grounds.
It’s a trek from the main campus so Stiles knows that his lazy classmates will not venture here. The towering trees offer shade from the beating Sun. Being beneath them instantly cools Stiles down and he revels in that feeling. Stiles wanders a bit deeper, enjoying the fact that the dense trees act as sound barriers, cutting off any noise from campus. Gone are the shrieks of students and clashing notes from several speakers all playing different genres of music. Stiles appreciates a bit of Taylor Swift but not when she’s competing with Macklemore and Fall Out Boy to be heard.
The only sounds within the forest are that of the wind rushing through the leaves, the gentle burble of a stream nearby and the occasional birdcall. Stiles can feel his headache draining away. He heads towards the sound of the stream, hoping he can stick his feet in it. He toes off his sneakers and socks. The mossy ground is feather soft beneath his bare feet.
The stream turns out to be a small waterfall over a pond. Stiles dumps his bag, rolls his jeans up to his knees and is about to wade in but stops. Stops because he notices a tent. A tent pitched up beside the pond, complete with pinstriped deck chair and small inactive camping stove. Which makes zero sense.
Stiles pauses, observing the tent with intense curiosity and mild apprehension. He takes a few steps forward, trying to gage whether the tent is occupied. Because Stiles is a curious being by nature, he walks right up to the tent, ignoring the niggling voice in the back of his head that is suggesting that this whole set up is possibly going to end badly.
The tent door is open. Stiles peers inside. It is occupied. By a really attractive guy in a white V-neck who is very muscular and could probably snap Stiles in half. Blue eyes observe Stiles amber ones, head tilted sideways in confusion.
“Can I help you?” The guy asks. Stiles stumbles backwards, spluttering apologies. The guy follows, exiting the tent and standing before Stiles. They’re about the same height but Stiles should not be focusing on that because he’s about to get pummelled.
“Sorry I didn’t mean to intrude, just looking for a place to kip,” Stiles stammers, rubbing the back of his neck, “You know how college is. One exam to the next or whatever. Or I assume you know how college is. If you’re homeless I’m so sorry.”
“Do I look homeless?” The guy inquires, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow.
“No. Sorry. Anyway I won’t tell anyone about this makeshift hideout. Not a soul, I swear. Appreciate you want your privacy so um please don’t kill me,” Stiles voice goes unusually high towards the end of his rambling. The guy smirks, eyes flicking around Stiles body as if he’s being judged.
“You’re that first year criminology student that’s always in the library,” the guy says.
“Um.. yes,” Stiles replies, unsure of where the conversation is going, “I’m Stiles, Stiles Stilinski.”
“Peter Hale,” The guy says, “Third year law. So Stiles, care to join me?” Peter gestures towards the tent, eyes bright.
“Yeah,” Stiles replies, “Wait what? Why?”
“You said you needed a place to ‘kip’,” Peter says. Stiles is starting to feel like a deer in the headlights. Because yes, objectively Peter is hot. Really hot. Hot as burning. Stiles is awkwardly cute at best.
“Please Stiles,” Peter says, his voice husky, “I’d like to get to know you a little better.”
“Do you watch me in the library? Because if you’ve been stalking me and this is your secret hideout where you plan to kill me then I may have to decline, no matter how attractive you are,” Stiles asks, crossing his arms and tilting his head slightly to the left. Peter laughs, eyes crinkling in a way that Stiles finds adorable.
“I promise to behave,” Peter says, his tone indicating otherwise, “Though it’s always nice to know someone as delectable as yourself finds me attractive.”
Stiles jaw drops in indignation then abruptly closes when he realizes that yes, he did very much say that. 911, emergency, Stiles needs an ambulance to whisk him away from this impending car crash. Peter looks smug. Stiles is more than likely an violent shade of crimson and that’s not from the California sunshine.
“I have cold beer,” Peter says, nudging a cool box with his foot. Stiles sighs, goes to retrieve his bag before clambering into the tent. Peter follows eagerly. Inside is full of multicolored pillows of varying sizes. Stiles runs his fingertips over them, skin tingling from the satin feeling beneath. He takes the offered beer, lounging back into the softness.
“So Peter,” Stiles says, attempting to retrieve any dignity he has left, “Are you watching me in the library?”
“Sometimes,” Peter replies loftily, “I’ve attempted to start conversations but you are always absorbed in your textbooks and papers, so I’ve just watched from afar. Studious little thing aren’t you?”
“I wouldn’t be if I didn’t get sexiled practically every day,” Stiles grumbles, taking a swig from his beer.
“Not doing any sexiling of your own?” Peter enquires. Stiles raises an eyebrow, gesturing to himself
“Does it look like this gets much action?”
“I would have thought so, you’re very attractive Stiles.”
Stiles snorts. Peter puts his beer down outside the tent.
“You don’t believe me.”
“Let’s just say that my track record indicates otherwise,” Stiles says, taking another swig before placing the beer outside. He lies back into the pillows, feeling warm and fuzzy. “These are so soft.”
“Feel free to have a nap Stiles,” Peter says, lying on his side so that their heads are level with each other. “I was planning to anyway.”
“Promise not to creep on me in my sleep,” Stiles says, waggling a warning finger playfully.
“I promise.”
“Alright then.”
Stiles falls asleep to the sound of birds overhead and the gentle splash of the waterfall.
When he wakes up, the sun is low in the sky, casting long shadows all around. Stiles is also lying on Peter’s chest, Peter’s arm curled around his waist possessively. Stiles attempts to get away but Peter clutches him tighter, making a soft rumbling sound that could be a growl.
“Peter let go,” Stiles huffs. Peter does not comply, instead rolling them over so that Stiles is aggressively spooned. “Peter!"
“Sleep Stiles,” Peter murmurs into Stiles ear, “I promise dinner and a movie later.”
“I’m picking the movie,” Stiles retorts. Peter chuckles softly, nuzzling Stiles neck. Stiles drifts off again, soothed by Peter’s hand rubbing gentle circles on his stomach. |
Just like his parents and grandparents before them, Viktor Nikiforov has his first body switching at ten years old, a ripe young age for seeing your soulmate for the first time. Ever since Viktor’s birthday on December 25th, nearly eleven months ago, he had been praying each night that the next day he would finally have his first swap. His family wasn’t very religious, but if there was someone up there to pray to then he was definitely going to try! What’s that harm in it anyways? Knowing that a ten-year trend occurred in his ancestry, Viktor became very concerned when November rolled into St. Petersburg, Russia and his eleventh birthday creeped closer and closer with no soulmate for nearly a year.
That’s why he enveloped himself into skating almost vigorously this year. The windy breeze he would feel on his skin when he would glide on the ice gave him comfort when he would overthink, and the difficult, twisted jumps that would send him in the air kept his mind off the fact that he still had no idea who he was destined to be with. Skating was like a private haven for him to escape to when he would feel melancholy or anxious, or simply wanted to feel the ice under his feet. To him it was blissful solitude.
Unlike other boys at his school and skating classes, Viktor absolutely adored hearing about soulmates. It was more common for girls to be interested in the idea of having a life-long, predestined partner, while most often the boys would try to forget the fact completely and only focus on their friends and family. But, Viktor didn’t care what was normal or not for children his age. Having the knowledge that there was someone, somewhere in the world you would fall in love with and share your life with made him feel giddy with anticipation each time he’d think of it. Although, soulmates were a fairly intimate topic to talk about, Viktor took every chance that he could to ask his parents or his friends parents about how they both met, what it was like to switch, what age it happened at, and what it was like to meet the other person.
So, when he saw, one day, that his warm beet soup had suddenly become steamed vegetables and rice, Viktor nearly had a heart attack from a mix of excitement and shock. Just a moment before he was having lunch with his mama and papa at the dining table in their city apartment. His mother made sour cream-topped borsht and homemade bread like usual for that time of year, and they were all discussing the local news as well as Viktor’s wish for a new pair of skates for his birthday. The fantastic thing about having your birthday near a major holiday was that there were lots of sales at the nearby winter sports store, perfect for new gear each year.
While breaking his slice of bread down the middle, Viktor feels a slight tingling in his chest, like when his foot would fall asleep after sitting for a long time. It only lasted a moment, but the outcome of it was himself sitting on the floor with an entirely new set of people. This isn’t normal, he states to himself, as he tries to focus his eyes on the blotched figures in front of him. Viktor has tried on his papa’s reading glasses before for entertainment and to see what it was like to have blurry vision. It’s definitely not very amusing when you’re unable to get your perfect seeing back by just taking off the glasses.
He tries to look at the new food in his bowl more carefully to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating, but his eyes are blurred slightly and he can only make out the basic forms to know what’s in front of him. He can smell perfectly fine, though, which is fantastic because the food’s aroma is nothing like what his mother has ever made. It smells…thicker? Does that even make sense for a scent and not a feeling? The flavors seem to stack upon each other in the air, creating depth. It’s definitely not borsht, that’s for sure. He brings his hands up to his face and squishes the new set of fat cheeks he remembered having when he was younger. They’re smaller than me.
“Are you alright sweetheart?” A female voice comes across the table, which is very odd because the table comes up to Viktor’s chest while he’s on his knees instead of sitting in a chair. His mama always chastised him for eating anywhere but the dining room table, so this is very abnormal to see this family sitting on pillows while having a meal. What a fun lunch, sitting on the floor!
He doesn’t pay much attention to what the woman said, but knows that is was most likely directed at him. Viktor remembers that he only has a short amount of time before the swap ends and he’ll be back with his family soon, so he might as well take the opportunity to learn all that he can about his future partner. The silence cracks when he clears his throat and sits himself strait so as to look presentable. He wants his future family to think that he’s polite and mature like how his parents raised him to be.
“Err, hello! My name is Viktor Nikiforov and I am from St. Petersburg!” His voice is different now. It’s softer and a much higher pitch than what he usually speaks with, but it sounds…comforting to hear. It’s like when you hear a familiar song for the first time in years and you take in all the memories you have from it in that moment. In this instance, though, he has no memories of his soulmates voice, but recognizes that their sound will become future memories. Almost like a reverse déjà-vu.
He clears his throat and starts again, “This is my first swap and I’m very excited to meet you all, finally. It’s weird that you eat on the floor for lunch and, also, my eyesight is very blurry. Are there any glasses that I can use?”
He sees the brushed images of people look at each other then back at him, but instead of receiving the answer to his question a bombardment of sharp sounds are thrown at him. That is definitely not Russian. Viktor feels his posture sag as he realizes that these people won’t be able to understand him at all. This means that his soulmate lives in another country and speaks an entirely different language from him. There goes so much for learning anything about them today.
Viktor tries to think of the most important thing that he could do while he has almost no way of communication and a very limited time span to do it in. The voices, now a deeper masculine tone and a higher feminine one, are going back and forth between each other, probably trying to figure out what they should try to do to speak with him. It’s very unsettling not to be able to understand what’s happening in front of him and Viktor starts getting nervous. This was not how this was supposed to go.
The strange, clacking language mixed with the absence of any way to perfectly see what was going on around him began to build a stone in his stomach, making Viktor feel sick. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you’re all saying. I’m from Russia,” he lays emphasis on the word “Russia” thickly. “Do any of you speak Russian?”
Again, nothing but blank silence and unsettling stares fill the room with a heaviness that presses down on Viktor’s shoulders, making his eyes feel like lead as tears threaten to slip out of the corners. Viktor has waited years to be able to finally have a chance to see what his soulmate is like and what his future life could possibly end up being and here he is, not even knowing what country he’s in and as blind as a bat with hearing problems.
He often pictured this day to happen within his own country where he would actually be able to have a proper conversation with the people he meets, while gaining valuable information. Right now, he’s just confused. Below his ribs, Viktor can recognize the fear and anxiousness that he’d grown familiar with before performing in skating competitions; no matter how many times he has it though, the emotions will always be fresh and pungent. The voices sound more worried once he begins to openly cry, but this only makes him feel worse
Viktor rubs at his eyes with petit, chubby hands, making them sting and water even more. The rushed thumping of his over-excited heart jumps a beat and breaks the rhythm as he remembers why he’s here in the first place. His hands move upward from his face to his hair and feel short, dense tufts between his fingers. He has had long hair for a majority of his childhood, so the finiteness of the small strands is foreign to him. From there he travels to both sides of his head and feels a pair of ears that stick out a bit more that what he’s accustomed to. The weight on his shoulders has completely diminished once his fingertips touch the flesh of his lips and rest there. This is my soulmate. Viktor feels the lips beneath his touch turn upwards in a giddy smile and the tears return to his cheeks almost immediately.
They are actually here.
For a moment, he simply sits in complete stillness, admiring the curve of his soulmate’s plump cheeks and the softness of his hands. Viktor’s hands have grown calloused from years playing in the forest with his papa and rubbing against his skating gloves when he would slip on the ice. These new hands are like cotton along his eyelashes when he follows the curve of his eyes in a small arch. He can tell that they are younger than he is by at least a few years due to the size they are and the baby fat on them, but if anything, it makes them more endearing. Viktor has always been very fond of smaller children and found them to be much happier than a majority of the children his age. Plus, their smiles are always colorful and always sincere.
He places the palms of his hands over his eyes and listens to the family in front of him converse in their unusual language, but remains silent. He’ll have to figure out what they speak once he gets back home, so that he can learn to talk whenever they meet again. His heartbeat rushes in his veins and taps on the undersurface of his fingers and ears, creating a gentle beat like a lullaby. His soulmate is here and alive and well and beautiful. Viktor has not even seen them with his own eyes yet, but from the youth in their voice to the damaged sight he can already feel the charm in their soul that captures him immediately.
The buzz in his chest begins again and the warmth of his hands has faded away completely from them making contact with cold tile. Viktor immediately opens his eyes and sees the worried face of his papa standing over him while he sits with a sore butt on the floor of their apartment.
“Vitya, are you back with us?”
Viktor smiles widely as he throws himself from the ground into his father’s waiting arms and is instantly swung in a tight circle like when he was younger. “Papa, it was amazing! It was so different there and my soulmate had such terrible eyesight that I couldn’t see a single thing when looking at their family. And they all spoke so strangely and it was fast, like they were trying to talk as quickly as possible,” he rapidly explains. Viktor is set back down on his feet as his mother steps forward to wrap her arms around him in matronly protection. His father is listening eagerly to his words, though, and hangs on every one of them.
“They sit on the floor when they eat, papa. They don’t have chairs, but pillows that are set around the table which is only half a meter tall! Isn’t that weird?” Viktor’s smile stretches from ear-to-ear as he retells everything he can think of to his parents. They’ve been almost as anxious as he was to finally get his switch and he knows they’ll want a covered story. His papa sits at the dinner table and his mama guides him over to his usual seat so they can talk more comfortably. “Tell us about them, Vitya! But leave no detail left untold,” his mama asks eagerly of him. Viktor leans forward and rests his hands on the table, knowing that he’ll use them to explain in his story-telling.
“Well, when I first got there I saw that my borsht was gone and everything in front of me was very blurry, like when I wear papa’s glasses.” He gestures to his father who grins in recognition. “Then I saw people in front of me and I tried to introduce myself, but when they tried to talk they didn’t speak Russian. It sounded very strange and it made me really sad that I couldn’t ask them any questions or even what their names were; I couldn’t see, either, and that just made me more confused and then I was scared because it was all so…different.” His voice hikes up in excitement as he continues. “But, then I thought of how I was my soulmate at that moment and it made me feel so much better! They are much younger than me because their voice is higher and their hands are soft and fat.” Viktor holds up his hands for emphasis and flips them from front to back to show his own slenderness.
“I wasn’t able to see them, but I felt their face in my hands and could figure their features,” he runs his hands along his own face trying to replicate the warmth beneath his own fingertips. “Their hair is short and fluffy like feathers and their hands feel like cotton. They were so small that I could feel their heartbeat everywhere and it sounded like your singing, mama!” His attention is focused on Natalya as he remembers the songs she would sing for him to go to sleep when he was smaller, those memories are some of his favorites.
His papa chuckles heartily and pats him on the back affectionately. “Well, it sounds like things went better for you than it did for him, Viktor.” Viktor’s eyes widen in realization and stands up from the table in excitement. “Wait! You were able to meet them! What were they like? What did they speak like? Were they shy or open or were they scared like I w-“ He stops in mid-thought to allow another question to arise in his mind.
“Did you say “him”? They’re a boy?!”
Stephan makes a playful side glance at his wife, then returns to his son’s attention. “Yes, he introduced himself with a boy name, so I can only assume that he is one. Of course, you’ll have to ask him yourself to be sure.” Viktor swallows a lump and sits back down in the slightly wobbly chair that matches his table set. The stone is back in his stomach and it keeps him rooted in his spot.
“What is his name?”
Viktor is more nervous now than he has ever been in any previous skating competitions combined, but his father just smiles in understanding at the stillness in his breath. “He is called Yuuri and he is from Japan. Remember me teaching you about that country when I travelled there last winter?” Viktor nods his head. “Well, he lives there from what I can tell and he speaks Japanese, which is what you heard those people talk in.” Viktor’s father is a skating judge and had to travel last year to Japan. Viktor couldn’t go with him because of school and his lessons, but his papa did have to learn some basic Japanese to live there. He never spoke it around the house, so Viktor had only heard it a handful of times in his life.
Yuuri. He repeats the word over and over in his head while listening to his parent’s account of what happened while he was gone. He elongates the ‘u’ sound like his father did, it rolls off his tongue like syrup and tastes just as sweet. He smiles around it and plays with the letters in his mind, analyzing each one like the name might slip away.
When they finish their account of the meeting with his soulmate Viktor understands a few things. Yuuri is young and fragile. He’s obviously smaller than Viktor is and was scared very easily by the swapping, which means he was not expecting it to come like how Viktor did. Secondly, he knows absolutely no Russian whatsoever and lives in a country whose culture is very different from his own, meaning that Viktor will have to try very hard to find out where he lives and what he’s like over their next few switches. Lastly, Viktor has become unconditionally enthralled with this boy. |
My dear Charles,
Please don't be alarmed when I tell you we have been discovered. I assure you it is far better news than I ever anticipated.
***
Charles smoothed the letter across his knee over and over, stopping only when he realized his sweaty palms were smearing the words. Not that he hadn't already read them a dozen times, a hundred times, in the last three weeks. Again and again he'd been tempted to burn it, to safeguard the secret it held – but he'd never burned a letter from Erik before, however incriminating, and couldn't bring himself to start now.
The carriage jolted, knocking Raven out of her doze against the windowframe. Hank continued snoring against her shoulder, thick-framed glasses askew, and she carefully did not jostle him as she stretched and yawned. Raven took her big-sister responsibilities very seriously, for all that she and Hank were, in fact, the same age for most of the summer; Hank had turned six just a month ago, and Raven would not be seven until August.
"Are we almost there?" Raven asked, making a visible effort not to whine, as she swiped sweat-darkened hair out of her face.
"Yes, almost," Charles said. "Look." He nodded out the window.
Raven gasped at the sight of the towers of the Westchester mansion rising against the sky. "Hank! Hankie, look! There's Papa's house!"
Charles stared at the approaching grounds almost as eagerly. He had not seen Westchester in over a decade, and had not thought he missed it particularly. Seeing it now, though, the scents of his childhood drifting in through the window, his heart felt full to overflowing.
There were better reasons for that, of course. His heart knocked hard against his ribs, wondering if the ambassadors of Free Essex – if Erik – were waiting there yet.
Should he say anything to the children? he wondered for the hundredth time. Should he try to ascertain what, if anything, Raven remembered of her father? You called him Baba, and he held you when you cried at night, and you missed him when he went away...
"Will Daddy be there?" Hank asked, kneeling on the seat to look out the window, and Charles blinked before remembering he meant Sebastian.
"No, darling," he said reassuringly. "Daddy had to stay home, remember? The King has to stay at the palace and look after things." Thank God, he added silently, and Hank and Raven's posture mirrored the sentiment, tension draining from their shoulders.
He'd had a very bad moment, while persuading Sebastian to let them leave, when he thought the man would, in fact, insist on accompanying them. Only a well-timed word from Azazel had distracted him from the idea, and that in itself made Charles uneasy, wondering if Azazel suspected Charles's true plan. Surely that was impossible; he'd not even told Moira until they were safely away, and Natasha had only hints even now. The official reason for their departure was that he wanted to take his old friend Lieutenant Howlett to Westchester for recuperation and a consult with Dr. Henri, who was now a Westchester resident, and that was all true. Sebastian, of course, believed it to be a thin cover for escaping the latest round of riots – short-lived and nowhere near the palace, but alarming all the same – and that was true as well. There was no need to look for further reasons. But still Charles would not have dared beg permission to go himself were it not for Erik's letter.
If you can find a way to visit the land of your inheritance this summer, only give a date, and I will be there – with certain companions who dearly wish an audience with you.
Evicting his stepfather and stepbrother for the summer had turned out to be nearly as difficult as getting Sebastian's permission. They were not accustomed to being challenged by their distant Duke, and since Charles had no better excuse than not wanting to see them ever again in his life, they had some reason to feel ill-used. In the end, they had gone, if only to avoid a "royal escort" off the premises – Charles had even sent a few men to confirm their absence – but there would, no doubt, be consequences to so deeply offending so petty a pair of men. Charles was content to worry about that later.
He would see Erik soon. Within minutes, he could have Erik in his arms again. Maybe not immediately – there were the other Free Essex ambassadors to consider, and other members of his own party, such as Natasha and her daughters in the third carriage – but soon, soon. He watched out the window, grinning like a child, and drummed his fingers against the seat, willing the mansion closer.
It was all he could do to disembark from the carriage without toppling over, too busy scanning his surroundings to pay proper attention as the footmen helped him down onto his crutches. They were unfamiliar with the task, which didn't help, and that was something he hadn't thought of; all the palace staff were well-accustomed to his physical difficulties, whereas these were trying hard not to stare. That could be inconvenient.
"Papa, can we go inside?" Raven was bouncing with her eagerness to explore.
"Wait here a moment, love. And keep hold of Hank's hand." Hank was walking for short distances now, but he was wobbly at present, his legs stiff from hours in the carriage. Moira was helping the twins down from the second carriage, while a footman and the medic they'd brought along helped Lieutenant Howlett. A few weeks at King's Hospital had done the lieutenant considerable good, but the wound to his head had left him with odd gaps in his memory and severe problems with balance and movement. Only time and rest, the doctors said, would improve him further.
Clint was helping one of Natasha's daughters down from the third carriage; Charles wasn't quite sure how he'd ended up riding with them. He hoped it had been no bother to Natasha, being trapped in a coach with a servant and near-stranger...
But Natasha, stepping down with skirts gracefully gathered, did not look annoyed. She glanced sideways at Clint under her lashes, smiling wider and more honestly than was her wont.
Charles tore his attention away from whatever that was about and toward the butler, who had stopped before him to make his bow. "Welcome back to Westchester, my lord!"
"Molesley! How wonderful to see you again!" Molesley, a mournful-looking androji that Charles remembered as being quite good at his job, had aged remarkably since Charles last saw him. Well, Kurt and Cain were surely not easy masters. "I hope you're well?"
"Oh, yes, my lord, perfectly well." A shy smile broke through his professional demeanor. "On behalf of the whole household, my lord, we're all extremely pleased to have you here again."
"I'm extremely pleased to be here, believe me. The guests I wrote to about – have they arrived?"
"Indeed, sir, just yesterday. I've taken the liberty of bringing them into the white parlor for you."
"Excellent. I can find my own way there – show the others to their rooms, if you will."
Molesley hesitated for a moment as Charles and the crutches battled their way up the front stair, clearly wishing to offer assistance, but Charles paid him no mind. Erik.
For all his breezy assertions, he did take a wrong turn on the way to the white parlor; the house had changed somewhat in a decade, landmark furnishings replaced and rearranged. Nostalgia was dizzying, but the childhood flashbacks could wait. There – there was the door to the parlor.
Stepping (or lurching – the crutches were hard enough when he wasn't stiff from travel) inside, the first face he saw was not Erik's, but that of a younger man with blond curls and intense eyes, and next to him a stockier, scruffier dark-haired fellow. The ambassadors, he assumed, Commander Enjolras and his husband Grantaire. His eyes slid past them immediately to the figure just turning away from the window.
Erik's hair was streaked with silver now, and flowed down to his shoulders, partly tied back. There was a half-healed bruise at the edge of his jaw, the trace of a scar across his nose; souvenirs of a soldier's life. A respectable jacket and breeches looked slightly unnatural on him, unaccustomed and imperfectly fitted.
He was the most beautiful thing Charles had ever seen.
Charles hardly had time to register movement before he was engulfed in Erik's arms, gulping lungfuls of Erik's scent and choking back tears. He let the crutches fall in favor of wrapping his arms around Erik's shoulders, burying his face in Erik's neck. This was what it felt like, to be loved and safe and happy. He'd almost forgotten. "Charles," Erik whispered hoarsely, seeming incapable of anything further, "Charles," and Charles pulled his head down and kissed him.
His poor, battered, half-forgotten body seemed to wake instantly from a long slumber, transformed from clay to fire and light. Nothing existed outside the heat of Erik's chest against his, the pressure of Erik's fingertips down his back, the catch of stubble against his own palms, and above all else, the tingling brilliant rapture of Erik's mouth—
He nearly cried out at the loss when Erik pulled away, promising "Later, later," into Charles's hairline, "everything, later." He cleared his throat. "Grantaire, hand the Prince his crutches, if you would be so kind."
Right. Ambassadors in the room. Charles swallowed hard, trying to will away the fire in his nerves, focus his mind on the alleged reason he was here. Grantaire – the dark-haired one – was standing ready with the crutches, looking rather more amused than was proper, but Charles was in no position to complain about impropriety. Being appalled at his own lack of restraint didn't keep him from leaning heavily against Erik, who returned the favor with an arm around his waist.
Erik introduced his companions, who made their bows – Grantaire still grinning wickedly, Enjolras shooting him quelling looks.
"We're very grateful for your willingness to have us here," Enjolras said.
"Not at all, not at all. It's a pleasure," Charles said, which was certainly true, though for reasons having little to do with Free Essex. "Of course, as I'm sure you already understand, I cannot speak for Genosha officially. The very fact that we've met like this must be a close-guarded secret."
"I do understand, Your Highness," Enjolras said. "I hope we can still be of use to each other. But there is plenty of time to discuss these things once you've recovered from your long journey. I believe your excellent butler spoke of tea in the drawing room."
"Yes, wonderful idea," Erik said, only a little distractedly. "I'll just – see the Prince to his room, then we’ll join you for tea."
“I feel like a procurer,” Grantaire murmured, earning an elbow-jab from his husband, as Charles and Erik left the room.
Charles had not been given his old chambers, but new, unfamiliar ones; something to ask about, later. This room faced west, and was lit by shafts of honey-colored afternoon sunlight, falling around the half-open curtains. Charles sat on the bed, rubbed an aching thigh, and eyed the fresh suit of clothes alread laid out for him, on the other side of the room.
"Erik, can you help me with my buttons?" he asked.
The moment Erik knelt down before him, reaching out to open his shirt, they both knew there was no chance of their making it to tea.
They did pretend, for a bit, that they could indulge in a few passing touches – a sweep of fingertips down Erik's arm, a brush of lips on Charles's bare shoulder – and go no further. Until Erik untied Charles's cravat and kissed the warm, tender throat beneath, and Charles let out a breathless, hungry sound, dragging Erik closer with fingers knotted in his hair. In the next moment Charles felt his back hit the pillows, Erik nipping at his jaw, lips, throat, shoulder, Charles digging fingernails into his back. It was all a glorious frantic tangle for several moments, but then Erik stilled, trembling, eyes closed as he pressed their foreheads together.
"What's wrong?" Charles whispered, hardly able to hear himself over his own pounding heart.
"Nothing," Erik said, and laughed, a fragile, disbelieving sound. "I just... don't want to rush. Trying to slow down."
Charles tilted his head upward, just enough to almost touch lips. "Whatever for?"
It got the desired response, which was Erik groaning and attacking his mouth, but Charles made no further move to sabotage his efforts. Slow was a good idea, if difficult to execute; they both needed to savor this, savor each other.
He let Erik undress him, and run gentle, thorough hands down his chest and arms, all the way down to his feet, then back up to neck and face and hair, like a blind man trying to memorize by touch. Charles knew that no part of his body had weathered the years with particular grace, but Erik was staring at him like he was a gift from heaven, and frankly Erik's was the only opinion Charles valued on the subject. He swallowed his doubts, therefore, and reached for Erik's shirt-buttons. It wasn't easy to focus, Charles's hands and all the rest of him trembling as Erik's mouth followed the path his hands that set, but at length he succeeded in getting Erik out of all the inconvenient clothes and, as Erik settled himself warmly skin-to-skin on top of him, pulled down the half-ponytail to run his fingers through unaccustomed long locks.
"Like that, do you?" Erik murmured, smiling into Charles's ribs, which he was kissing his way down.
"Mmm. I even like the gray. You look like a wolf."
"Wolves bite," Erik observed, and proceeded to nibble his way around the curve of Charles's hip and into the crease of his thigh. Charles clutched at the bedcovers, and let out something appallingly like a giggle; his thigh had just enough sensation to tickle when Erik's hair trailed across it. Erik glanced up, startled, then moved his head to do it again, a grin spreading across his face.
"No – Erik, don't you dare—" He dissolved into shrieks of laughter as Erik attacked his ribs, slapping at Erik's hands and trying to wriggle away. "Erik! I hate you so much, I will make you regret – ack! – stop it! Ahahaha!"
Abruptly his mouth was muffled, Erik kissing him with sudden desperation, and Charles returned it fourfold, twisting the hands Erik had pinned to the bed until he could lace their fingers together.
"Missed you," Erik managed between kisses, "missed your laugh—"
"Missed laughing," Charles said, and pulled one arm free to throw around Erik's neck. How he wished he could wrap his legs around Erik's waist (still ridiculously tiny, had the man eaten at all these five years?), he missed that feeling of cradling their bodies together...
A knock at the door. "My lord?"
They both froze, then simultaneously burst into frantically-muffled laughter at the sight of each other's wide-eyed faces.
"My lord Prince, are you... well?"
"I'm perfectly fine, Molesley," Charles called, struggling to keep his voice even with Erik now lavishing attention on his neck and collarbones.
"Shall we wait tea for you?"
"No, I shan't come down, I... the traveling... I think I'll stay here and – rest!" This last came out as a squeak of surprise, Charles shoving Erik away from his nipple with an outraged glare.
"Very well, my lord," Molesley said after a long pause. "If you need anything, of course, you have only to ring the bell."
"Excellent, thank you, Molesley."
They each held their breath as the sound of footsteps vanished quickly down the plush-carpeted, thick-walled corridor, then collapsed against each other, cackling.
"You are a bad man," Charles hissed.
"And you love me."
"God help me, yes." He felt his eyes drift closed, laughter segueing into a more focused sort of rocking against each other, and it was really time to do something about that, why had he thought it a good idea to go slow? "This is lovely," he said around an entirely unintentional moan, "but if you have any... more adventurous... ideas for our happy reunion..."
Erik chuckled into the hollow of his throat, then hefted Charles up to roll them over, taking a moment to comfortably arrange Charles's legs around his own. "Adventurous, hm? I can think of a few possibilities."
"Just a few? In five years of abstinence, my friend, I've come up with more than a few."
"Do tell." Erik's wicked grin was a not-unpleasing contrast to the tender reverence of the hand he cupped around Charles's cheek, thumb brushing back and forth. "Or better yet, show me."
***
Guilt, of course, set in about the time their heartrates eased back down to normal. The lazy afternoon light was distinctly lower than it had been, and Charles realized he had left his children and his guests to flounder about for hours with little idea what was happening. It was inexcusable, but really, he'd have been useless all afternoon anyway, transparently, embarrassingly useless. Now, though there were still a hundred conversations he wanted to say to Erik, and quite a few more indecent things he’d like to do to him, they had at least taken the edge off. They could function in polite society again.
Once they were meticulously freshened up and presentable, they joined the others in the main drawing room. Moira read a book to the children while the rest chatted over drinks – Enjolras and Grantaire, Natasha, Dr. Henri, and Clint, who was watching everyone's faces with the sometimes-unsettling intensity of the lip-reader.
Charles and Erik made their apologies (the taxing nature of travel, and a sudden headache, respectively) and watched the others politely pretend to believe them. He and Erik should have staggered their arrivals, Charles realized – an amateurish mistake, and disturbing proof that he needed to get his head in the game. Ah, well; of those present, only Natasha and Clint had not been perfectly aware of the situation already, and Natasha had suspected a lover, if not his identity. Neither she nor, interestingly, Clint looked remotely surprised.
All that remained to be done was introducing Erik to the children.
Raven gave him her best curtsy, and received a kiss on her hand with a giggle, then flounced off to play with Natasha's daughter Katniss; Erik watched her go with a visible pang. Hank wobbled forward, then, to shake hands, a study in the sort of adorableness that delighted adults and mortified children – all awkwardness and baby fat, enormous blue eyes behind ludicrous glasses.
"You're walking," Erik said, in some awe, though of course Charles had written him about Hank's progress.
"I fall down a lot," Hank said matter-of-factly. "I like reading better than walking. Daddy says if I'm smart maybe I'll be good for something."
Silence fell, and even Charles was taken aback; he hadn't thought Hank and Sebastian interacted enough for the child to notice his "father's" disdain. Erik made a visible effort to tamp down his fury, and give Hank a smile.
"I think you're good for a great many things," he said, ruffling Hank's hair. "We'll have to talk about that later. And look at you, you are the spitting image of your Papa."
"I like Papa, he's pretty," Hank said, and toddled off to a chorus of chuckles.
Sean, so accustomed to being presented to strangers, took to Erik with his usual cheery nonchalance, letting himself be picked up and bounced and held on Erik's hip – all without really looking away from the toy fish clutched in his hand. Alex was a different story, glaring sullenly at Erik even when he crouched down to offer the boy a biscuit.
"Alex, come say hello to Sir Erik," Charles coaxed. Alex's response was to sit down with his back to Erik and pick up a storybook. "Alex!"
"It's all right," Erik said. "We'll have time to make friends later." He leaned in to murmur, "I guess one of them had to take after me, hm?"
Charles snorted. "He'll come around, he's just moody."
"Where are Angel and Armando?"
"With their parents for the summer." Possibly permanently, in fact. Their foster contract, extended once, had been finally fulfilled over six months ago, but Sebastian had delayed sending them home. Even now he was pressing for another extension. Charles, though he already missed his fosterlings terribly, was tempted to sabotage that attempt, and scuttle whatever diabolical plan Sebastian had in mind.
“Moira, Clint, Dr. Henri,” Charles said, “I thought you might like to show the children the grounds, while there’s light.” Taking the hint immediately, they gathered the children and departed. Moira, at least, would be getting a full account of everything later, but it wasn't entirely proper to have here now.
"My friends," Charles said when the room's occupants were reduced to himself, Erik, Natasha, and the Free Essex ambassadors, "I must apologize again for abandoning you this afternoon. I know most of you are still uninformed about each other's full identities and the reasons for your presence here." He nodded at Natasha. "Duchess-Regent Romanova, these men are friends of Sir Erik's and ambassadors from Free Essex, where Sir Erik has been employed for some time. Commander Enjolras, Lieutenant Grantaire, Duchess-Regent Romanova has been one of my staunchest allies in working against King Sebastian's lunacy, and unlike myself she is an active member of Assembly. I'm certain she will be a major part of any success we have, assuming she consents to participate in this secret conference." He met Natasha's startled eyes. "If you want no part of this, Natasha, you may leave as soon as you please, with no ill will."
"You brought me for this? Not Tony and Steve?"
Charles smiled grimly. "Sebastian has learned to be wary whenever I spend much time with Tony and Steve. You, he doesn't see as a threat."
Natasha raised an eyebrow, the hint of a smile crooking her lip. "But you know better."
"I do."
She looked Erik, Enjolras, and Grantaire over with calculating eyes. "What is the goal of these secret negotiations, exactly?"
Erik bared his teeth in a fierce grin. "Victory for Free Essex, peace for Genosha, and any convenient humiliation for Sebastian Shaw."
“Count me in.”
***
Erik had forgotten it was possible to be this happy.
He went to bed with Charles every night, and woke beside him every morning, and for that alone he would have given nearly anything. They spent lazy mornings with the children, and that was a treasure beyond what he'd dared hope – getting to know his sons and daughter, holding and teaching and playing with them. They knew him only as Sir Erik, Papa's friend, but were young enough to accept his presence without much question.
Raven might have been old enough to see the oddity of this stranger seeking such intimacy with them, but in fact she took to Erik faster than any of them, and followed him through the house and grounds showing off her skills at singing and riding and multiplication tables. Erik liked to pretend she remembered him on some level, however unlikely that was. He certainly saw plenty in her of the baby he'd known, cheeky and strong-willed, yet always hungry for approval and attention – things he was more than happy to shower her with.
With Raven, then, things were easy, and likewise with Hank. In another life Erik might not have been close to his shy, nervous, bookish son, so different from himself. In their present circumstances, however, Erik felt an overpowering need to give Hank the affection and acceptance he so clearly didn't get from Sebastian. He would always have been proud of Hank's obvious brilliance – already reading as well as Natasha's nine-year-old daughters, constantly taking apart clockwork items and putting them back together. Add to that his charming resemblance to Charles, and it took no effort at all for Erik to like him. Hank, for his part, seemed to view Erik as an acceptable playmate, if distinctly inferior to Clint of House Barton. Erik tried hard to swallow his jealousy.
Alex was difficult for the first while, some days refusing to talk to anyone but his twin; Charles said he missed Armando. Erik and Alex had a breakthrough, though, at the end of the first week, when Alex went missing during a game of hide-and-seek. It was Erik who discovered he had locked himself into the coal cellar. The poor boy was in an awful state – he had never liked being imprisoned in small spaces – and clung to his rescuer for hours, sobbing off and on. After that, he didn't seem to mind Erik nearly so much.
Surprisingly, it was Sean who proved hardest to win over, due not to dislike but to indifference. He was so very easygoing a child that he almost seemed incapable of deeper emotion, caring no more or less for his twin brother than for a stranger like Grantaire. As they spent more time together, Erik came to see signs that Sean was in fact extremely attached to his siblings and caregivers – but people outside that family circle were kept at a benign, perfectly cheerful distance, and he was in no hurry to let Erik any closer.
Meanwhile, there were also Natasha's nine-year-old twins, Katniss and Merida, who seemed bemused, if not exactly offended, by Sir Erik's obvious attachment to all the children but them. At first Erik thought perhaps Clint Barton was spending so much time with them in order to make up for that – until the day he passed by an archery lesson in progress, and saw Barton with his chin over Katniss's shoulder. With their faces so close together, the resemblance was undeniable.
That night, tangled together in bed while they fed each other tidbits from a fruit tray, Erik asked Charles about it.
"Ah, you noticed that, too!" Charles replied around a grape. "I'm rather pleased with myself for figuring it out. The girls' paternity is one of the great scandalous mysteries of the court, you know. And it certainly explains the wide-ranging variety of emotional glances flying between the Duchess and my excellent valet." He wound his arms around Erik's neck. "So we are not the only long-separated couple to find refuge here. I do hope they're using their time as wisely as we are."
Erik dipped his head to give Charles a kiss before continuing. "How did they ever come to be together, I wonder? Didn't Barton work for Coulson's little spy ring? Not an occupation that would put him much in the path of Duchesses."
"Ah, but Natasha wasn't always a Duchess. Once upon a time she was simply a Duke's daughter, with two brothers to safely inherit ahead of her. She was schooled abroad, supposedly, and didn't return until the fire that killed her family. Her eldest brother survived, more or less – that's why she's Duchess-Regent, you know, just in case he ever wakes up."
"And by 'schooled abroad' you imply she was spying right next to Barton."
"Until she was called home by tragedy. The girls might be a souvenir of their farewell." Charles smiled and reached for a strawberry. "Operatic, I suppose, but operas do come from somewhere."
"But... a woman, in that line of work? Her fathers would never have permitted it, surely even Coulson—"
"Can you really see Coulson turning away a competent operative of any sex?" Charles held his gaze and took an exaggeratedly flirtatious bite of the strawberry. "Now," he said, nudging the remainder of the berry past Erik's lips, "if we are quite finished discussing other people's love lives..."
So nights and mornings were a joy – but then there were the afternoons.
Each day, from luncheon until tea-time or later, they gathered in the east library to discuss what Genosha and Free Essex could, unofficially, do for each other. It all turned out to be much more complicated than Erik had thought.
Enjolras had apparently expected that Erik could call his beloved to heel, and have him agree to whatever terms they liked. Erik could have disabused the man of that notion earlier, but even he was surprised by the strength of Charles's resistance – sometimes to the last ideas he'd expected resistance to.
One afternoon, Enjolras looked on the edge of throwing his hands in the air. "You want your men to stay in the field longer?"
Charles crossed his arms. "Tell me what the advantage would be to Free Essex."
Enjolras rubbed his forehead. "Shorter service terms means more resources devoted to recruiting and training new soldiers, and to transporting new soldiers in and the old ones out. Most importantly, it would lower the number of experienced men in the field—"
"Yes. Exactly. Leaving inexperienced men that yours could kill more easily and that is not what I had in mind for these negotiations."
"Your Highness, you have to expect that we are here to negotiate for own benefit—"
"I'd expect no less. But I am not here to help Free Essex; I consider that a happy side effect, certainly, but I am here to disentangle my soldiers from the mess their king has dropped them in. Actions that aid both of us are music to my ears; actions that aid you alone may require compensation; actions that aid your men while actively harming mine are off the table."
Enjolras looked to Erik for support, but Erik only raised his eyebrows. They moved on.
Charles and Natasha consented readily to most other ideas for decreasing Genosha's military presence in Essex. Charles committed to working with the Natural Science Society to delay the construction of ships and manufacture of weapons, and aid those who wished to desert from the Genoshan or Old Essex armies, as well as whatever handful of Free Essex refugees they might come across. Natasha was in a position to take more direct action; they plotted ways she could tighten the requirements for joining the military, such as adjusting the age and health requirements, so that recruitment became more difficult. Of course she could not promise getting anything through Assembly, but even many of Sebastian's usual allies were becoming disenchanted with the war, and Natasha could play the game with the best of them.
"Of course, if we become too hard up for soldiers, conscription will be Sebastian's next step," Natasha pointed out.
"Not under current law," Charles said firmly. "A draft is permissible only when the nation is in a state of war, and we are only assisting an ally – we've declared no war in Essex. Best of luck to Sebastian if he tries to change that, either. He'd have a riot on his hands, and not from the ignorable peasantry this time."
Their efforts were not, of course, to go unrewarded. Should Free Essex prove victorious, Charles would have first shot at plummy trade agreements, and a slice of borderland with a seaport. In the more immediate future, Genoshan prisoners of war were guaranteed excellent treatment.
"It's too bad we can't just take all the Genoshans prisoner," Grantaire said absently. "That would surely please everyone – no more fighting at all. Though we couldn't afford to feed them, I suppose."
Charles straightened as if pinched. "That's perfect!"
"Er," Grantaire said, "I was joking, we really can't—"
"No, of course not. But I could pay to feed them – I could pay to ship them home!"
"You mean a ransom?" Erik said. He seemed to recall references to that practice in the early days post-Virus.
"Exactly. I can offer Free Essex a ransom for Genoshan prisoners – out of my own funds as Duke of Westchester, so I won't even need Sebastian's permission. Oh, it works beautifully! We get our men back home, you get funding, and your men are motivated to take prisoners rather than kill whenever possible."
"On the condition, of course," Enjolras said, "that ransomed prisoners are not returned to military duty."
"Only sensible."
"The only problem," Grantaire muttered, "will be organizing the hordes of Genoshans lining up to be taken prisoner."
"This won't even have to be secret," Charles said, "it's a perfectly honorable offer, for all that it's seldom done nowadays. I can have the official papers drawn up as soon as I get home – perhaps sooner, I can write to Tony... The question is how much to offer per head? I am a rich man, but not inexhaustible..."
They shook hands on a number by the end of the day. Charles was too ecstatic to sleep for hours, and Erik stayed up half the night just to watch the dance of his hands and sparkle of his eyes as he chattered about peace and cooperation and unity and hope.
"I don't really believe in any of that," he whispered, stroking Charles's cheek, feather-light, when his eyes finally drifted closed. "But I believe in you. Always."
They had planned to stay a month; it would be hard for Free Essex to do without such key players longer than that, Charles could only stay away from the city for so long, and after all it did neither side any good to come to agreements unless they put them into action. A long month, thirty-one days together – it had seemed an age, a paradise stretching out in all directions. But the days flowed by faster than Erik could have dreamed, and his nights with Charles had hardly lost the urgency of reunion before they took on the desperate edge of looming separation.
It wouldn't always be like this, they swore to each other. They wouldn't let it be another five years. Once King Nathaniel was defeated, Erik would have a position in the Free Essex government, clear and legal. Sebastian couldn't touch him there, as long as they kept to the agreement – or kept it as far as Sebastian knew. There would be ways for them to contact each other, as representatives of their countries, things Sebastian couldn't forbid without provoking gossip or outright scandal. It wouldn't be another five years.
***
One evening in the second week, negotiations wound down a good hour before tea, and Charles invited Erik to try out the chessboard in the library.
Their fingers brushed over the board one time too many, and they were in a thoroughly compromising position together in Charles's wheelchair when Molesley walked in.
Erik went tense as iron, and one hand moved for a sword he wasn't wearing; Charles grabbed his wrist, took a deep breath, and turned to the butler with a thoroughly casual smile.
"Yes, Molesley?"
The poor man had gone scarlet, gaze fixed on the floor. He stuttered for a moment before managing, "Sorry to disturb you, my lord, I d-d-don't, I didn't, I'll j-just—"
"Erik, love, perhaps you could give us a moment?"
Erik glanced from one to the other, uneasily.
Charles snorted. "What danger do you imagine Molesley poses, pray tell? Go on up to our room, I'll join you shortly."
Reluctantly, Erik climbed off his lap and straightened their respective clothing, while Molesley continued to look at the floor. Erik bumped the butler's shoulder and glared at him as he left the room.
"Do come here, Molesley," Charles sighed. "It's just as well, we needed to have this conversation in any case. I'm sure I don't need to explain that your discretion, and that of the rest of the staff—"
Molesley looked up at last, his expression rather affronted. "Of course not, my lord."
"I'm sorry, I don't mean to insult you. But I know the staff is in an awkward position, between my orders and Mr. Marko's. When he returns, I'm sure he will want every detail about what transpired in his absence. It's quite imperative that neither he nor anyone else know the particulars. My guests' identities, for instance. The Duchess-Regent is known to have travelled with me, but the rest must remain anonymous."
"It's quite clear to me, my lord, who the Duke of Westchester is, however confused Mr. Marko might be," Molesley said, straightening his spine. "And if you'll forgive my saying it, sir, I'm no stranger to keeping Mr. Marko's nose out of House Xavier's secrets."
Charles blinked, wondering what sort of secrets... another time. "I'm glad to hear it, Molesley. It does occur to me that others in the household, perhaps hired by the Markos, may not have their loyalties so clearly cut. Can I trust you to apportion this," he drew a fat, clinking purse from a pocket on his chair, "wherever you feel it will do the most good?"
"Certainly, my lord." Molesley took the purse with a thoughtful expression; Charles was satisfied to see no sudden gleam of avarice in his eyes. "I hate to admit it, but I think this will prove helpful to some parties, my lord."
"I hope it will. Now, what was it you came here to say to me?"
Molesley looked sheepish. "I haven't the foggiest memory, my lord, but it was nothing urgent."
"You may return to your duties, then, with my thanks."
Alone in the library, Charles stared sightlessly at the scattered wreck of the chessboard. The enormity of what he was doing here settled belatedly onto his shoulders. His eagerness to see Erik had eclipsed all else, but if this secret conference with Free Essex were found out, it would certainly be called treason. Charles didn't particularly feel like a traitor – he was working for the good of his people, and betraying Sebastian and Nathaniel pricked his conscience not at all – but the law would not be on his side. Moira and Clint, Natasha and her girls, the silent staff of the manor, even the absent Markos, would all suffer if they were caught.
But that possibility felt distant and unreal next to the terrible certainty of being parted again from Erik, when this was over.
Charles dreamed, that night, that he woke to find the house cold and dark, and himself utterly alone in it – Erik, the children, Moira, even the servants, all gone, leaving him helpless and trapped. The terror and grief were overwhelming, and he wept in relief when he woke to find Erik beside him.
"Charles, what's wrong? Are you hurt? What happened?"
"Just a nightmare." Charles wrapped himself around Erik as best he could, Erik completing the process and holding him against the tremors that shook his body. "Erik, tell me you'll never leave me, promise me, please – I know, I know," he pressed his fingers to the reluctant protest trying to leave Erik's mouth, "I know, just say it anyway. I just want to hear you say it."
Erik swallowed. "I'll never leave you. Never, Charles, I swear."
They held each other tight enough to bruise, and did not sleep again until dawn.
***
Erik and Howlett had never exactly been friends, but the lieutenant had served him loyally, and rather beyond the call of duty; Erik felt that visiting during his convalescence was the least he could do.
At the three-week mark, Howlett was walking again, with assistance; Erik found him one morning inching his way down a garden path, cursing in a constant growl with Dr. Henri under one arm and Lady Moira under the other.
"Lieutenant!" Erik barked. "Is that any way to talk in the presence of a lady?"
"She's heard worse."
"I've said worse," Moira chuckled. "Come on, you pussywillow," she said as Howlett's dragging steps slowed, "get to the end of this path and I'll let you cry on my shoulder."
"More like nap," Howlett groaned. "Time was I could march three days and still have breath to bellow at the stragglers."
"You're lucky to be alive, Lieutenant," Dr. Henri said mildly. "It might do you good to focus on that."
Howlett drew breath, doubtless for a caustic remark, then glanced at Dr. Henri and let it out again without comment.
Erik was impressed to see his cantankerous lieutenant show anything like sensitivity, though it should have been obvious Dr. Henri knew whereof he spoke. He'd only barely survived Sebastian’s goons, and four years later, his walk was stiff, his shoulders uneven, his face scarred, and, most cruelly for a surgeon, his hands only crooked claws. To protect him from further attacks, he'd been snatched away from whatever life he'd had in the city, and dropped at this country estate where he could not have been much welcomed. Yet his calm, pleasant demeanor seemed undamaged; in fact, with color in his cheeks and a sparkle in his eyes, he looked happier than Erik remembered him from the city.
In fact... he looked happier than when they'd first arrived three weeks ago.
And he kept glancing toward the young medic they'd brought with them, a very pretty dark-haired androji who was now standing in the shade with a clipboard, apparently making notes on Howlett's progress, and biting his lip shyly whenever he caught Dr. Henri looking at him.
Erik struggled to swallow an exasperated laugh. Between Enjolras cuddling and talking to his husband's barely-pregnant belly, the Duchess and Barton doing their dance of haunted looks, and – he might as well admit – his own dramatic carryings-on with Charles, he was beginning to think he had entered one of those overwrought romance plays for young people. "Passion and Politics," they could call it, or "The Summer of Love"...
Howlett had finally achieved the bench at the end of the path, and his helpers lowered him onto it with a grunt. Moira took a seat beside him, and reached over to pat his head.
"What a good boy, walking!" she cried in precisely the same voice she used with Hank. "Look at you, big strong man!" Howlett snorted and shoved her halfway off the bench. Laughing, she settled herself back in place, and tucked herself under Howlett's arm. He grumbled and rested his chin on top of her head.
Another one. Good grief. Erik rolled his eyes and stalked off to study the nearest bank of primroses. He should have expected to find them here, he supposed; they were Charles's favorite. He cupped a blossom in his hand and thought about a little boy, remarkably similar to Hank, running wild through these gardens when his parents weren't watching...
He was wondering who had charge of the children, with Moira occupied, and whether he could whisk them away to go wading in the stream, when a few half-heard words brought his attention sharply back into focus.
"—Prince Charming Charlie, but I clean up alright."
"I'll have to take your word for that, having never witnessed it."
"Are you disdaining the sweat of honest toil, my lady?" Howlett said with exaggerated offense. "I bet even Charming Charlie smells pretty ripe after a day in the sun. But maybe he sweats perfume, and craps gold – after all, he is 'the most perfect gentleman of your acquaintance' – with eyes that shame the stars and lips like a whore's pillows—"
The sharp sound of a slap. "I never said that!" Moira sounded about one third amused to two thirds shocked and angry.
"Wow." Howlett was rubbing his jaw. "Touched a nerve, did I?"
"Insulted your Prince, is what you did, who happens to be both my employer and my dearest friend."
"Insult? I'da called it a compliment."
Erik, looking at the backs of their heads, could only imagine the strength of the glare this provoked. His fists, he noted, were clenched hard enough that they were shaking.
"Fine, fine," Howlett said after a moment. "All due apologies to the Prince. I'll keep my compliments to myself."
"Good."
"And maybe just one or two for you?"
Moira continued glaring.
"You know," Howlett added, "I thought I was your dearest friend. You've led me on, Lady, and I think you owe me an apology."
"You are such a barbarian," Moira sighed, settling back against him. Howlett just chuckled and kissed the top of her head.
Erik withdrew quietly, fighting the urge to smash his former subordinate's face in. The man's comments, however crude, had clearly been intended only to provoke Moira. It was Moira's response that Erik found more troubling.
So Moira had spoken – written? – to Howlett about Charles. Whom she regarded as ‘the most perfect gentleman of her acquaintance.’ Howlett, feeling out his place in Moira's heart, had found Charles threatening enough to denigrate. And Moira had defended Charles with actual violence.
She had chosen Howlett, Erik tried to reassure himself as he made his way back across the grounds. If Charles was a dear friend, Howlett was clearly more than that.
But she would not have Howlett for much longer. He would stay in Westchester when Moira and the royal family returned to the city. Where Charles would be lonely and in need of comfort...
Erik stopped at the manor door, leaning his head against sun-warmed oak. He trusted Charles. He did. Charles was the best human being ever born.
But he was still a human being. One who loved other people almost by default. One who had already suffered through so many years alone.
If it happens, don't tell me, he pleaded, safely in the silence of his own head. Don't tell me. I know I could forgive anything else. I don't want to find out I can't forgive that.
***
They had five days left, and their conference had mostly wound down, discussion centered now on how to implement the decisions already made. They had just decided to end negotiations early, before tea, when Molesley stepped in to tell them there was a visitor at the door.
"He's asking for a Mr. Hugo, my lord. I've told him there's no one here by that name, but he's quite insistent."
"He is here for me," Enjolras said, blank with surprise. "I beg your pardon, my lord. Hugo is a name I have used on occasion. This must be an emergency communication from my superiors."
When Enjolras returned from speaking with the visitor, his color was high, his hands nervous.
"Erik, Grantaire, we have intelligence on the king's position. He had to come to ground eventually and he has – here, in Genosha!"
"What?"
They all gathered round as Enjolras spread a hastily-drawn map over a table. "Not thirty miles north of here. He waits to meet with Sebastian in the governor's mansion of this backwater town, likely the best place he could get to after a fast and secret boat ride. We have men on the way but the three of us are closer by far – by the time the others arrive he may be gone."
"What can three men do?" Erik said, glancing at Grantaire as if not certain he even counted.
"There are four at least of the king's guard that will assist us – they are the source of this information. Seven men to kill one – surely it can be done."
"Wait," Charles said. "What exactly is under discussion here?"
"King Nathaniel," Erik said impatiently. "If he dies, we win, to put it simply. There are few who are truly loyal to Nathaniel, and even fewer who will continue to fight in his name when surrender will save their skins."
"So this is to be an assassination?" He did not mean for shock and disgust to color his voice, but they did. Erik turned on him with hard eyes.
"I would kill better men than Nathaniel to end this war. What is the life of one enemy to thousands of our own men?"
"You can't argue the bastard deserves to live," said Grantaire. "Or maybe you haven't seen the reports, of what happens to what he calls Undesirables? He keeps the children alive, sometimes, for research purposes, but babes in arms are too much work, and usually all you have to do is drop them—"
Charles swallowed. "Peace! I've no particular desire to see Nathaniel achieve a ripe old age. It's only... even in war there are rules, there is honorable combat—"
Erik laughed, a sharp, bitter bark that made Charles jump. "Honorable. No, Charles, there is no honor on the battlefield, there is only your sword and whether you can put it through the other fellow before he does the same."
"Even so, there are things that a decent man does not do."
"I'm sure it comforts you to think so."
Charles felt himself prickle with embarrassment and anger. "I'm no soldier, Erik, but don't accuse me of naivete. I've certainly seen the dark and terrible things people do to one another. I've had a very close seat indeed to that stage."
Erik's face darkened. "This is nothing like what Sebastian's done to you. This is war against an evil man—"
"I never said—"
"Gentlemen," Enjolras interjected, and waited until they had both turned their attention to him. "Your Highness, I, too, once believed war could be honorable. Perhaps with a different foe it could, but adhering to rules of honor when coming up against Nathaniel would only ensure his victory and our deaths. Erik, come look at this map. We need a solid plan."
They seemed to expect that Charles would leave, then; Natasha certainly encouraged him to, raising an inquisitive eyebrow as she herself moved for the door. Charles only pushed his chair closer and listened intently to the proposed plan of attack.
"—have to wait until we can run a proper reconnaissance, but I think we can count on him being in an inner room, upper floor—"
"—governor's mansion in a backwater town, highly doubtful it'll be designed for defense, but there's sure to be guards—"
"This is a backwater town of Genosha, correct?" Charles said. "So the governor whose house you are attacking, his family and staff, they are Genoshan, and likely innocent of anything but being in a convenient location."
"No one who surrenders will be harmed."
"Why on Earth would they surrender when their home is under attack by foreign nationals?"
"What would you have me do, Charles?"
"And have you given any thought to the fact that if an allied king is assassinated on Genoshan soil, it just might corner Sebastian into declaring war on Free Essex after all?"
"That would be pointless. The Essex he's allied with would have already ceased to exist."
"And Sebastian always does the rational thing, he's never motivated by rage or vengeance or petty spite—"
"Charles." Erik turned away from the map, and for the first time in a very long time Charles was aware of how much Erik loomed over him, when he was in the wheelchair, how far down Erik had to look to see him. His voice was calm, but distant and hard. Not Erik at all, but General Lehnsherr of Free Essex. "If we can take out King Nathaniel, however, wherever, it will be done. It is the cleanest possible way to end this war, establish a better government for this people, and rid the world of a monster."
"Even if it means killing innocent people. Our own people!"
Erik had already turned away. He stared fixedly down at the map.
Grantaire spoke, hesitantly. "If we had more men, things could go more smoothly – you have a well-trained guard here—"
"If you're asking me to send Genoshan guardsmen – not even soldiers, country guardsmen, some of whom I've known since childhood – to attack their own countrymen—" Charles choked down the rest of the sentence.
"Supplies, then," Erik said heavily. "Food, transportation, weapons—"
"You may take exactly what you would have taken for your journey back to Essex." Charles tried not to let his hands shake, gripping the arms of his chair. "Not a jot more. I'll not support this horror in any fashion."
"Will you try to stop us?" Erik had not looked up from the map; his knuckles were white on the edge of the table.
Charles drew in a slow breath. He could send word to this backwater governor, certainly. A warning that would send Nathaniel into deeper hiding, tip Sebastian off to his consort's activities, and possibly – in fact very probably – get Erik and his companions killed. "No," Charles whispered. "No, I'll do nothing to decrease your chance of success. Surely only your success can begin to justify..." Between your life and the lives of strangers, however innocent, I will choose you, God forgive me.
Erik nodded. "Then we'll leave at dawn."
Charles's head snapped up. "Leave?"
"Didn't you hear Enjolras? We can't wait, or he'll be gone, God knows where."
"But we were to have five days still..." He sounded inane to his own ears, child-like.
At last Erik looked at him again – a brief glance, agonized. "I'm sorry, Charles." He grabbed up the map, the movement convulsive and forced, and marched out of the room, Enjolras and Grantaire trailing behind.
***
Erik and his companions did not come to tea, or dinner. Charles made excuses to the children, and did not tell them Erik was leaving. Erik could bloody well say goodbye for himself.
Natasha was present in body, but not in spirit; Charles had never seen her so distracted. She drummed her fingers, picked at her food, nursed a single drink for an hour only to finally toss it back in one gulp. She continually touched and twisted a ring, dark metal with a purple stone, that Charles didn't remember her ever wearing before. As Charles couldn't imagine her preoccupation had anything to do with Erik, Essex, or ethical combat, he took little notice of it, but it certainly contributed to the unsettled atmosphere.
After dinner, Charles gave the children to Moira to put to bed, and went in search of Erik.
Navigating the grounds on his crutches in the growing dark would surely bring Erik out of the woodwork to scold him, he thought, but it didn’t. Charles had just finished talking to the stablemaster – who confirmed that m'lord's guests had been by to have their mounts prepared for the morrow – when he saw a flutter of movement. Peering into the shadows of the herb garden, he saw two figures standing close together, gesturing emphatically at each other.
He recognized the gestures before the figures; Clint's hand-language, the signs for stop that, talk to me, and some sort of reference to a debt.
And the other figure, Natasha, who had been in the process of turning away, stopped, and rubbed her eyes, and turned back to face Clint again.
Too many years, her hands said, moving with ease and confidence – she had not learned this language in the last three weeks. One night. Forget.
One night, and six years before. Clint watched her face, hunger and pleading under his usual stoicism. And all years since. Don't lie.
Nothing different—
Everything different!
For you. Natasha's expression was never less than controlled, but her hand was gentle as she raised it to Clint's cheek, continuing to sign with the other. Nothing different for me.
Clint leaned into the touch, placing one hand over hers. Two big differences.
See girls any time. Any.
And you? Their faces were inches apart now, and Charles knew he ought to leave, but the thud-thump of his crutches would draw attention – not from Clint, but certainly from Natasha.
She stepped back. Clint. At least, Charles assumed it was a sign for his name; it seemed to combine the letter C with what had to be "arrow" or "archer." Ten years. You don't know me now. I don't know you.
Don't care. Love you, signed with a startling fierceness, even anger.
Natasha just shook her head; Charles could make out the traces of a sad smile. Love is for children. She reached for the ring with the purple stone, as if to take it off; Clint closed his hand firmly over it.
For a long moment, they stared at each other – glared, really – and then Clint leaned forward, and Natasha jumped up to meet him, grabbing his face with both hands. The kiss was fierce but brief; Clint didn't quite have time to get his arms around her before she stepped back, and turned away, signing No. Sorry. No..
"I wish love were enough," she murmured as she walked away – her hands still, the words meant for no one's ears but her own. Charles stayed very still until she disappeared into the shadows of the herb garden.
Then he began stumping off down the path, hoping he'd be out of sight before Clint turned around.
Alone in his bedroom, Charles lit a candle against the encroaching night, and waited for Erik. He puttered about the room, as well as one could putter on crutches, adjusting pillows and curtains and sconces that didn't need to be adjusted. He set out the chessboard, though unsure he really wanted to play; he and Erik had been adversaries enough today.
Ten years. You don't know me now. I don't know you.
It wasn't true, he told himself fiercely. He and Erik knew each other... not perfectly, perhaps, there were details of each other's lives that they inevitably missed, but they knew the things that mattered. They wrote to each other constantly, they talked about everything. Being together again felt like coming home, far more than returning to Westchester. There was no strangeness, no uncertainty. It was like they'd never been apart.
But they had been apart. Erik had lived as an outcast, homeless and friendless, and caught up in war when he'd been tired of soldiering before he even met Charles. Charles had been in battle, too, in his way, on political and psychological fronts. War, as they said, could change a man.
Had war changed Erik? Or had he always been this hard, this ruthless and bloody-minded, and Charles never knew him well enough to see it? Which was worse? Could he live with either?
Of course he could, he could live with anything, anything for Erik, he loved Erik.
The minutes ticked by, alone in his room, and he heard the ghost of Natasha's voice. "I wish love were enough."
***
There were many preparations to make before their morning departure, and most of the household was in bed before Erik made his way to the room he'd been sharing with Charles. Not the room Charles had lived in as a child; his stepbrother had taken that as an office, apparently. It was almost a shame the Markos were away from home; Erik would have liked to give them a piece of his mind. He paced up and down the hallway for a bit, thinking of the punishment he might rain down on the father and son who had given Charles so much pain. It was blatant stalling, and hypocritical besides. It wasn't Kurt or Cain Marko who was hurting Charles now.
Not that Charles had any reason to feel hurt. This attempt on Nathaniel was a necessity and a precious opportunity and it would save lives in the end. Who under heaven was Charles Xavier to judge Erik for protecting his people? Both his peoples – Free Essex, who had given him purpose and support when he had none, and whose ideals lay close to Erik's heart, and Genosha, which could stop throwing away lives in a conflict it never should have been involved in. Yes, people would die – people would die either way! Charles was missing the forest for the trees.
Even more than Charles's shortsighted squeamishness, Erik was stung by his refusal to give them aid. They were seven men, four of them untrusted strangers, ill-supplied and poorly armed, with little idea what they were going up against; tactically speaking, it was the toughest corner Erik had been in for quite some time. And Charles could have helped them. And he would not.
At the moment, though, all that was crowded aside by the image of Charles's gutted expression, "But we were to have five days still..." Because this much Charles could hate him for and be justified – that Erik was leaving him, five days early, to go back to war.
Enough stalling. Erik took a deep breath and opened the door.
The room was still and quiet, a single candle-flame fluttering through its last moments in a pool of wax. Their chessboard was set out next to a plate of withered fruit, untouched. Charles lay in the bed, his breath even and slow in sleep, burrowed down into the pillows.
Moving quietly, Erik skimmed out of his clothes and slid into the bed, smoothing a hesitant hand down Charles's side. Charles stirred immediately – a sigh and sleepy smile, the aborted movement that meant he was trying to roll over toward him. Tears unexpectedly prickled Erik's eyes; holding his breath to keep them down, he wrapped himself around Charles's body, which molded itself eagerly to Erik's, warm and boneless and perfect.
If Erik woke him, would he smile, reach out for him, apologize? Or would he turn away, lay tense and untouchable, perhaps even tell Erik to leave? He couldn't bear that tonight. If that made him a coward, then he was a coward, but he couldn't do it.
Erik buried his face in his husband's hair, breathing his scent, and tried to sleep. He would need all his strength tomorrow.
***
When Charles first woke, he was conscious only of the same hazy, golden contentment that had attended most mornings in Westchester – Erik's arms around him, Erik's breath soft against the back of his neck.
Then he remembered that Erik was leaving.
Turning over to face Erik would certainly wake him – it involved too much laborious shifting of limbs – so Charles lay still. The only part of Erik he could see was one hand, thrown over Charles's waist to tangle loosely with Charles's own fingers. Moving slowly, Charles brought the hand up to his lips and brushed the lightest of all possible kisses over one knuckle.
He loved Erik's hands, long and sure and elegant. He knew them like he knew the voices of his children, the scent of candles, the worn places of his favorite pen – things that were part of him, deep and immovable. But what Charles knew was loving touches on his own skin, the care and gentleness Erik used with the children. There were scars and calluses on those hands that did not come from love or play. There always had been, but there were more now. Parts of Erik that he knew nothing about.
Feeling sick and unsteady, as if the ground were tilting under – ha! – under his feet, Charles extricated himself from the bed, and took his chair into the dressing room. When he came back out again, the bed was empty.
***
Erik was not so much of a coward as to leave without telling the children.
He went to the twins first. Sean woke easily, and crawled into his lap, an unusual sign of affection; Erik hugged him tightly, and kissed his wild red hair. Alex, groggy and scowling, batted at Erik's hand when he tried to stroke his cheek.
"Don' wan' get up," he mumbled around his thumb. Not a surprising sentiment when the sky held only a few pink streaks.
"You don't have to get up, son." Erik thought about pulling the thumb out of his mouth – they were trying to discourage that habit – but in the end he couldn't bear to. "I'm just saying goodbye."
"Where you going?" Sean asked, limp against his shoulder.
"I have to go away for a while. A long while."
"Come back tomorrow," Sean said.
"No, I can't come back tomorrow. I can't come back for a long time. Will you remember me? When I come back, will you be happy to see me?"
Sean nodded. "Happy come back." He patted Erik's chest, then his own, and Erik realized he was using the hand-sign for 'happy.'
"Yes, I'll be very happy when I come back," he whispered, closing his eyes. "You go on back to sleep, now."
"Okay."
They were both snoring by the time Erik had their blankets tucked around them.
Hank, he discovered in the next room, was awake already, sitting on the rug with his eyes fixed on a book and his hands twisting a puzzle-ball.
"My brilliant boy," Erik murmured. "Good morning."
"Morning," Hank chirped, in his absent-minded way, without looking up from his book. He squinted hard and rubbed his eyes.
"You need your glasses, Hank." Erik plucked them from the bedside table and worked them onto Hank's uncooperative face. "There, isn't that better?"
Hank sighed deeply, as if glasses were the greatest trial anyone could be called upon to bear. He looked like a little owl with them on, unbearably adorable. Erik scooped him up into his lap.
"Sir Erik! I'm trying to read!"
"Of course you are! Because you're my very brilliant boy, aren't you?" Erik peppered Hank's face with kisses while the boy squawked and squirmed and giggled.
"Yes, okay, I'm your brilliant boy!"
"And you'd best remember it." Erik set him down on the edge of the bed, knelt in front of him. "I came to say goodbye, Hank. I have to leave."
Hank frowned. "Why?"
"There are... things I have to do. Far away from here."
"When are you coming back?"
"I don't know." He ruffled a hand through Hank's hair. "I'm going to miss you very much."
Hank continued frowning, still fumbling with the puzzle-ball in his hands. It was a favorite, Erik knew, one he'd solved a hundred times; the layers, twisted in exactly the right way, unlocked a secret compartment inside, which Charles usually stocked with candy.
"You're nice," Hank mumbled. "I want you to stay."
"I wish I could stay. But I have to go." And the others were probably waiting on him already. Erik took a deep breath and pressed a final kiss to Hank's forehead. "I love you, Hank."
"Love you," Hank replied, with the thoughtless ease of a child accustomed to affectionate caregivers. "Here." He held out the puzzle-ball.
Uncertainly, Erik took it. "You... want me to put this away for you?"
"No. It’s for you. It can be yours now."
"Are you sure?"
Hank nodded. "Carriages are boring. You need to keep yourself occupied." That last carried more than a hint of exasperated Charles in it.
They were going on horseback, not carriage, but there was no need to mention that. He slipped the puzzle-ball into his pocket. "Thank you very much, Hank."
"You're welcome." He was looking past Erik now, at his book. Erik shook his head and set Hank back on the rug, then went to the door, where he paused to look back.
"Goodbye, Hank."
"Goodbye, Sir Erik." Hank tore himself away from the book long enough to give him a sad, owlish look as he closed the door.
Raven lay sprawled in a tangle of covers, gripping the lavender-stuffed rabbit he'd sent her for Christmas. A veil of blonde hair over her face puffed with each breath. For a moment, Erik didn't know if he could bear to wake her – but she, of them all, he could not leave without bidding farewell. A parent should not have favorites, he knew, and he told himself he didn't – he loved his sons dearly and individually, would die for any one of them. But Raven was special. Perhaps because she was the first, the one he had spent the most time with, perhaps because she was a rare and precious girl, but he felt a deeper connection to Raven than to anyone in his life but Charles.
"Raven," he called softly, sitting on the edge of her bed and brushing the hair from her face. "Wake up, my golden bird."
Raven shifted, mumbled, opened her eyes. Her brow creased at the sight of him by her bedside. "Hi, Sir Erik. Where's Papa?"
Erik's throat closed for a moment. "I don't know. He's somewhere about."
"Are we going to go riding?" Raven sat up, rubbing her eyes, her face lighting up at the idea of imminent adventure.
Erik smoothed her hair down and pulled her nightdress back up onto her shoulder. "I'm afraid not, sweetie. I have to leave."
"Where are you going? Will you be back for tea?"
"No. I won't be coming back, Raven. At least not for a very long time."
The boys had all taken it quietly, which was hardly odd since they hadn't known Erik a month, so he was not expecting Raven to fly into a full-blown fit. Before he knew it, he had a lap full of screaming, sobbing 7-year-old girl that he was trying frantically to soothe and shush.
"You can't go! You're not allowed to go!"
"I'm sorry, baby, I have to."
"But you're my friend! You're my favorite friend! You can't leave!"
Moira came to the door, blearily alarmed; Erik waved her away.
"I have to go, Raven. I don't want to, but I have to." And less than a week early, after all; he tried to tamp down his guilt with that, the knowledge that Raven's distress would still have happened whether he'd bowed to Charles's wishes or not.
"Now, you stop this," he said sternly, when several minutes of attempted comforting got him nowhere. Gently but firmly, he detached Raven from his lap and set her on the bed beside him. "You know better than to throw a tantrum, trying to get your way. That's not how your Papa operates."
Raven wiped her nose and glared at him sullenly.
"I know you're sad. I'm sad, too. But I still have to leave. Is this how you want to spend our last few minutes together? Having a tantrum?"
After a long, thoughtful, sniffling moment, Raven shook her head.
"What should we do instead?"
"Horses?"
"Not enough time, sweetie." He smoothed her hair. "How about a story?"
"Okay." She scampered across the room, and returned with a storybook that had turned up in the rooms, possibly left over from Charles's childhood – a beautifully-illustrated version of "The Ugly Duckling."
They had just gotten settled in the bed when Hank came wandering in, crawling as he tended to do when he felt too lazy or distracted to walk. Erik hesitated, unsure if Hank was about to cause a scene, or how Raven would feel about having her farewell invaded. But Raven waved her brother forward with perfect cheer.
“Come on, Hankie. Sir Erik has to go away but he’s going to read us a story first.”
So Erik read with Raven and Hank both snuggled against his chest, a feeling he tried to fix steadily in his memory. He found his feelings about the story he read to be quite mixed. How blithely the story judged the cygnet to be uglier than the ducklings, as if being different were inherently bad! And while he liked that the cygnet found his real family eventually, he was less glad that the "happy ending" involved the cygnet being “beautiful” by duck standards after all. Why should the little fellow still care about his bratty childhood playmates' opinions?
Raven, now calm and even a little sleepy, traced her fingers over the last illustration in the book – the cygnet, now grown into a graceful swan, gliding gracefully through the water with his true brothers and sisters. "Sir Erik, do you think I'll be beautiful when I grow up?"
"I think you're beautiful now," Erik said. "But even if you weren't, would that make you less important?"
Raven crinkled her brow at him.
"Our little feathered friend, here. Didn't he have feelings and thoughts just as much as the ducklings did, even when he was awkward and strange-looking? Wasn't he just as good as them, on the inside?"
She nodded. Hank, Erik noticed, was listening intently.
"Then why does the outside matter?" Erik prodded.
"I guess it doesn't," she said thoughtfully.
"Da—Quite right it doesn't. Remember that, both of you." He kissed the side of her head, then Hank’s. Remember that. Remember me.
Enjolras and Grantaire were, in fact, waiting in the stableyard, already packed and mounted with their horses fidgeting in secondhand impatience.
"Good of you to join us, General," Grantaire said, draining a mug and handing it off to the stableboy. By the minty scent on the wind, it was the herbal tea for his morning sickness. It went quite against Erik's grain to lead a pregnant androji into battle, but Grantaire was barely showing, not enough to hamper him as a fighter, and they couldn't afford to let anyone sit this one out.
Erik tied his pack to the horse and swung into the saddle. "You're one to scold for punctuality, Grantaire."
"Are we ready, then?" Enjolras asked, and Erik saw the unspoken question as he glanced around the stableyard, at the absence of their host.
"I..." He couldn't leave without seeing Charles, surely. Yet Charles had taken such pains to avoid him this morning. He'd known what time they planned to leave, and they were even somewhat late, the blush of dawn quickly brightening to morning. If Charles wasn't here by now, he had no intention of coming. Erik took a deep breath, feeling a weight settle into his stomach, heavier by far than mere physical separation, and sharp-edged, to cut and bleed with every movement. "Yes, I suppose we're ready."
***
In his hurry to reach the stableyard, Charles fumbled his crutches on the stairs, and earned himself a collection of bruises, scrapes and aches that would do Sebastian's goons proud. It seemed to take an age to win free of the servants who tended his wounds, and even then they insisted on carrying him out to the stables in a makeshift sedan chair.
All to no avail. They arrived to an empty yard, and a stableboy who said the departed guests were out of sight even from the tallest tree. |
The door swinging open and hitting the wall made Namjoon jerk awake, having dozed off from waiting for everyone to leave.
"You know, I'm really considering making you owe me another birthday party. Were you sleeping just now?"
Namjoon shook his head, blinking hard a few times. "Just resting my eyes."
Yoongi stood in front of Namjoon. "What the hell happened tonight?"
"I don't know," said Namjoon, rubbing his face, feeling more exhausted than before.
"Extremely bold of you to lie considering how many people heard you crush a poor kid's heart."
"Yeah, you all have been very generous about telling me how I fucked up, but what was I supposed to do? Go 'oh, sure, buddy, let's date!'" Namjoon rolled his eyes, slumping against his seat.
"In a less obnoxious way, but yeah, would've been a way better option," said Yoongi.
"I am nearly twice his age!" Namjoon said, tapping the side of his head. "Why aren't any of you getting that? Do you think we live in a fucking movie? That the magic of true love will solve everything?"
"No, but you haven't even fucking tried!" Yoongi said, following Namjoon as he jumped up and paced toward the other side of the room. "You're head over heels for him. The way you look at him—"
Namjoon whirled around. "Don't fucking say that."
Yoongi scoffed. "You're a coward. You're such a fucking coward."
"Yeah, I am!" Namjoon threw his arms up. "I already went through this shit once, hyung! Have you forgotten? It hasn't even been a year! But you think for 'true love'," he did the air quotes and said it mockingly, "that I should be with someone who's just going to throw me aside later?"
"That's not fair to him. You know him better than I do, would he really do that?"
"I don't know. He doesn't even know! But how do you think something like this ends? When he wakes up one day and realizes I'm pushing 50?"
"What if he wakes up and doesn't give a shit because he likes you? Because he cares for you?" Yoongi crossed his arms. "Don't put shit on him when you have no proof any of it will actually happen."
"Why are you all trying to make me do this?"
"Why are you trying so hard not to when you clearly like him?"
Namjoon couldn't take it anymore. "It's because I like him! It's because I've never liked anyone as much as him! And that's terrifying. I can't go down a path where I'm just always going to be waiting for him to get tired of me."
Yoongi pressed his lips together. "You don't know what will happen."
"What if it does? Then what am I going to do?" This was what Namjoon had tried so hard not to think about this whole time, just how much he liked Taehyung, how happy he was when they were together, how much he desperately wanted more than just friendship, but refused to let himself even consider it. He lied to himself so much that he couldn't stop even when Taehyung had been so hurt by it.
But what good would it do to admit the truth?
Namjoon went to sit back down and hung his head in his hands. "I don't want to go through it all again, not with him."
The spot next to Namjoon dipped and he felt Yoongi's hand on his back. "It sounds like tonight might be the last time you see him if you don't do something. Are you okay with going through that?"
Namjoon closed his eyes with his hands cupped over his mouth. "I wasn't supposed to find someone at all."
"Well, you did. So what are you going to do?"
"I can't think about it right now," Namjoon said, his brain having given up for today and all that's happened.
"Fine," said Seokjin, who'd been watching them calmly, pointing toward the door. "You know what doesn't require thinking? Cleaning up."
Which was the least Namjoon could do, so he didn't put up any fuss and got up, ready to clean until morning if he had to. "Sorry I ruined your party, hyung."
Seokjin squeezed Namjoon's shoulder with a sympathetic smile. "Good, you should be. You're lucky I'm so naturally charismatic that nothing could make my guests take their attention off of me."
Namjoon smiled a little, appreciating Seokjin's inclination to avoid making a big deal of things.
Maybe he could be like Seokjin for a change, just for a little while.
+
Namjoon spent the rest of the weekend holed up in his apartment, which actually wasn't that different from most weekends. But instead of checking on his plants or reading a stack of new books, he laid on the floor of his living room and stared at the ceiling, thinking about Taehyung.
In truth, he only needed to really think about his predicament for a little bit. When forced to choose between sucking it up and going after Taehyung versus the possibility of never seeing him again, of course he picked the former. But between that decision and Sunday night was how long it took for him to work up the courage to call Taehyung again to beg for forgiveness.
He was so nervous he could barely hold onto his phone, his palms sweating worse than the first time he took the stage when he was 15. It rang twice and then went straight to voicemail. Namjoon thought his heart was going to beat right out of his chest. He tried again, but the same thing happened.
He knew enough to know that his calls were getting rejected. It stung, hitting him harder than he liked, but he understood. If he were on the other side, he'd do the same thing.
The third time Namjoon called and immediately got Taehyung's voicemail, he left an actual message. He didn't know what he actually said, whether he rambled only a little or a lot, how desperate he sounded. It was probably pretty desperate, though.
Taehyung didn't return his call that night or the morning after. Namjoon left another message at the end of the day during his walk to the metro station after work. He told Taehyung he just wanted to talk, that Taehyung didn't have to forgive him, but he wanted to at least apologize in person. In the days since, it bothered him more and more that if he and Taehyung parted ways, that their last memory would be so ugly.
He already had enough of those.
But again Taehyung didn't return his call or his texts, though the latter were being read. A week went by like that and Namjoon wondered at what point Taehyung would start finding his behavior creepy. Maybe he already did.
"Any updates?" Yoongi dropped a takeout bag on the coffee table.
Namjoon sent off the email he'd taken all morning to write and rubbed his eyes as he joined Yoongi. "No. Still silence."
Yoongi handed him a sandwich and unwrapped his own. "Maybe he needs a few more days of groveling."
"Maybe." Namjoon didn't have much of an appetite this week, but he ate anyway. "Thanks for lunch."
"It's because I'm here to make a deal." Yoongi pulled out his phone. "I finished the last track last night."
"Oh shit, really? That's awesome."
Yoongi blushed a little and cleared his throat. "I mean, the whole thing still needs a little polishing, but I think this one is going to be the single. Anyway, I was thinking about the album art and found someone who's style I like."
"Yeah? Who?" Namjoon nearly had to unhinge his jaw to take a bite out of his sandwich. Who's bright idea was it to put so many layers in?
"Taehyung."
Namjoon swallowed wrong and started coughing, quickly reaching for the iced coffee Yoongi had also brought.
"I remembered the photos he took of you that you kept posting," said Yoongi as if Namjoon wasn't struggling next to him. "They're good. The lighting, the simplicity. He's talented. I want him to shoot my cover."
"How is this a deal?"
Yoongi rolled his eyes. "Since he's not returning your calls, maybe he will if it's about me instead of you."
"Isn't that tricking him?" Namjoon said, not feeling great about this approach even though it was probably his only option.
Yoongi shrugged. "It's not a lie. I do want to hire him."
Namjoon shook his head. "No, I've screwed up enough with him. I'll give you his number. Mention me if you want, but I'm not going to mislead him."
"Look at you, growing," said Yoongi, nudging Namjoon's arm. "I'll plead your case for you."
They ate in silence for another minute until Namjoon got too curious not to ask. "How do you open your mouth that big?"
Yoongi stared at Namjoon as he chewed and swallowed. "Practice."
It took a second for things to click. Namjoon looked away and kept his eyes averted for the rest of lunch.
+
Namjoon went home for Christmas, a thing that he'd forgotten he dreaded until he was on his way to his parents, having been so distracted by his Taehyung problem. It wasn't that he had a bad relationship with his family or anything, but things changed a little after the divorce. His mother had tried pretty hard to get him to work things out with Sojin and he had a hunch that she still secretly hoped they might rekindle their relationship.
He wondered what would happen if he announced to his family that he definitely was never going to get back with his ex-wife because he recently admitted that he was wildly in love with a budding 25 year old photographer instead. That also might be over before it even began. That would definitely comfort them.
The smell of home cooking welcomed him and his stomach grumbled, reminding him that he'd only had a coffee on the way over.
"My favorite son!" Namjoon's mother appeared from the kitchen, a spatula still in her hand.
"I'm your only son," said Namjoon, leaning down to hug her. "Remember when I was your favorite child?"
"Mm, before your sister was born." She headed back toward the kitchen. "They should be here soon! Don't take off your coat yet, I need you to take down the recycling."
They being his younger sister, her husband, and his three year old niece. It was nice to see them now, but before he and Sojin separated, these family get togethers were even more stressful. Once his sister announced she was expecting, it was just a constant visual reminder that he and Sojin had married first but still hadn't started a family.
They showed up while Namjoon was outside trying to figure out what plastics went into each bin.
"Uncle!"
Namjoon tossed the last empty water bottle away and spun around in time to rush forward and gather up the bundle of bright blue running towards him. "Hi, fishcake."
His niece, Minah, scrunched up her nose.
"No? Bad nickname? How about radish?" Minah stuck out her tongue and Namjoon knew defeat when he saw it. "Okay, just Minah."
Namjoon greeted his sister and her husband and they headed upstairs together.
"Has mom already tried to bring up Sojin?" his sister asked.
Namjoon snorted, hitching Minah higher on his hip. "No, but only because I literally was in the apartment for thirty seconds before she made me take out the recycling."
"Thirty seconds is long. Maybe she's given up."
Namjoon sighed, not hopeful. "Yeah, maybe."
Namjoon's dad was in the living room when they returned and luckily Minah kept both him and his mom occupied, fulfilling her duties as their sole grandchild. Namjoon thought this was great. With no cousins to compete against, Minah would stay the only benefactor of their spoiling. His, too.
They'd managed to last until dinner without bringing up Namjoon's continued lack of a relationship. Then his mother asked how Sojin was doing and he had to stop himself from preemptively insisting that they were never going to want a second chance.
"I haven't spoken to her since last year," said Namjoon, wishing that was enough for them to understand how final their divorce was. "I'm sure she's doing fine. Maybe she's already with someone new."
His mother frowned. "I never understood just what you two couldn't reconcile."
"Sometimes people just change, mom."
"Fine. Are you dating again, then? It's harder for someone your age to find someone single, so you shouldn't drag your feet."
"Not everything is about relationships," said Namjoon, even though that was the only thing he'd been agonizing over for weeks. "Lots of young people are rejecting the notion that you have to get married or even be in a relationship."
"You're not young and neither am I," his mother said. The implication that she wanted another grandchild was loud and clear.
Namjoon's sister took a little pity and started asking their dad about how his table tennis club was going, which was always an easy way to get him talking. Namjoon finished his meal quietly and almost blurted out that he did have someone he was interested in no less than two times, but chickened out at the last second.
They were having some fruit after dinner when Namjoon's phone rang and he had this moment of deja vu when he saw Taehyung's name and wondered whether he was seeing things. His niece dropped beside him and grabbed his phone, answering before anyone in the room could stop her. Certainly not Namjoon who was still frozen in place.
"Hello?" she said. "Who's this?"
"Minah!" her mother said, but Minah ran away to the other end of the living room, very focused on the call.
"Uh huh. Uncle? He, um, he's eating. Yeah."
Namjoon gestured for his sister not to chase after her and got up himself, crouching in front of Minah. He could hear Taehyung's voice on the other end, soft with surprise at who he was talking to, but taking it in stride.
"Yeah. Yuh. Okay! Uncle is here."
Namjoon smiled when Minah kept the phone pressed to her face, needing both hands to keep it there. "Can I talk to my friend now?"
"Okay, bye!" Minah handed the phone over and earned a pat on the head.
"Go back to your mom," said Namjoon, nudging her along, then raised the phone to his ear. "Hey." He avoided looking at his family as he went to the front door, shoving his shoes on lazily before he ducked outside.
"Hi. Was that your niece?"
"Yeah. Minah. She's three and very good at voice phishing."
"She was very cute, almost had me fooled," said Taehyung.
Namjoon paced back and forth. "I was afraid I'd never hear from you."
"Ah." Taehyung cleared his throat. "That wasn't. Actually, Jimin wouldn't let me return your calls or messages. I think he was more mad than me."
"For good reason," said Namjoon, recalling the way Jimin had regarded him that night. "Taehyung, I'm sorry for all the shit I said. It was, well, bullshit."
"I kind of got that from your messages," said Taehyung. "It was pretty shitty of you."
"Can we talk about it when I'm back? I'm at my parent's through tomorrow. You'd totally be within your right to tell me to fuck off."
"No, I want to talk to you. And I'm with my family too, down near Daegu. I'll be back in Seoul in a few days."
"Okay. Cool. Okay, yeah, great."
Taehyung laughed a little and Namjoon almost felt like crying. "You don't have to be so nervous, hyung. It's all right."
Except Namjoon thought there was every reason to be nervous. He couldn't really tell what Taehyung was thinking, a strange and very nerve-wracking thing when Taehyung was usually so forthcoming.
They hung up with Taehyung promising to let Namjoon know when he was back in the city and Namjoon stayed out there for a while, feeling a bit scattered after that. It was cold though and now that he was off the phone, the frigid air really hit him and he hurried back inside, shivering as he tried to warm up.
"Who was that? Yoongi?" his sister said when he sat back down.
"No, just a friend." Namjoon caught Minah on her third trip around the room. "He called you cute."
Later, after their parents had gone to bed and Minah's dad was also tucking her in, Namjoon's sister joined him in the living room again. "So, you don't stare at the phone like it might bite you if it's someone who's just a friend."
It wasn't like Namjoon had been subtle about it. "We had a fight a couple weeks ago, that's all. I wasn't expecting to hear from him."
"What'd you fight about?"
"Uh. Well." Namjoon mulled it over and decided his sister was the safest person he could confide in other than Yoongi. And if he was going to ask Taehyung for a chance, it wasn't going to be in secret. "He wanted to date me and I rejected him in a pretty assholeish way."
"That's unlike you."
"Yeah. Um, I didn't reject him for the reason you're thinking, it was because I'm insecure about how young he is."
His sister's eyebrows disappeared under her fringe. "That's new. I mean, it is new, right?"
Namjoon nodded. "Lots of self-reflection when you get a divorce. Well. I do, at least."
"Because you love a good introspection."
"Are you making fun of me during my time of crisis?"
"When it's about how much you love to think? Absolutely. I can be more shocked and disgusted if you'd like."
"That's okay."
His sister turned towards him. "So how young is this guy? Tell me about him. You like him back?"
Namjoon rubbed his palms over his thighs, the rapid fire questions making him nervous. Or maybe it was just the last one. "He's 25."
"Ohhh."
"Yeah, I know, okay? Already went down that rabbit hole a bunch of times."
"I mean, he's not an employee or anything, right?"
"No! He's a friend of Hoseok's. That's how we met."
His sister shrugged and gestured for him to proceed.
"I don't know. He's funny and nice to talk to and creative. He does photography."
"Hold on, photography? Don't tell me, all those photos you suddenly started posting last month?"
Namjoon nodded. "He likes art too, so we went to a few museums and galleries."
His sister snorted, then looked at him seriously. "I can tell you're not going to say out loud whether you like him back, even though it's a bit obvious, but the way that guy sees you through a camera? Not everyone's lucky enough to have someone like that."
"What do you think our parents would say? If I made up with him?"
His sister took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I don't know. I don't think they'd disown you, if that's what you're worried about. Honestly I think as long as you gave mom a grandchild, however you go about it, she wouldn't care what you did. Or, considering how young he is, maybe she can just baby him."
Namjoon groaned. "Okay, stop."
"Look, if you like him, then just see where it goes. You already got divorced. What's the worst that could happen?"
"Is that your version of a pep talk? Was that supposed to be motivational?"
His sister punched his arm. "I'm a mom to a toddler. Most of my conversations these days are about animal friends and what not to put in your mouth. That was pretty good considering."
After Namjoon turned in for the night, he laid awake staring at the ceiling. Honestly, there were a lot of bad things that could happen, but he'd already decided the worst of all would be letting go of Taehyung entirely.
Taehyung had said not to worry, but Namjoon couldn't help it, because he didn't know if the worst thing for Taehyung was the same thing. |
There’s nothing that bursts the bubble of a stunning Quidditch victory like being faced with all-night detention.
Her impending doom weighs heavy on Rey’s soul for the next five days and for once the week's lessons seem to pass by in a blur.
At 8pm the following Friday evening, Rey sits sulkily at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, pushing her chicken pie and roast vegetables around her plate and feeling uncharacteristically unhungry. She can’t remember the last time she felt this dejected.
She had had her fair share of detentions before, no doubt about that, but they had been for missed homework, lateness, getting into a scrap when a particularly nasty Slytherin girl had called her a Mudblood and Rey had punched her in the nose in plain view of Snoke. Not once had she received punishment for being caught sneaking around out of hours. It was something, in fact, that she took great pride in.
Until he had got in her way.
She whines and drops her fork to her plate with a loud clatter. She could swear that the bridge of her nose throbs a little in pain at the thought of him.
“You should eat something, Rey, in case Tano has you up all night”, Finn says gently, his attention seized by her sudden outburst of misery.
Rey reluctantly shovels two large forkfuls of pie into her mouth and chews grumpily. Finn laughs at her and she can’t help but crack a little smile, too.
Her friends do the best job they can in lifting her spirits, Poe even gives her his helping of sticky toffee pudding. By the time she rises from the table to meet her fate, she has to admit she feels a little less hopeless and ready to meet her certain doom.
It could be worse, she supposes, at least she wasn’t having to do her detention with Ben. No doubt Snoke had him chained up by his ankles somewhere.
The thought makes her stomach lurch and her skin burn. She hadn’t considered what punishment Snoke would dish out to Ben, but the feeling of dread that is currently spreading through her chest tells her that she knows deep down that it will be something utterly cruel and degrading.
When she emerges into the Entrance Hall, she half jogs past the cold, unwelcoming archway that leads down into the dungeons, suddenly nervous to pass it as though it may pull her down into its depths.
It is 9pm exactly when she knocks hesitantly on Professor Tano’s heavy ornate office door.
“Come in”, her soft voice chimes from inside.
She shoves the door open with her shoulder and steps into the dim room. Tano sits at her desk, looking directly at Rey with her hands folded neatly together on top of her desk.
Hunched over with his huge limbs spilling over the edges of a chair that’s just a little too small for his frame, sits Ben.
“What is he doing here?”, Rey blurts out.
Tano raises an eyebrow at her, unimpressed but apparently not shocked at her outburst. “Professor Snoke and I discussed it, and we decided that as you were caught sneaking around together, it is only fitting that you serve your detention in the same way. Together”.
Rey opens her mouth to protest, but the Deputy Headmistress holds one hand up to silence her. She rises from her red leather quilted chair and slides gracefully around the edge of the table, every movement is measured and smooth. The plum purple velvet of her robes skirt along the floor.
“If you would both kindly follow me”, she purrs, and leads the way out of the room.
As soon as her back is turned, Rey shoots an absolutely venomous look at Ben, who scowls right back down at her.
Tano shepherds them up to the third-floor corridor and Rey recognises that they pass the exact spot in which she had collided with Ben’s elbow. Her nose gives a little twinge again.
They stride through the moonlit, maze-like passages until she halts abruptly outside of the Trophy Room door.
“After you”, she gestures with one graceful hand for them to step inside.
They drag their feet into the sprawling room, filled with dull gold, silver and bronze trophies of every size, shape and design that one could imagine.
“I thought”, their Professor says with the tiniest trace of smugness in her voice, “seeing as you both seem so desperate to spend your nights admiring the achievements of your peers, that I would oblige”.
Both of them just stare at her, confusion set in their brows.
She places her hands onto her hips and continues, “it’s been a few years since the Trophy Room was given some TLC… so, the pair of you are going to polish up every single cup, shield and plaque in here until they are positively sparkling”, she smiles wryly.
No problem, Rey starts to think-
“No magic”, Tano adds.
Rey’s jaw drops to the floor.
“Perhaps you will think twice before letting yourself be caught next time, Miss Niemand”, she says, winking on the word ‘caught’.
She conjures up cloths and several tubs of polish for their task and leaves them on top of a small circular table in the centre of the room. She tells them that they may leave when they are finished and that she will be checking that they have done a satisfactory job in the morning.
Then she clicks the door shut behind her and leaves them staring after her.
Without a word, Rey hikes the sleeves of her sweater up over her elbows and snatches one of the rags from the table. She stomps to the corner furthest from Ben and wrenches open a large cabinet, grabbing the 1972 House Cup from the highest shelf. She plops cross-legged onto the floor with the cup in her lap and begins rubbing the badger that is etched into its surface ferociously in tight circles.
It takes Rey almost ten minutes to get the gold trophy shining bright enough to see her own warped reflection frowning back at her, freckles and all. She roughly shoves it back into the tall cabinet and pulls out a huge silver plaque, so thick and heavy that she has to strain to lower it down to the floor where she gets to work.
They sit in eery, sulky silence for three hours, the occasional squeak of cotton against metal is the only sound that breaks through the tense atmosphere.
Rey’s arms are in agony, her shoulders have seized up from the hard scrubbing and her wrist has started to click loudly every time she rolls it around to loosen it. She stretches her arms high above her head, straightening out her sore spine properly for the first time in hours, and it clicks and twinges in several places. She winces and takes several deep breaths, expelling a little stiffness from her muscles.
She shoots a glance in Ben’s direction. He also sits cross-legged on the floor, hunched over a tiny cup that fits neatly into one of his hands. His eyes are narrowed, and he bites his lip as he focuses on his task. Rey is working through her side of the room at a much quicker pace than he is, and she takes a moment to take a mental jab at his clear lack of experience with manual labour.
Hard cleaning isn’t something that Rey is a stranger to. In her eleven long years living under Unkar Plutt’s care, and every summer break since then, she had become incredibly familiar with the concept of ‘earning her keep’. In Unkar’s eyes, the definition of which had been making sure the entire home was spotlessly clean at all times. Even when it had been practically glistening, he had still forced Rey to spend hours scrubbing it on her hands and knees most mornings.
Another hour passes and the pair edge closer and closer together, working their way into the centre of the room. They sit only two metres apart now.
Rey is frantically smearing her cloth over an incredibly stubborn patch of dirt on a large gold shield. She adds another healthy blob of polish and exerts every ounce of pressure she can muster into removing the marks that obscure the words engraved into its surface. Her bicep quickly starts to burn with the effort and tiny beads of sweat dot her forehead. After what feels like hours of scrubbing, the name etched into the shield is revealed and she holds it proudly out in front of her to admire a job well done.
‘Awarded to Anakin Skywalker
For Special Services to the School’
The award is old. At least a few decades of time, relentless and unforgiving, has battered its edges and worn away parts of the elegant lettering. It had been shoved right at the back of one of the glass cabinets, obscured by five other trophies. Like someone, a long, long time ago, had been trying to hide all trace of it.
“He was my grandfather. He died before I was born”, Ben suddenly mutters. It startles Rey, in her musings she had almost forgotten he was there entirely.
She looks at him curiously and his face is solemn and thoughtful. There is a faint crease between his eyebrows as he stares at the shield in her hands.
She looks back to the gold clutched in her hands. She had never heard of Anakin Skywalker, although she supposes why would she have? All she knows is that either he himself wanted the only trace of him at Hogwarts to be concealed, or someone else wanted this hidden.
“I’m sorry”, Rey whispers. She doesn’t know why she says it but it’s all she can think of.
Ben’s expression stays intense and he never takes his eyes away from the name. “he was a brilliant wizard. Powerful. The best of his age, and many ages before and after for that matter… but he fell to dark magic. Shunned the name Anakin Skywalker and took the mantle of Lord Vader”.
Rey shivers a little. That name she has heard. Read about in the darkest chapters of wizarding history.
“Everyone thinks that Anakin perished not long before Vader rose to power. Only a handful of people know what truly became of him”, he says, barely audible.
“Wh- what did happen to him?”, her voice croaks.
“He sacrificed himself. Many, many years later. To bring down those who manipulated him in order to control him. To control his power”, he mumbles.
“He did?” Rey asks softly, a sad smile pulling at her mouth.
Ben is nodding. “To save Luke. His son. Even though he had never known him, or even that he lived. He returned to the light, in the end, for his family”.
Rey’s mind is racing. Why is he telling her this? She feels like she is snooping on his family’s deepest, most treasured secrets.
She begins to think she preferred it when he bit her head off at the mere mention of them.
“I’m sorry”, she repeats, at a loss for words, “that’s awful”.
“Don’t be”, a trace of a smile flashes in Ben’s eyes but it does not reach his lips, “I’m proud to be his grandson”.
Rey traces her thumb along the name on the now brightly shining gold. She too is suddenly overwhelmed by a deep glowing pride for this man she has never met, nor even heard of until a moment ago. Then her heart sinks into her feet as she pictures a young sandy-haired boy. Never knowing his father until it was too late, and then watching him die to save him.
“That must have been tough on your un- on Luke”, she rushes out, “to carry the burden of his father’s sacrifice for his life”.
A muscle under Ben’s eye twitches.
“Luke barely acknowledges my existence. He just sees me as his disappointment of a nephew. Let alone his father that was lost to the dark for his entire adult life”, he sneers, more than a touch of spite in his voice.
“That isn’t f- “, Rey starts.
Ben jumps suddenly to his feet and takes a few steps away from her. His body is tense, so strained that it looks as though his muscles will rip through his black sleeves at any given moment.
Here we go.
“You don’t know my uncle”, he utters.
“Actually, I think it’s you that doesn’t really know him. He cares, too much if anything, he feels responsible for every single one of us here. Any idiot can see that and the toll it takes on him,”, she says from her position still sat on the floor, craning her neck to look up at his towering frame which faces away from her. She tries to keep her voice calm and level, but there is no mistaking the fire that flickers behind her words.
“Just put it away”, he snaps and waves a hand in the direction of the trophy, “what is obvious to me is that your beloved Headmaster doesn’t intend for anyone to even see it”.
Rey springs upright now, too, leaving the shield laying at her feet.
“You don’t know that he put it there, or that anyone was trying to hide it at all!”, she folds her arms defiantly across her chest, “but then again I wouldn’t even be here to see it if it weren’t for you”.
Ben spins on his heel and steps toward her, his hands balling into fists by his side. “Oh, I should have guessed that this would somehow be my fault, I’ve been wondering when this was coming”, he laughs sarcastically.
Hot rage flushes Rey’s cheeks. Not as his tone but more the fact that he seems to think he has some foresight into her thoughts when he barely even knows her. “You’re the one that got us caught by Tano!”, she accuses, her voice rising in pitch as well as volume.
“Because you are apparently incapable of looking where you’re going, and you ran in me. Again! If anyone got us found out, it was you”, he retorts snidely.
“I wouldn’t have been running away if you could aim a bloody jinx properly!”, she is shouting now, jabbing a small finger into his solid chest. Her fury is rising at breakneck speed, her blood boiling under her skin, so uncomfortable that she thinks she might combust.
Ben leans into her digging at his chest and bows his head to glower at her. He doesn’t raise his voice, but it drips with disdain, “if your idiot friends hadn’t run their mouths to Hux, he wouldn’t have laid down the challenge and neither of us would be here. Maybe they should keep it shut in future”. He turns again and begins to pace angrily up and down the room while running his fingers through his hair.
“Oh sure, like you didn’t jump ten feet for the opportunity to fuck with me!”, Rey shrieks at him, her words tumbling from her lips now in an uncontrollable daze, “ever since you showed up here you’ve been going out of your way to be an insufferable arsehole to me! In fact, I bet you all plotted to land me in detention because of how I humiliated you on the Quidditch pitch and now you’re just pissed that I dragged you down with me!”.
He freezes on the spot about eight feet in front of her.
“What you did during the match was foolishly dangerous, Rey. You could have been hurt. It’s just Quidditch”, he shoots back.
“Oh, don’t insult me by pretending you care, you’re just mad I didn’t break my neck!”, she hisses.
“Why would you think I don’t care? I tried to fucking catch-“, he murmurs before she cuts him short.
“Ooh, let me think, Benjamin”, he flinches at the name, “you were a prick during our first Dark Arts class- “
“We were messing around- “
She shouts over him, and he shouts over her until their voices are at a thunderous pitch. An explosion of noise bouncing off the thin glass of the trophy cabinets, making the older, less robust panes rattle.
“-you were an obnoxious, arrogant fuckhead at the Owlery- “
“I tried to apologise- “
“-when all I was trying to do was be fucking nice to you- “
“Yes, and again, I tried- “
“You wormed your way onto the Quidditch team, no doubt just to fucking spite me- “
“Oh, get over yourself! My father plays- I’ve flown my whole fucking life- “
“I bet it was your idea to hijack our practice as some weird tactic to mess with our heads- “
“Listen, you fucking brat, the world does not revolve around you- “
“You’re absolutely unbearable, I wish you’d never fucking c- “.
Ben strikes, closing the space between them in a split second, his eyes blazing.
Rey prepares for a fight, clenching her fists, ready to start throwing punches.
He roughly grabs the sides of her face and his lips crash into hers.
The contact of his mouth on hers sends electricity shooting through her veins. It explodes in her stomach, setting ablaze an inferno inside of her that consumes her every sense, every thought.
Rey instantly reaches up, willing herself to slap him hard across the face, but instead finds her fingers lacing through that thick, gorgeous hair. She grabs a small fistful of it and pulls him closer, pressing harder into the kiss.
A deep rumble vibrates in the back of Ben’s throat.
He licks at the seam of her lips, and she parts them slightly. He wastes not a single second, instantly beginning to roll his soft tongue against hers.
The blaze inside of her is screaming now, threatening to devour her. And she wants it to. Wants it to burn and consume her from the inside out until there is nothing left of her.
Rey matches the brutal flicks of his tongue and then a deep instinct takes over. She tightens her hold on his hair and with her free hand grabs at his shirt, clinging to him to ground herself.
She laps at his hot tongue. Tasting him.
He moans into her mouth.
His pleasure tastes like smoky whiskey. Like cherries.
It’s intoxicating to Rey.
Faint recognition creeps into her mind and one word flitters through it.
Amortentia.
She tugs on his hair, a silent plea for more.
Ben drops one hand to grip her waist and the other to cup her jaw. He shoves her gently backward until her back hits solid stone wall. The hand on her lower half slides up underneath her sweater and his fingertips dig into her skin.
Her breath catches in her throat at the touch of his bare skin on hers. The spots where they meet seers scolding to the point that she is convinced he will leave permanent marks there. She hopes he does.
His huge frame presses still closer against her, his solid, muscular body dwarfing her slight one.
Something rock hard presses against her stomach and she realises with a tiny jolt that it’s him.
Her heart flutters.
Another word enters her brain.
Massive.
A pleasant warmth has started to spread through her, and it soaks her underwear, causing a throbbing between her legs that intensifies with every flick of his tongue until it becomes almost unbearable to stand. She fidgets in an effort to stimulate the screaming nerves that are so desperate to be satiated.
Rey quickens the pace of their kiss and Ben’s teeth scrape against her bottom lip as he smiles, a breathy laugh escaping into her mouth.
He pulls away from her a little and she whines at the loss of contact. She gasps for air and then lurches forward onto her tiptoes to chase his swollen lips.
Ben obliges, but the kiss that he returns now is slower, gentler, yet still yearning.
He tenderly begins to trace lines up and down her jaw with the pad of his thumb. Warily, he slides the other out from under her shirt and weaves his fingers through her hair, which now hangs messy and loose down her back.
His lips gradually slow, and he separates from her, but this time she lets him. Much to the horror of the wanting feeling in her thighs, so desperate that it is almost painful.
He skims his thumb over the freckles on her nose in a touch so light it’s as though he is a phantom, then presses a light kiss on the spot where his elbow had struck her not even a week earlier.
The tips of his ears flush an alarming scarlet, peeking through a thin gap in the hair that Rey has displaced with her wandering fingers. She gets a little kick in seeing the way she has ruffled him.
Ben leans back from her slightly, running his hands through her hair and pulling it forward over her shoulders. He absentmindedly combs his fingers through the small tangles in it that have formed, and a soft expression breaks out across his face.
Rey gazes up at him dreamily, watching his bruised lips as they twist into that beautiful boyish smile that he so rarely lets out.
Her skin burns at the memory of his touch. Her lips wallow in the absence of his against them, lost, lonely and crying for their return.
Ben crooks one finger under her chin and leans in close to her, the roaring embers in his eyes fixed on the glassy mist of hers.
“Your hair looks beautiful down”, he whispers as pulls her face to his and silences everything.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________
HP References
Mudblood
|
Magic is all around. It's in the air we breathe and the grass we seed. From the feasts we eat and the water we drink. But all magic, no matter its use, always comes with a price.
Harry, or Hadrian Pendragon as was his birth name, giggled beside his brother who was older by seven minutes. "Are we clear?" The younger of the two asked from behind his golden-haired, blue-eyed brother. While their appearance were polar opposite, Arthur having blond and blue eyes, and Harry having dark black and green eyes, his grandmothers it seems, no one could ever say their personalities weren't similar at their current age.
"Yeah," Arthur whispered as he grabbed Harry's hand and started dragging him through the hallway that was deserted from servants that littered the area.
At the age of three, both boys were quite bored with their caretakers and tutors and often sought each other out while simultaneously avoiding any adult that might stop them from where they wanted to go. "Come on," Harry said eagerly, having overheard their father earlier that week say a meeting was going to happen between their king and his counsel.
While neither knew it at the time, the meetings often were boring and dragged on through the day as Uther and the counsel talked about villages around Camalot and what needs they requested or brought to their King's attention. To the three-year-olds, with the knowledge their father always told them they weren't to attend, seemed like the most interesting thing in the world and were bound to try and listen in as normal three-year-olds often did when their parent was talking about something they forbid their children to listen in on.
The duo just reached the door that they knew their father lied in with his counsel and looked at each other and, at the same time, put their forefinger to their lip and shushed the other gently. They inched the door open and were thankful when it made no noise. They lowered themselves and carefully crawled into the room on their hands and knees. Once they made it past the door, they saw the pillar near the edge of the room and carefully rushed over there, Harry's inner magic, something he was born with, seemingly made their feet silent as they scurried over there.
From there, they sat behind the pillar, their small bodies easily hiding behind the thick pillar, and tried to shush the others giggles as they peeked around the pillar. Of course, at three years old and only making their shoes silent, they weren't silent in themselves and Uther quickly picked up the two little giggles from the corner of the room.
His expression turned from frustrated with the counsel to amused as he leaned forward in his seat. Careful to silence his counsel, Uther felt a weary smile edge onto his lips as the exhaustion of the day seemed to finally catch up with him as he heard his two beautiful sons giggling in the corner. "Dismissed," Uther told the counsel softly, knowing they were going to pick it up tomorrow regardless. Right now, he just wanted to see the Dimpled Smiles of his sons.
The counsel left without a word smiles on their own faces as the Princes of the Kingdom didn't seem to notice them leaving. Too busy with trying to keep the other quiet. It gave Uther enough time to be quick on his well-trained silent feet and stretch his arm out to surround two tiny torsos. "Gottcha!" he yelled and heard the squealing on Arthur in his arms as he struggled his feet as they suddenly left the ground. Harry, named after his grandfather, wasn't struggling and just burst into bright belly laughs as he relaxed in Uther's arms. Seemingly content at having been caught, unlike his brother who was now pouting up at his father.
"Meany!" Arthur shouted as he crossed his arms even as he turned more into his father's arms. As their years started getting on them, their father was picking them up less and less, which meant any time they were held both boys treasured.
"Well," Uther said dryly even as a smile still danced on his face, "perhaps if you listened when I said to not come into this room when a meeting was occurring I wouldn't be mean?"
Harry, the quick boy that he was, threw on innocent eyes. "There was a meeting?" he asked angelically with, what Uther would say, was puppy eyes even as Arthur looked at his brother in confusion.
"Of course there was one, idiot, why else did we sneak in here and hide behind the pillar?" Arthur asked with a scrunched nose.
Uther laughed as Harry just sighed and shook his head almost sadly, seemingly make Arthur even more confused. "Good try, Harry," Uther said after he smothered his laughs. He kissed both the princes' foreheads, his chest aching wondering what Igraine would think of their sons, and set them down gently.
"Now, where are your caretakers? Or should I say tutors as, last I recalled, it's not dinner yet and you have tutor sessions from lunch to dinner?" Uther asked as he took a hand from each boy and started leading them out of the room. The knights that had been gone when the boys snuck in were back, the rotation starting anew and Uther had a feeling Harry was the reason they were able to sneak through the rotation in the first place.
Where Arthur wanted to hurry up with learning to be a Knight, similar to Uther when he was young, his younger brother had the intelligence of a Master, similar to Igraine if Uther remembered correctly. She was always stuck in a book and seemed to absorb knowledge like any other. Far quick-witted and seemingly never content without knowing everything there was to know about his home. While Harry wasn't quite a book enthusiast as she was, he certainly had her intelligence that seemed to shine more and more in his personality and mischief he always got into and out of.
"We got bored," Arthur said with the truthfulness of a three-year-old while Harry's eyes just shined with mischief. Of course it was Arthur that dragged Harry into this, he wouldn't put it past his Heir to the Throne to drag Harry into mischief. Though, Harry always seemed readily happy to go along with said mischief. Uther dreaded the day where Harry really learned the workings of the castle, the pranks he had a feeling that would occur could cripple any kingdom if his son set his mind to it.
"I suppose we have to rectify that," Uther said and refrained from chuckling as his two sons seemed to cheer by his side at the fact they didn't have to go back to their tutors.
The problem with getting older was the knowledge of the executions of Camalot. Harry felt his stomach sink further and further as he peered through the railings of the balcony he was on. He wasn't very tall at four and a half years old, and Arthur was only a few inches taller, but there was something about watching the pyre be built that made Harry's chest hurt despite not being the age Uther deemed it alright for his two heirs to watch the proceedings. Harry didn't know how'd he react when they were finally considered old enough to watch the men and women of all ages burn for using magic.
"Why are we doing this again?" Harry asked quietly, turning toward his father who was resting calmly in the chair. Arthur in the corner of the room with a wooden sword-swinging widely with a happy grin.
Uther seemed to sigh and set down the scroll he had been reading and patted his leg. "Come here, son," Uther beckoned over.
Harry reluctantly let go of the rails and made his way to his father. He felt his father lift him onto his knee, instantly drawing Arthur's attention as he hurried over. Uther just rolled his eyes and pulled Arthur onto his other lap, because god forbid one son to be picked up but not the other.
"It's time I told you why Camalot is considered one of the higher executions in the kingdom. Many years ago, it became known to me that magic is evil," Uther said with firmness and never say the recoil Harry had at the announcement. Sure he knew his father didn't like magic, and his magic was contained for the most part so no one knew about it, but to just be considered magic evil?
"In time, your tutors will cover The Great Purge more and more, but ultimately, magic users are evil. Using magic corrupts the soul and turns them into beasts that need to be put done. These executions are the safest way to kill them so they can no longer soil the land that we live on. They have no place in Camalot. If you two happen to know any magic users that have studied the art, find the nearest knight or come to me directly and we will put them in jail."
"But aren't there some magicals that are good?" Harry asked softly, almost afraid of the answer.
From the way Uther's face seemed to harden into something Harry's never seen before, a fury and ugliness that made his stomach swirl, Harry knew the answer even before Uther opened his mouth. "There are no such things as good magic users. They are beasts that have no humanity and deserve the death they are given," Uther almost snarled but seemed to refrain himself. Seemingly realizing his attitude, Uther put on a fake smile as he set his two sons down, "Now, I believe you still have a bit of time before the execution. Why don't we grab some food? Just remember that there's a feast happening later today for the fact another magic-user is no longer with us."
With that, Uther stood up and grabbed each son's hand and lead them to the kitchens for a light snack. Arthur has seemingly taken the lecture to heart as a stubborn knowledge look entered his young face. Meanwhile, the quieter of the two brothers felt sadness wash over him with the knowledge his father won't understand him, probably ever. He wondered which was worse, the Dursley's knowing about him and hating him regardless, or his own father not knowing, but would hate him with certainty enough to kill him.
Harry peered over to Arthur and wondered what his twin would think if he shared the knowledge that he had magic and was born with it.
Would he hate him? Would he be scared? Would he be the reason he dies in this life? |
It was somewhere around the time that they both first found themselves in Soho, Aziraphale with his bookshop and Crowley planning a nail-biting (for the angel) heist, that Aziraphale first saw Crowley with one of his migraines. They’d been out on a celebratory walk (celebrating the store’s grand opening by closing it for the afternoon was Crowley’s idea) (not that Aziraphale had put up much of a fight) around the park. Crowley had left his jacket in the store along with Aziraphale’s coat due to the bleeding hot weather, the sun beating down on the earth like it was intentionally trying to blind them all. How Aziraphale wasn’t wearing sunglasses to fend off some of the light was a mystery. Aziraphale was talking about something or other in that long winded fashion of his that meant he was ranting, possibly about the preachy man on a soap box not far in front of them, which in turn meant it was safe for Crowley to zone out a little. He was very sure the angel wasn’t ranting about
him
. If Aziraphale was ranting about him then they wouldn’t still be walking along arm in arm. The looks they got were a bit odd but most of the population were in fact struggling with the heat as much as Crowley was so nothing progressed further than the occasional whispered comment to an accompanying companion.
He was just starting to consider directing them back to the bookshop when Aziraphale yanked him to the side. Aziraphale’s other arm was tugging him further across the path before Crowley even regained his sense of right and left. He tried to push away, affronted at being randomly thrown about but Aziraphale just held onto him harder, arms trembling a little as they held Crowley in an embrace. Crowley frowned in confusion at the preachy man currently frozen mid-speech on the other side of the path to them.
“Uh,” he said, his chin tickled by Aziraphale’s hair, “what’s happening?”
Aziraphale huffed a shaky exhale and pushed himself back, looking Crowley up and down a couple of times. It was at this moment that Crowley realised that, in the strange turn of events, his glasses had fallen off somewhere. Any other time and he’d have been far more concerned about it and the fact that his spares were in his jacket currently
not
on him. But, as it was, Aziraphale looked as if he’d just evaded death by hellfire. Crowley was starting to feel a little panicky himself. The now unrestrained light was starting to hurt his eyes, waves of aching pain radiating through his head. And Aziraphale...Aziraphale was…
“Fine, everything’s fine,” Aziraphale sputtered out at last, his grip on Crowley’s arms tight still and his expression manic. “You’re fine. I’m fine. Everything- everything is just- just
fine
.”
“Angel? What just happened?”
“You uh...Well, you see, that
man
,” Aziraphale said the word as if the man in question was actually Lucifer himself, “started to flick around ‘holy water’ and I thought it was nothing to be worried about except it’s
actually
holy water and you um…”
Crowley blanched and took an aborted step back, his heel eliciting a sharp crack from something on the ground. He ignored it. “
Fucking--
I almost just-- By
him
?”
Aziraphale nodded, sheepish. “I’m so sorry, my dear. I should have realised sooner and steered us elsewhere. I knew you weren’t really paying attention.”
“Stop it, it’s not your fault.” Crowley snapped, closing his eyes against the glare of the sun. He could really do with a sit down. Somewhere dark and not, apparently, a death trap.
Aziraphale’s fingers brushed against his for a beautiful second and then the angel was making another noise and honestly, Crowley didn’t think he could take another near-death experience right then so if that man was coming closer with his thrice blessed water, Crowley may just blink him out of existence.
“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, “your glasses.”
“Yes, I know,” Crowley said without opening his eyes, lifting one hand to block some of the sun, “they’ve been dropped somewhere. I’ll find them in a second just give me a minute.”
“No. No, my dear boy, you’re standing on them.”
Crowley snapped his eyes open to look down at the floor. What he had assumed was a broken bit of glass or something was in fact his own glasses.
“Shit.”
“Don’t you have spares?”
“Do I look like I have my jacket right now?” He snapped, kicking the shattered eyewear to the edge of the path and stalking away. Towards the bookshop. Because it was closer. No other reason at all. He pretended not to notice when Aziraphale miracles the glasses into a nearby bin.
Aziraphale caught up with him quickly, looping their arms together again. He was shaking a little still. Crowley slowed his pace and didn’t push him away.
***
Crowley didn’t bother waiting for Aziraphale to dig out the key to the bookshop, he just clicked his fingers and strode in. Relying on Aziraphale to close the door behind him. It was blessedly cool in the shop. Darker too. Dim lighting only from the windows. Crowley made his way to the sofa and lay down on it, closing his eyes. Listening to the bustling of his angel making sure everything is still in its place. He could hear him making drinks and then there was a hot drink set on the floor by his head. He grumbled what he hoped was a vaguely grateful noise in response. There was a brush of lips, familiar and intended to never be spoken of, on his forehead. Crowley falls asleep after that.
***
It’s not until the next day that Crowley feels it’s safe to lift his head from the sofa for longer than a couple of minutes to down the cups of tea Aziraphale leaves for him. When he does manage it Aziraphale is there, at eye level as he’s been caught mid-tea-exchange. Crowley raises a brow at him when Aziraphale does nothing more than stare. That prompts the angel into action and he straightens up, handing the new mug of tea directly into Crowley’s hands. Crowley can’t remember how often he’s had fresh mugs of tea but it must have been
very often
because, on reflex, Aziraphale still leans in to press a kiss to the top of Crowley’s head. The demon sits there, vaguely flummoxed, and pats the sofa space next to him. Aziraphale takes the hint.
“How are you feeling?” Aziraphale asks, twiddling his thumbs in his lap.
“Better.” Crowley sips the tea, it’s almost perfect, needs a little less milk. “How long was I out?”
“Just a day,” Aziraphale starts rummaging in a pocket suddenly and produces a pair of folded sunglasses, he holds them out. “Did you want these back now?”
“Are those from my jacket?”
Aziraphale nods and waves them a bit as if to say ‘go on now, take them, you great idiot’. Crowley does but only to balance them on the sofa arm on his other side. The lighting in here never hurts, he’s found. He’s also not always sensitive to the light. Just when it’s extreme.
“Has that,” Aziraphale asks cautiously, “happened before?”
“Yeah,” Crowley says, casually sipping his tea again and leaning back, flinging one arm behind the angel next to them. “Just a bit of a migraine is all.”
“Oh,” Aziraphale breathes, a look of relief spreading across his face. “I thought maybe some of the water had gotten on you.”
Crowley frowns, feeling a tad insulted. “Angel, I wouldn’t lie to you about that. Brush it off and ignore it, yes. But I wouldn’t
lie
to you about it.”
Aziraphale pats his knee. “I know, my dear, but you
are
a demon.”
Crowley huffs in defeat and drinks his tea. He makes a note to be as frustratingly patronising to Aziraphale if the angel is ever the one who’s ill.
|
It had been a good month for the girls.
Annie moved up the food chain at Fine and Frugal, she’d been working harder for months actually. Now her pay had been raised a substantial amount, which meant she could finally get Sadie a new computer, or whatever else she wanted really.
Although Sarah’s hospital visits did not stop entirely, they had lessened, which was great for her, and it meant that Ruby could finally come home not smelling clinical. Stan had stopped mentioning what they had done, so she could only assume he’d made his peace with it (or at least she hoped).
Beth spent most of her time for the past few weeks rearranging furniture and painting walls (much to the kids delight too, Danny had been begging for a blue room). Dean had been out for a while and she was tired of the old feeling the house gave her, the feeling Dean had given it.
But now?
Beth was her own boss bitch.
Now she had a fresh view. She had happy kids. She had time to relax and do the things she liked. She had someone in her life who supported her - she had Rio.
She’d thought about the job offering a bit more, and she was starting to like the idea. Rio had agreed to take her to dinner within the next week to meet with Mr Hadley and Mr Reed, they just had to agree on a time and a place.
It was early on a Tuesday morning. Ruby had come over, not wanting to do the usual coffee session at the diner. Beth had just settled next to her, leaning on the island when Rio came strolling past, car keys in hand.
“You going somewhere?”
“Cisco and the boys need help at the warehouse. Oh by the way, I’m taking you out on Friday to meet with Mr Hadley, make sure you’re free.” He brushed past them, heading to the fridge to grab a bottle of water. “Hi Ruby.”
Ruby nodded back in greeting, still too scared to talk to the man.
“That’s great, I’ll check… and Rio, be careful okay?” She could never be certain that he was safe, and it had become a habit, saying it every time he went somewhere without her. He’d tell her the same, and it was comforting.
Rio came up behind Beth, curling an arm around her waist and said, “I will, Elizabeth,” before giving her a quick kiss and heading out the door.
Beth smiled giddily, she’d never get over kissing him . She looked over at Ruby, who was already staring at her.
“What?”
“You’re like a lovesick puppy, you know that?”
“Oh let me enjoy it.”
“It’s just weird seeing you two, seeing him like that.”
“I know.”
Beth could almost feel the uncertainty radiating off her. After taking a long sip from her mug she sighed, “You think I’m making a mistake.”
“Beth, you’re a grown woman. You can do what you like, I just need you to be careful.” She placed a hand over Beth’s. “Annie and I haven’t warmed to him, that’s all. If you’re serious about this, like you say you are, I think… I think, in time, we could.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, but if he’s gonna be in the equation, no guns, and no creepy goons at his side, okay?”
“Okay… thank you, Ruby.”
Ruby tried her best to smile. "So, what are you guys doing on Friday?"
"Oh, you know that job thing I told you about?"
"Yeah?"
"We're going out to meet with the men that can help me get that job."
"Oh. I hope it goes well then," she said, crossing her fingers. Beth did the same.
“And Elizabeth , what’s that about?” Ruby asked, one eyebrow raised.
“He calls me Elizabeth.” Beth responded, shrugging her shoulders.
“What’s wrong with Beth?”
“Nothing. But people rarely use my full name. He does, I like it.”
“Alright, Elizabeth .” Ruby teased.
“Damn mama,” Rio whistled, admiring Beth as she walked into the bedroom, “And you just had that dress lying around?”
A breathy laugh escapes her, “Well, I never really get a chance to wear it, not that it’s that fancy, but still.”
She’d put on a dark emerald dress with long sleeves that hugged her tightly and made her blue eyes pop. She’d bought it before she had the kids, and when they came, whatever she wore would get covered in food, or paint, so she’d hung it at the back of her closet and it stayed there, until now.
Rio had picked a restaurant Beth hadn’t heard of, and the moment he’d left her alone, she’d googled it, wanting to be prepared. It wasn’t over the top, so she’d opted for something semi formal. They’d planned that afterwards, they’d spent a night or two over at Rio’s, so that Beth could get a break from housework.
“You’ve got your overnight bag yeah?”
“Yes.”
“You could always just borrow my clothes,” he joked, “I can just imagine you walking around in nothing but a t shirt.”
“I’m sure you’d love that, wouldn’t you?”
“You know I would.” He chuckled.
She watched as Rio fastened the buttons on the white shirt he’d just put on. As he reached the last button, she walked over to him, and stilled his fingers.
“Your collar...” She twisted the material the right direction and smoothed the large creases running down his abdomen. “Leave the top button undone, I like it like that.” She added. Normally, she’d never comment on his appearance, or make changes, but she was feeling brave tonight. She giggled at the thought, then bit her lip to stop herself.
Then their eyes met.
Something about the way Beth looked at him in that moment made his breath catch in his throat. She was adorable .
But it wasn’t just that, she was so beautiful, and so much smarter than she let on, but best of all, she was tough as hell - there were so many things this woman did that made his insides melt, and he was falling for all of it.
Whatever it is he felt, Beth felt it too, like this raw energy pulsing between them, making the air thick. Only this time, it had nothing to do with tension, or anger. On some level, they both knew what it was, but neither of them were willing to say it before hearing it themselves.
“Rio...” It was barely a whisper.
“Yes?”
She ran her fingers over his cheek bones, and pushed up on her toes to reach his lips, kissing him gently.
She wouldn’t say it - god knows they both felt it, but she wouldn’t say it, not yet.
Although Mr Hadley and Mr Reed were serious businessmen, Beth could not help but smile everytime she saw them. Her and Rio had walked into the restaurant to find them already waiting at their table.
Completely ignoring the aura that had been set by the other tables, the two of them both leapt from their seats like over excited puppies at the sight of them.
After being swallowed up in hugs and all the niceties of small talk, they settled back down.
Beth sipped lightly at the bourbon Rio had ordered for her and looked at the two gentlemen, “So, why has Rio brought me here?”
“Ms Marks,” Mr Hadley began, “How much experience do you have with children?”
Beth had to suppress a laugh, “Um… quite a bit.”
She glanced over at Rio, silently asking, can I tell them?
His eyes were soft, his mouth turned up slightly, yes .
“I have four kids.”
“Really? You’ve never mentioned them before.” He said.
Beth dangled her glass between her fingers, swirling the amber liquid around in circles, “I like keeping my personal life away from any business I do.” She straightened in her seat, leaning her elbows on the table. She wondered if they had questions, because they certainly wouldn't have been Rio's kids, and she hadn't mentioned Dean. Though if they did, it was out of respect that they didn't ask.
“I see. It’s great that you have experience, we figured it would be a long shot, this campaign is rather specific.”
“Then I guess you’re in luck. The campaign, it’s aimed towards kids?”
“Well, it’s for parents, but it has to appeal to kids too,” Mr Reed explained, “We’re collaborating with this new startup company that specialises with children. Now William and I need someone who can help us reach our target market.”
“What age range are we talking about?”
“About two to ten, I think.”
Beth considered it, pursing her lips. “I can work with that.”
“And you’ll only have to come in once a week, for the next… how long is it William?” Mr Reed’s eyes narrowed in his partner’s direction.
“Six months, I believe. So you’ll do it?”
“Yes.” Beth agreed.
“Wonderful!” Mr Hadley’s smile was so wide all you could see were teeth. “When you come in we can discuss your salary.”
She nodded, "Okay."
Rio, who had been quiet the entire time, finally made some noise, “Alright, this is great. Let’s order some food now, I’m starving! We can discuss more afterwards.”
Beth laughed at him, “Okay, hungry boy .”
The three of them discussed a few more logistical details about the company and how they worked with other brands, and Rio watched in awe at Beth, as she absorbed everything and gave more information back. The way she talked, the way her face scrunched in concentration, all the little quirks that showed through without her realizing. Something was different tonight, he just couldn’t put his finger on it, but then, he wasn’t sure he wanted to. There was no doubt about it, he was falling, hard and fast.
Rio had been smiling the whole way up the elevator.
“You knew what that project was about, didn’t you?” Beth asked, a knowing look on her face.
“What makes you think that?”
“You’re never that quiet, especially not when it comes to business.”
“You’re too smart for your own good, I’ve told that already, haven’t I?”
“So you did know.” Beth poked him playfully. “You knew I’d like it.”
“Yeah I did.” The elevator came to a stop and Beth took his hand, leading him inside.
They came to a stand still in the living room, and Beth sat down on one of the sofas.
“You let me tell them about the kids, why?”
“I figured you’d have to, you know, having that kind of campaign.” Rio sat down next to her. “Besides, I’ve known them for a long time. They’re good men, and I can trust them with a certain amount of personal information.”
“It’s not going to be a problem?”
“No. They don’t know about my father’s… indiscretions.”
Rio lapsed into a state of reflection, he had his eyes focused on his feet. Beth could see that whatever he had on his mind, it wasn’t pleasant.
“You, you can talk to me if something’s bothering you, you know that, don’t you?” She said, wanting to reach out and touch him, but decided not to.
“It doesn’t bother me anymore Elizabeth. The man made his choices, as long I never have to deal with his messes ever again, I couldn’t give a shit.”
“Okay, as long as you’re okay.”
“You don’t need to worry about me."
Taking his reassurance, her eyes began wandering around the room, then landed on the Piano.
When Rio noticed her lingering, he nudged at her arm. “You wanna play?”
“Yeah,” Beth nodded, sliding of the couch.
She ran her fingers over the keys, thinking over what she wanted to play, most of the songs she’d learnt had been classic. She lowered herself onto the bench and began flicking at the keys experimentally.
C - E - G - C
Okay
G C E - G - C - E
This sounded familiar
After a few wrong notes were hit, Beth remembered the song, and the music began playing smoothly.
Bach’s Prelude in C.
Slowly Rio got up and swayed his way towards her. He placed a kiss on her head, and weaved his hands through hair.
“I used to play this song all the time.” Beth said.
He hummed in acknowledgement and watched as her fingers glided over the keys like magic. “You don’t have a piano at home, why? You’re too good not to.”
“When I was younger I had one, I kept it up until Kenny was born. Babies are expensive, and I never had much time to play anyways.”
“You sold it?”
“Yeah.”
Rio stop playing with her hair and tucked it behind her ears. “Shift up a little.” He said, pushing on Beth’s lower back.
She moved forward, allowing him to slot in behind her, his chest pressing against her back, legs bracketing hers. The position gave her comfort, and spurred her on. So she changed songs, her fingers now moving to the notes of Andante Grazioso.
“Oh I like this one.” Rio said, his voice deep and husky.
“You know Mozart?”
“Vaguely.” His hands were resting on her legs, drawing slow circles on her inner thighs. “My talents lie in many places.”
He was completely serious, though Beth couldn’t help but laugh, “Yeah they do.”
Without warning, Rio grabbed a fistful of her dress in each hand and pulled it up, exposing the entire length of her leg.
Beth turned her head, her hands flying to his, “Wh-”
“No keep playing baby, it’s so beautiful.”
Hesitant, but curious, Beth uncurled her fingers from his and continued playing. Rio slipped his fingers into her panties and ran them over her folds, stopping at her entrance then going back to her clit. He repeated the motion, listening to her breath grow heavy.
When she felt wet enough, he pushed into her with two fingers, and she moaned, losing her rhythm on the keys.
Rio brought his lips to her ear, “You were doing so well, don’t stop,” then pressed his palm hard against her clit.
“I…I can’t think straight when you do that”
Rio only chuckled and placed another kiss against her temple.
He carried on with his ministrations, and Beth played as well as she could, whimpering and thrusting deeper onto his fingers
At some point, it no longer sounded Mozart, but rather an incoherent string of notes that could have resembled the song she had started with. With the intense sensations building in her core, she struggled to hold on, and finally gave up on trying to play, her one hand finding purchase on his knee, the other on his neck.
“Rio, Please...” She didn’t know what she was begging for, but she knew what he was giving her was too much and not enough all at the same time. She wanted to touch him properly too - and right before she felt like she was about to explode, he gave in.
“Okay.”
Not even a second passed and they’d separated, moved away from the bench. And then Beth’s latched onto him, so much hungrier than before.
She tugged his shirt from where it was tucked in his pants and pulled it over his head. Her hands travelled the planes of his smooth, toned body all the way to the bedroom. She pushed him onto the bed and kissed him fervently, threading her fingers through his.
Beth felt his lips curve into a smile beneath hers.
“What?” She asked, breathless.
“I love it when you take control, it’s cute.” He chuckled.
“Shut up.”
“It is,” he said, flipping them over, with Beth now on her back, “but, I wasn’t done.”
He found his way back to the juncture of her thighs and thrust into her once more, applying as much pressure as he could to her g spot. One, two, three more rough strokes and she shattered, melting into the mattress.
When Beth could move again, she opened her eyes, to find Rio watching her intently, his gaze dark, a smile still playing on his lips.
Feeling vindictive, she mustered all the strength she could and pushed at his chest until she was hovering over him again.
“And I love when you take control, but now I have something I need to finish . I still wanna taste you...”” She said, nipping at his bottom lip, before slowly trailing down his body, scattering kisses as she went. She settled down at his belt buckle and smirked up at him, watched his breath hitch as she began to unwrap him - this was going to be fun.
For once Beth woke up before Rio. She looked over at the alarm clock, concluding that the hour was reasonable, and slowly untangled from his embrace.
She padded around the room looking for her discarded dress, and smiled when she found Rio’s button up shirt in the hallway. His words came gushing back to her, and she filled with a warm, fuzzy feeling. Just to humor him - when he woke up - she pulled the shirt over her head and undid a few more buttons.
The escapes from reality were always wonderful, but she could never forgot her responsibilities. She rummaged through the handbag she’d dumped in the living room upon coming back last night and grabbed her phone. Beth wanted to make sure Annie’s babysitting skills had kept her babies (and her house) intact.
Though, when she switched on her phone, the name that popped up on her lockscreen made her heart stop.
Mom
Missed call (4)
Here’s the thing,
Beth could talk about her mother, have a conversation with other people about her, she’d learnt a long time ago to bury the emotions that came with her. But this, direct contact? After years without speaking to her - it made Beth uneasy. (She’d convinced herself to keep her mother’s number, and felt stupid for doing it. Maybe somewhere, deep, deep down, she was hoping it would happen, so that she could finally get the last word, finally say what she never had the courage to. Though of course, she’d never admit that to herself).
She didn’t know how long she stared at the screen, but when she finally put her phone away, not even considering to call back, she had blood red crescent moons imbedded in her palms, put there from clenching her fists too tight.
No way is this woman going to make me feel bad, not now, especially if she isn’t physically here, Beth decided.
Soon Rio emerged from the bedroom and greeted her with a smirk, his eyes unable to leave her figure.
“Damn mama, I could eat you right now.”
Beth turned to find him in all his glory - tanned honey skin, half lidded eyes still tired from sleep and that deep delicious drag of his voice.
“I could say the same thing.” Beth laughed, making her way towards him and wrapping her arms around his neck.
He brought his lips to her ears, and bit down gently, “Did you wear this just for me?”
“Maybe.”
Rio pulled back, “It ain’t gonna be on you it for long darlin’.”
“As amazing as that sounds, I think we should get some breakfast first, don’t you?”
He looked her up and down, and Beth could tell exactly what he was thinking. “I meant actual food, hungry boy. ”
He chuckled and scooped her up in his arms, carrying her into the kitchen.
Rio dropped Beth off at home on Sunday afternoon, then went back to work for a while. He’d be back to visit her again later. Annie was still there though, one, because she was too lazy to leave just yet, and two, Sadie wanted to spend some more time with her cousins.
Beth was in the kitchen making dinner, and debating how much food to make, knowing that her sister would most likely still be there when they ate. Annie trudged to the island and sat down on one of the stools - she’d left to answer her phone. Beth stopped chopping vegetables and looked at her. Something wasn’t right.
“What’s wrong?” She asked.
Annie winced, but stayed silent. “What is it Annie?”
“Mom called.”
“She called you now??”
“Yeah - wait... did she called you too?” Annie asked, surprised.
Beth sighed, “I had a few missed calls this morning.”
“So... you didn’t talk to her?”
“No.” She didn’t want to ask, she didn’t want to know. But she had to, for the sake of her sanity - or else she’d over think it and she really didn’t have the time or the energy. “What did she want?”
The fact that Annie didn’t answer right away only made her more anxious. “Oh my god! What did she want?”
“She wants to see us…well, you more but-”
“No.” Beth interrupted.
“No?”
“ No. ”
She had to fight to keep her emotions down, sure, Annie knew that there were problems with her mother, but she did not want to get angry about this.
“We haven’t seen her in so long, besides she really wants to see the kids. She hasn’t seen Sadie in like two years. It’s been even longer for you.” Annie reasoned calmly, seeing her sister’s frustration build.
“You can go see her with Sadie if you want.” She said, hoping it would be enough for her.
“And your kids?” Beth was staring at the knife she’d put down, her mind wandering to darker places. “ Beth? ”
“I’ll ask the kids if they want to see her. Then you can take them along with Sadie, or Dean can take them.”
Beth had never stopped her mother from seeing her grandchildren, she’d at least allowed her that, but the visits were few and far between. When they did happen, it was with Dean, Beth could never stomach the idea of being around her mother and children at the same time, not after what had happened.
“And you?” Annie asked.
“I don’t want to see her.”
“When are you gonna tell me what happened between you two?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Beth said, closing her eyes.
“You know, it’s not like you’re never going to see her again. You will. One way or another, and it might be sooner than you think. And when you do, she’s going to have questions. She doesn’t know about the divorce. She doesn’t know about Rio. She knows nothing about your life.”
“And I want it to stay that way.” She responded, bitterly.
“I’m not going to push it, but you know I’m right. You can’t hide from her forever.”
It hurt that Annie was right. She couldn’t hide forever, but she was going to try for as long as she could - even though it would come back to bite her in the ass later. |
[“A situation or state of confused movement or violent turmoil.”]
Don't give up, oh no. You persevered up until now. What's the worry? Believe in yourself.
Friday
Chan was running. He didn’t know what was running from, or where to, he just knew he had to go. He turned around, being met with darkness. He couldn’t see anything. But the longer he stayed still, the more his anxiety rose. He felt a chill crawling down his spine. A cold breath met his cheek, and an icy hand wrapped around his throat. Chan turned his head, trying to find his attacker, but found no one. His airway was constricting, his breathing beginning to come in short gasps.
“Where are you?” Chan choked out. “Who are you?”
Silence.
Chan’s eyes rolled back into his head, and his heart beat slowed until it stopped.
Chan jolted awake, his cries caught in his throat. His hands were trembling, and he was dripping with cold sweat. “Fuck.” He whispered. He looked over at the clock. 1:30am. He’d only been asleep for two hours. Chan hadn’t been sleeping well lately. The nightmares had started a week ago, roughly two weeks after they’d all started dating. Usually, he got a couple of hours of sleep. His dreams were always the same. He would be running, and would either try and find who was chasing him, or he would be caught. He would wake up just as he died in the dream. He never saw who his tormentor was.
Once he was awake, he’d further keep himself awake but trying to figure out how he fit in. He saw how perfectly Jisung and Minho fit together. They were pieces of a puzzle, fitting snuggly against each other. Sometimes they didn’t even say anything to each other, they would just communicate via vague hand gestures and facial expressions. That was how well they understood each other. They would always be laughing at inside jokes, and holding hands. It seemed so natural.
Chan was so careful around them. He didn’t want to interfere with their jigsaw. He didn’t want to overstep his boundaries too early. He didn’t want Jisung to feel left out – Minho and Chan had known each other a long time, after all. Chan still couldn’t quite believe what he was experiencing was real. Despite now dating them, Chan still felt stranded on Earth while they shined above him like stars. He didn’t really feel like he deserved to be with them. Despite how much he’d longed for this, he just couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe he didn’t belong.
Chan couldn’t figure Minho out. Minho had been practically joined at the hip to Jisung. Jisung hadn’t changed his affections towards Chan. Sometimes it made Chan feel like he was only dating one person, while Jisung was the one dating two people. It hurt. Jisung and Chan were still testing the waters of their relationship, and Chan had no doubt he was falling in love with Jisung. Chan was happy the way he was progressing with Jisung. The three of them had been dating for three weeks now. Chan knew that he was slowly starting to take his own place in Jisung’s orbit.
But Chan had told Minho he loved him. Minho still hadn’t brought it up. He hadn’t reciprocated the intensity of Chan’s feelings, and it made Chan uneasy. What if only Jisung liked him, and Minho was just trying to make Jisung happy by letting Chan into the picture? Then Chan shook his head. He couldn’t believe how much he was spiralling. He knew that Minho wanted him around, he just…didn’t know which way. Chan guessed he was probably hypersensitive to any abandonment. It didn’t bode well, though, if he kept having these feelings. He didn’t want to scare off either of his boyfriends.
“Channie…?” Jisung’s sleepy voice reached his ears. Chan had discovered that Jisung was a light sleeper. Jisung blinked sleepily at him, tugging on his shirt. Chan instantly felt the lump in his throat disappear. He let Jisung pull him back onto the pillow.
“Go back to sleep, love, I’m fine.” Chan murmured, carding his hand through Minho’s hair. If anything, he could talk about it in the morning. Chan wrapped Jisung in his arms, resting his chin on the top of Jisung’s soft hair. Jisung mumbled sleepily before dozing off again. Chan couldn’t imagine not having Jisung. Chan looked over at Minho, and he felt uneasy again. Chan gently ran his hand through Minho’s hair, trying to soothe himself.
Chan tried to sleep. He tried. But after what felt like aeons, sleep still evaded him. Exasperated, Chan carefully extricated himself from the cuddle pile and stretched, his neck popping. He looked down at his sleeping boyfriends, and instead of feeling happy, he felt anxious. Chan sighed and made his way out into the living room. He hated that he was feeling like this. Minho and Jisung were incredible. He knew the problem had to have been himself. Chan plugged in his headphones and began watching videos on his phone, hoping that eventually, sleep would come.
It never did. As sunlight began streaming into the room, Chan finally relented, and stood up and stretched. He padded into the kitchen, tilting his neck back and forth to try and ease some cracks from it. He heard quiet footsteps and turned around, expecting to see Minho. Instead, he found Jisung peering at him blearily. Chan’s heart melted. Jisung was wearing Chan’s signature black sweater and was practically drowning it. Jisung opened his arms and Chan rushed forwards at the opportunity. He swooped in and stole a kiss from Jisung’s warm lips. The knot that had formed in his chest after a sleepless night of worrying was finally to ease itself. Maybe Chan should have woken Jisung up when the pessimistic voice in his head had been the loudest. He couldn’t imagine Jisung being annoyed at him for that.
A sudden wave of relief washed over him. Things were going to be okay. He had Jisung in his arms. That was all that mattered. He peppered Jisung’s face with kisses until Jisung began to giggle, swatting Chan with sweater paws.
“Stop it!” Jisung giggled again. “I wanna kiss you.” Jisung’s fingers framed Chan’s face perfectly. Chan closed his eyes and hummed, content, as Jisung’s lips met his. Their first kiss had been incredible. While Minho sparked with electricity, bright and unpredictable, Jisung was sunlight. Warm, comforting, and steady. Jisung never failed to calm Chan, or to make him smile. Jisung pulled back, taking in Chan’s face. His face fell as he took stock of the bags under Chan’s eyes. “Chan, didn’t you sleep well?” The smile froze on Chan’s face.
“Bad dreams.” He murmured, trying to brush it off. “I just woke up early, that’s all.” Chan ran his hands through Jisung’s hair, trying to soothe himself. “But I always sleep well next to you.” He winked, admiring the blush spreading across Jisung’s face. There went his healthy plan of ‘I’m going to ask Jisung to help me deal with what’s going on inside my head’. He didn’t want to a burden on Jisung. He didn’t want to be a bad person. He needed to see Minho, to reassure himself that he was just as important to Minho as Jisung was.
“Where’s Minho?” Chan must have been frowning, because Jisung began to look concerned.
“He’s sleeping. Why, is something up?” Chan opened his mouth but then snapped it closed as soon as he even considered about telling Jisung his feelings.
“No, baby, nothing’s wrong.” He flashed Jisung a bright smile. “I promise.” There he went, lying again. He could’ve laughed. When had he managed to trick himself into believing he was worth something like this?
“We should go swimming!” Jisung was already bouncing on the heels of his feet. Chan couldn’t help but perk up at that. Since they’d started dating, Chan and Jisung would often go to the local pool and swim. The sounds of the water moving around him became white noise, allowing Chan to completely clear his head and focus on getting into a rhythm. This morning especially, Chan was eager to rid his mind of the plethora of thoughts swirling around inside.
Arm, dive, kick, arm, breathe, kick, dive.
Chan slammed both of his hands onto the wall, looking up as Jisung cheered.
“You beat your time, Channie!” Jisung and Chan had taken it in turns to time each other at the end of each week. “Holy shit, you almost took off two seconds.” Chan grinned up at him. “You’re under a minute twenty, Chan! That’s pretty damn good.” Chan’s goal was a minute and ten seconds or under. He figured it was good progress, considering when he’d started training with Jisung he’d been over a minute and thirty seconds. Jisung had pointed out it was mainly his timing that was off, and he wasn’t being efficient with his arm strokes. Once he’d fixed the two glaring problems, it had taken a significant chunk of time off. Now he just had to hone in on his stamina. Chan tended to go too hard in the first fifty metres, lagging by the end of the second lap.
“Alright, my turn.” Jisung’s eyes were twinkling. Jisung was a breaststroker, and a damn good one at that. Jisung had laser focus whenever it was related to swimming or music. It was almost scary how he’d go from being his bright, cheery self, to being almost expressionless with concentration. Jisung offered Chan a hand out, and Chan took his goggles off, holding out a hand for the stopwatch. Jisung was staring at him with wide eyes, and it took Chan a moment to realise that Jisung was gawking at his chest.
“You could be a little less obvious.” Chan winked at Jisung, which only seemed to worsen Jisung’s predicament.
“Y-you did that on purpose.” Jisung squeaked.
“Please, you know wearing a rashie just slows me down. If you want to see me shirtless so bad, all you need to do is ask.” Chan almost blushed at the words coming out of his mouth. He’d never been very good at flirting, so sometimes he felt rather awkward. It was, however, always worth it, seeing how Jisung came apart whenever Chan so much as lowered his voice. “Alright, babe, get in there.”
“You threw me off! I was just starting to get into the zone.” Chan bit his lip. He reached out and cupped Jisung’s chin and leaned forward.
“I can throw you off a bit more if you’d like.” Chan pressed a slow kiss to Jisung’s earlobe and watched as Jisung’s face went bright red. Chan then turned around, hiding his face. He felt so embarrassed. He was used to getting flirted with, not the other way around. Jisung was muttering under his breath how ‘it should be illegal for one man to be so bloody attractive’ as he stepped onto the starting block. Chan finally mustered up the courage to turn back around. Jisung gave Chan one last grin before taking a deep breath. Chan watched as his facial expression smoothed over.
“Alright, Channie, I’m ready.” Chan nodded, holding up the stopwatch.
“On my count. One, two, go!” The way that Jisung’s body seamlessly slid into the water was breathtaking. He barely made a sound as he hit the water. Jisung’s stroke was perfect. As both a swimmer himself and as an instructor, Chan never failed to be impressed by Jisung. Chan had never understood how breaststroke really worked. It never made sense. What was the point if you had to stop moving to actually go anywhere? Chan had always preferred butterfly and freestyle. Backstroke he’d always run into the lane ropes. Jisung made breaststroke look easy. Chan’s heart rate began to rise in anticipation as he saw Jisung begin to speed up in the last twenty-five metres. He leaned over the edge, stopwatch in hand. He grinned as he saw the time. Jisung was going to crack his goal, Chan could feel it. “Come on, Jisungie.” Chan muttered. “You’ve got this.” Bam. Chan stopped the clock as Jisung’s hands met the wall. Chan’s eyes were wide as he looked down at the stopwatch. “Jisung! You did it!” Chan couldn’t help it. He jumped into the water and wrapped Jisung in a hug. Jisung had been forever lamenting that he could never make it under a minute and fifteen seconds. Even by a millisecond, he’d never managed it.
“What was my time?” Jisung already had a smile spreading over his face.
“A minute fourteen, pretty much spot on.” Jisung’s eyes widened. Jisung’s true goal, like Chan’s, was to crack a minute and ten seconds. Considering Jisung was less than twenty seconds off the world record holder, Chan was proud of him. “Maybe you should try and become an Olympic swimmer.” Jisung laughed at this.
“That’d mean leaving you and Minho behind. Never.” Chan’s eyes softened as he saw the small smile Jisung was giving him. “I don’t want to go anywhere if I haven’t got both of you.” Chan realised that he’d definitely been overthinking earlier. Jisung made Chan feel like he fit. With Jisung, Chan felt like he could do anything.
“We should probably get back.” Chan murmured. He just wanted to kiss Jisung, and at a public pool probably wasn’t the best place for it. Plus, Minho was waiting.
Jisung and Chan were still chatting as they walked through the door to Jisung and Minho’s apartment. Chan felt elated. He could talk to Jisung for hours without either of them running out of things to say. Chan’s nose wrinkled as a peculiar smell met his nose.
“Is that…pancakes?” Jisung also looked confused.
“But I also smell tomato sauce.” They looked at each other and shrugged.
“Morning.” Minho turned around to great them. Chan melted at the sight of Minho’s soft smile. His earlier worries washed away. He tried not to run over to Minho, trying to just speed walk over. He heard Jisung snickering behind him. Chan wrapped his arms around Minho, burying his face into Minho’s shoulder.
‘I love you.’ He wanted to say, but Jisung was there. Chan wanted to say the same for Jisung and Minho, not wanting Jisung to feel left out.
“You’re cuddly this morning, dear one.” Chan went weak at the knees. He still wasn’t over Minho calling him dear one. It still had the same effect, if not greater, on him every time.
“When it comes to you I am.” Chan murmured in his ear. Jisung came up behind them and started rubbing Chan’s back, kissing his cheek. Chan turned his head, smiling as Jisung’s lips met his. Then Jisung pulled back, his nose wrinkling. Jisung began to stare suspiciously at the fry pan. Jisung began to rub his eyes, exasperated.
“Minho. Oh my god. You didn’t wash the pan from last night, did you?” Minho blinked innocently at Jisung, appearing to be genuinely confused.
“Was I supposed to?” Jisung slowly turned to Chan. The two of them just looked at each other. They really should have expected this. Chan and Jisung weren’t great cooks either, but sometimes they forgot how Minho really didn’t have any common sense when it came to cooking. Chan remembered Minho being surprised why nothing was cooking when he hadn’t even turned the gas on.
“Maybe we’ll cook next time, babe.” Jisung patted Minho’s shoulder. “How does toast sound?”
“But my pancakes are perfect!” Minho sounded indignant. “Fine, Chan, you’ll have my pancakes, won’t you?” Chan turned to Jisung, mouthing ‘help me.’ Jisung just shook his head and smirked. “Channie?” Jisung began cackling as Minho began chasing Chan around with a ladle, before Minho turned on him as well. Five minutes later, they had all collapsed onto the floor, breathless and laughing.
“I can’t believe that you were using a ladle to flip pancakes.” Jisung was wheezing. “I love you, Minho, even though sometimes I think you only have three brain cells.” Chan laughed even harder, holding his stomach.
“I think we have three brain cells between the three of us, to be honest.” Minho shoved him.
“Maybe we’ll just have to eliminate you and share your brain cell.” Minho had one eyebrow raised.
“You wouldn’t dare.” Chan grinned at him. Things were going to be okay. Everything was going to be fine. Then Jisung sat bolt upright.
“Oh fuck, why can I smell something burning?”
Saturday
“I can’t sleep.” Chan sang softly, on his way back to his apartment. “So tell me.” It was a song that he’d written over several years, with his limited knowledge of music. Sometimes he’d played his guitar until his fingers had hurt. He knew he should’ve been asleep right now, curled up between his boyfriends. He had work later that morning, after all. But once again, his thoughts kept him up. He didn’t know how to get himself back to sleep. His stupid subconscious was probably trying to mix his dreams in with reality, trying to make him believe things that weren’t true.
He hadn’t been home – to his home – in a while. He knew eventually he’d have to think about moving in with Minho and Jisung. He was just…scared. He was so scared of getting hurt again. What if he was getting played again? He didn’t want to believe it. Jisung and Minho would never do it. But then he began thinking about how naïve he’d been before. What if it happened again?” Chan bit down on his tongue. He felt suffocated. Chan stumbled into his empty apartment. A wave of sadness washed over him, nearly bringing him to his knees. It was so quiet. So lonely. Maybe it was what he deserved.
Chan was so tired. So, so, fucking tired. But he couldn’t sleep. He knew it was a pointless endeavour. He pulled out his laptop, blearily peering at the screen until the sun began to rise. He didn’t want to face the nightmare again.
Saturday
Chan thought he was quite clever in the way he avoided Momo and Mina. Seungmin was in, covering a shift, and so Chan stuck to Seungmin’s side when he wasn’t teaching. He sometimes spotted Momo and Mina talking to each other, occasionally looking over at him, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to avoid them forever.
“Why am I always left out?” Seungmin was pouting. Chan sometimes thought he resembled a Labrador. “I had to find out you and Jisung were dating from Momo!” Chan leaned over and ruffled his hair.
“Patience, young padawan.” Seungmin stuck his tongue out at him.
“I mean, I always suspected. You guys had tons of inside jokes, and sometimes I wanted to tell you to get a room.” Seungmin rolled his eyes. “Okay, maybe I should’ve seen it coming. It started to get a bit too obvious.” Chan rubbed the back of his neck as anxiety began to pool in his stomach. Usually Jisung woke up when Chan went to work, even just to kiss him goodbye, so he hoped that Jisung hadn’t noticed that Chan hadn’t been there in the morning. “Jisung especially.” That broke Chan from his thoughts. He looked over at Seungmin, confused.
“What do you mean, Jisung was obvious?” Seungmin laughed at Chan’s obvious bewilderment.
“Oh man! I guess you didn’t see how he’d try and talk to you before everyone else. Sometimes I’d catch him looking at you, as well. I teased him about it, but he was really defensive. It was funny.” Fuck, did Chan miss his boyfriends. He wanted to see them so badly. But he knew he couldn’t subject them to the chaos raging within his mind. “Chan, you okay?” Seungmin patted his shoulder. “You look like you need to go to sleep.”
“Yeah, I’ll do that.” Chan forced a smile. “I’ve been staying up too much, lately.”
When his shift ended, Chan slipped out before Momo and Mina could catch him. His phone began to ring once he got into his car, but he ignored it. He didn’t want to let anyone else in. He didn’t want to hurt anyone. His eyes were burning, but no tears fell. Chan was beginning to succumb to apathy. It should have scared him, but he found that he didn’t care anymore.
His apartment was still as empty as ever.
“Hi, I’m home.” He laughed bitterly, dropping his bag by the door. His apartment seemed so dark and empty compared to Minho and Jisung’s. The pair had small decorations adorning shelves and cupboards, and the curtains were always open, letting sunlight stream in. There were little succulents scattered along the windowsills, because according to Jisung, any plant that required regular watering would die under Minho’s care. Soon-ie and Doong-ie would be lounging around, oscillating between demanding attention or food, and sunbathing.
Chan missed them.
He jumped as his phone began to ring. He looked down, finding Jisung’s contact name had popped up. Chan bit down on his lip, realising his mistake. He hadn’t told either of his boyfriends that he hadn’t planned on coming home.
“Chan, when will you be home?” Jisung’s voice was full of concern that Chan knew he didn’t deserve. Chan swallowed down the lump in his throat. He was glad he couldn’t see Jisung’s face.
“I – I won’t be.” He heard Jisung’s breath catch, and Chan bit down on his tongue. “I’m sorry. I just need to be by myself.” Chan muttered. “Can you guys give me some space for a couple days?”
“Chan…” Jisung sounded like he wanted to say something else, but was holding himself back. “If something’s up, you should tell us. Let us help you.”
“I will. I’m fine, I just…assignments, and stuff.” He hated lying to Jisung. He hated that he was taking advantage of Jisung’s tendency to believe him. Chan knew Minho wouldn’t buy what he was saying. Minho would have seen straight through him.
“Are you sure? Momo messaged me. So did Mina. They were asking about you. They said you were avoiding them.” Chan winced at this. “Chan, can we come over?” Jisung was beginning to sound desperate.
“I’m fine.” Chan tried to force a smile into his voice. “I haven’t been sleeping well because I’m tired. I just need to be by myself.” He kept his voice firm, knowing any signs of weakness would alert Jisung that something was off.
“Okay, Chan. If you’re sure.” Jisung’s voice sounded rough. Chan hated that he was the one causing Jisung pain, when he should be protecting Jisung.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Jisungie.”
“Yeah.” Jisung’s voice became quieter, sounding uncharacteristically dull. It was like a cloud blocking out the sunlight, muting Jisung’s vibrancy. “See you.” Chan was tempted to throw his phone across the room after Jisung hung up. He was so angry at himself. Chan knew that what he was doing was wrong, but he didn’t know how to get himself out of the hole he’d dug for himself. He just couldn’t seem to escape from the prison the voices in his head had created. Chan sank to the floor, his eyes burning. He didn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. He couldn’t remember when he’d had a full night of sleep. It seemed that the happier he became, the bigger his fears grew. Chan felt like he was being hunted by a hydra. Every time he thought he’d cut off one head, another three grew back in its place. Every time he quelled one voice in his head, he’d be greeted by another ten.
‘Not good enough.’
‘You’re a burden.’
‘All you do is hurt people.’
‘Just tell them the truth, that you aren’t good enough.’
‘Why do you, out of everyone else, deserve them? What have you done to merit that?’
Chan clamped his hands around his temples, wishing he could just drive the voices out. He felt dizzy, the volume of the voices in his head getting louder and louder, each one demanding his attention. Occasionally the voice of his ex would punctuate the throng within his mind, louder than all the other voices. That voice was the worst one. It always had memories attached. Chan wondered if he would ever escape.
‘Just shut up, why don’t you? What makes you think you’ll ever be enough, for anyone? You weren’t enough for me.’
Sunday
He was such a coward. Chan had called in sick on Saturday afternoon. He had a perfect track record of showing up for shifts, so he’d been told to just rest. He hadn’t slept again that night, not wanting to risk another nightmare. Chan busied himself with uni work and old movies, but nothing was distracting him from the confrontation he knew he was going to have with his boyfriends tomorrow. Chan knew he had to end it. He knew he was probably torturing them with his absence. He couldn’t continue hurting them like this. He had to let them go.
Chan had been expecting a phone call as soon as Jisung’s shift finished. There was nothing. He started to grow suspicious when the silence continued for another hour. He wondered if Jisung and Minho had just decided to cut him off. He wouldn’t blame them. It was certainly the far less painful option than confrontation. Not that Chan planned on there being one. He would tell them that they should stay away from him and then they would leave, simple as that.
Chan hadn’t slept properly in over a week now. He’d had two hours of sleep on Thursday night, and hadn’t slept on Friday or Saturday night. Every time he stood up, he felt dizzy. He knew he probably looked like a dead man walking. He hadn’t shaved, or eaten. He’d been stuck on pause, while life around him went on. He didn’t even flinch as someone began banging on the door.
“Chan!” Jisung sounded angry. Chan had never heard Jisung angry before. “Let us in! We know you’re in there!” Chan rose to his feet, grabbing the side of the couch as a wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm him. He felt like he was in a dream as he made his way over to the door. He opened the door, finding a furious Jisung glaring at him. Chan just blinked at him, stepping back so Jisung could enter. Chan was just about to close the door when he came face to face with Minho. Minho looked uneasy. As soon as he saw Chan, his face fell.
“Oh, Channie.” Minho cupped his face, stroking his hair back from his forehead. “I wish you weren’t so good at hiding your feelings.” Chan just nodded. Minho’s voice felt like it was coming from far away. Minho was the one who closed the door and led Chan to the couch. “Jisung, don’t get angry at him.” Minho murmured. His voice was like honey.
“I don’t care, Minho. He can’t pull this shit.” Jisung’s voice was cold. Minho merely sighed, pulling on Chan’s sweater, trying to coax Chan to the couch. “Don’t baby him, Minho!”
“Don’t snap at me.” There was an undercurrent of warning to Minho’s tone. “I’ve seen Chan like this before.” Chan barely registered that Minho’s voice was filled with guilt. “This is my fault, Jisung.”
“No, don’t try and take the blame.” Jisung’s voice softened for a moment, before he turned back to Chan. While often soothing, the sun’s rays could prove dangerous if concentrated enough. And Jisung was about to start a fire. “Chan, what the fuck, man?” Chan just looked at him.
“Everything you’re about to say, I deserve.” He barely recognised his own voice. Minho made a soft noise from beside him, but Jisung was too blinded by his emotions to register it.
“Jisung, stop.” Minho sounded desperate.
“Do you even care about us, Chan? Because it seems like you’re avoiding us. Minho’s been really worried about you. I’ve been worried about you. Your friends are worried about you. If you were in that much trouble, why couldn’t you just tell us? I thought – I thought you were trying to leave us!” The crack in Jisung’s armour broke for just a second, and his fear shone through. “I thought you didn’t want to be with us anymore.” The voices in Chan’s head were loud in his ears, drowning out Jisung’s words. Chan was silent. This just made Jisung more angry. “Say something, Chan!” There was another crack. “Please?”
“You should leave.” Chan’s voice was hoarse. Jisung glared at him, grabbing onto his shoulders.
“Is that what you really want, Chan?” His grip on Chan’s arms was tight.
“Is that what you really want?”
“Say something, or maybe I will!” Tears were streaming down Jisung’s cheeks.
“Answer me, Chan. I have no reason to stay unless you want me to stay.”
“Enough.” Minho’s voice cut through air like a knife. “Jisung, sit down.” Chan’s breath was coming in short gasps. Jisung lowered himself onto the couch, resting his head in his hands. Minho turned back to Chan. “Chan, come here – Chan?” Chan’s vision blurred, and darkness encroached on his vision.
“Chan!”
Chan was running through a dark forest. The further he ran, the more the trees started to close in on him. His breath was loud in his ears, his sobs racking his body. He was being chased. He wondered how he would die this time. He took a sharp left, and his eyes widened in horror as he found that there was no way through. Chan looked around, desperately searching for an exit. The only to go seemed to be forwards. He took off running again, his heartbeat loud in his ears. He felt like he was being herded. He couldn’t turn around, or he knew he’d be caught.
All he could do was run, and run, until his legs trembled and he couldn’t catch his breath. This time, Chan was determined to escape. He ignored how ragged his breath was, ignored the stitches in his size and the nausea in his stomach. Surely he was close. He felt like he’d been running for hours. Then Chan skidded to a halt. The trail before him was gone. In its place was a seemingly impenetrable wall of thorny vines. He looked left and right. When had the trees become that close? He’d come this far. He couldn’t give up now.
“Fuck.” He began scrabbling at the vines, his hands catching on the thorns. Blood began to trickle down his forearms. Chan bit down on his tongue, stifling a cry of pain as the thorns ripped deeper, and deeper. He was making no progress. Chan let out a cry of frustration. He was trapped, with no escape. All he could was stand there, waiting for his demise.
“Chan.” He whirled around, his eyes darting around, trying to find the figure that came to him every time he closed his eyes.
“What do you want?” Chan demanded. “Who are you?” He stumbled back as a figure materialised before him. Curly, dark brown hair, and dark brown eyes. Tall and broad-shouldered, and smile that revealed dimples. Chan’s eyes widened.
“Can’t you see?” Chan stepped forward, holding his arm out. The figure did the same. As their fingers met, the forest around them began to disappear. Chan whirled around. He was now in an open field, with both the sun and the moon present above him. His jaw dropped. He turned around, finally beginning to understand. “I am you.”
This time, Chan woke up smiling. His eyelids felt heavy. Chan frowned, trying desperately to open his eyes.
“Channie!” The voice was shrill. He groaned as someone threw themselves onto him, arms snaking around him.
“Careful, Minho!” That was Jisung’s voice. “Don’t hurt him.” Jisung’s voice was shaking. Chan finally forced his eyes open properly, taking stock of his surroundings. His nose tickled. All he could see was Minho’s hair. Minho was sobbing into his shoulder. Instinctively, Chan began to run his hand through Minho’s hair.
“Shh, baby, it’s okay. Don’t cry…” Chan was perplexed as this seemed to make Minho cry harder. “Min? What’s wrong?” Chan was so confused. He turned his head to see a blue curtain, and a plastic bag of fluid hanging from a stand. His brow creased. Was…was he in a hospital? “Wh-where am I?” Minho pulled back to look down at him, rubbing his tears away. He was wearing Chan’s sweater. Chan smiled softly at him, and Minho leaned down to kiss him.
“I love you, dear one.” Was whispered against his lips. Chan’s eyes widened.
“I-I love you too.” Chan couldn’t describe the happiness that washed over him at Minho’s words. It was more than happiness – it was pure joy.
“Chan, I’m really sorry.” Minho tucked himself into Chan’s side, leaving Chan to look up at Jisung. Jisung’s bottom lip was wobbling, and his eyes were bright with unshed tears. Then Jisung wrapped his arms around Chan’s neck, also beginning to cry. Chan was perplexed. Had he been in an accident or something.
“What happened to me?” He murmured.
“It was my fault.” Jisung whispered. Chan heard Minho tsk at him.
“Sungie, we’ve been over this. It’s all of our faults.” Minho nuzzled into Chan’s neck, tracing patterns on Chan’s chest. “Chan, you started having trouble sleeping again, didn’t you?” Chan froze, his memory of the past week rushing back to him.
“Fuck.” He whispered. He knew exactly what had happened.
“About a year after I met Chan, I learned that he had bad nightmares. They were mostly gone, but sometimes they flared up.” Chan pressed a kiss to Jisung’s forehead. “He stopped taking care of himself. He didn’t sleep for about three or four days, after a couple weeks of not sleeping well. He passed out. His friend, Sana, was with him. She called me when he ended up in the hospital. Exhaustion and dehydration.” Minho sighed.
“Can I sit up?” Chan murmured. Minho and Jisung scrambled backwards. “I have some explaining to do.” His voice was rough. “I don’t want either of you feelings guilty, for a start. This has happened before, as Minho said, so I should’ve known not to let it get this bad.” He took a deep breath. “I guess I just…I was worried…that I wasn’t going to fit in with you guys.” Jisung opened his mouth, but Chan shook his head. “Don’t make excuses for me, Jisung.”
“Especially not for me.” Minho was clenching his jaw. “This was my fault.” Jisung turned his gaze to Minho, confused. Minho pressed a finger to Chan’s lips. “I was scared of Jisung feeling left out, because we’ve known each other for a long time.” Minho murmured. “I was scared of hurting Jisung, so I…I think I forgot that I needed to just treat you equally. I’m sorry, Channie. I love both of you so much, and I didn’t want either of you getting hurt. But I still ended up hurting both of you anyway.” Minho’s voice was bitter. Chan locked eyes with Minho. Typical Minho. Typical Chan, really. Minho, with his penchant to put others first, often getting tunnel vision in his endeavour to protect those he cared about. And Chan, stubborn, refusing to let anyone help him, blinded by his desire to make everyone happy.
“I’m sorry.” Chan whispered. “I know I should’ve let you help me. But it was hard even thinking about how I would bring it up. Then it just got worse, and worse, and I lost myself in it.”
“I’m sorry, too. I should’ve kept both of you as equals in my mind.” They smiled at each other. Then Jisung made a soft noise, and they turned to find him staring at them, incredulous.
“So…you’re telling me…this whole time, both of you just needed to talk to each other, or to me? This whole thing could’ve been avoided if you just weren’t so stubborn?” Jisung pressed his hands to his temples. “Oh man.” But then he began nibbling on his bottom lip. “I’m sorry for yelling at you, Channie.” His voice was impossibly small. Chan just wanted to hold him. “It felt like you were hiding something. It seemed like you were trying to avoid us, or me. I was really scared. And I got angry, instead of thinking it through logically.” Chan stroked Jisung’s cheek.
“I get it, Jisung. I would’ve done the same.” Chan ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “I feel so stupid.”
“Never forget that we’re a team, Chan.” Minho murmured, resting his head on Chan’s shoulder, intertwining their fingers.
“We have to do this together. Remember what I said? ‘I don’t want to go anywhere if I haven’t got both of you.’ And I mean it, Chan. I always will.” Chan’s heart felt full. He couldn’t imagine life without the two of them in it. He had to step out of the voices in his head, keeping him in the past, and step in the arms of his boyfriends, who were offering him a future.
“I love you, Jisung.” Chan watched as Jisung’s eyes widened, and Chan felt as if he was full of sunlight. “I’m in love with you.” Chan then turned to Minho. “I love you, Minho.” Minho beamed at him, making Chan’s heart flutter. |
The next day, Terry gets a call from Mike.
"Seriously?" Terry scoffs into the receiver, "Can't you get anybody else?"
"We already got everybody else," Mike retorts, "I need all hands for this cuz we gotta work on all the rides."
"Jesus, what are we doin'?" Terry snaps.
"It's just routine maintenance, ya big baby," Mike groans back, "We haven't touched the rides in a few days and we've gotten more snow. We just gotta make sure they're still operational n' shit."
Terry shoots a glance down the hall, his brow furrowed before he turns back to lean against the counter.
"I…kinda had plans today…" he mumbles, "It's important."
"What's so damn important?" Mike guffaws, "Knowin' you, you'll just be fuckin' around, drinkin' n' tuggin' it all damn day. Now, listen here; I've been givin' you a shit ton of slack lately. And after that stunt you pulled last week, I got you on beck n' call. Now, I suggest you drag your fat ass out here and get to work. And if I don't see you out here in an hour, I'm comin' in to get you and I'm dockin' your pay."
Before Terry can reply, the line clicks and goes dead. The disconnection tone rings aggressively in his ear before he begrudgingly hangs up the phone. Goddammit…
Reluctantly, he returns to the bedroom, feeling more irritable than usual. Sure, this provides him an excuse to get out of the trailer for a bit, but now that he's got Edd actually wanting to spend time with him, he almost doesn't want to leave even if it does mean suffering through tiring conversations.
When he walks into the room, Edd's sitting on the bed, carefully picking out the tangles in his hair with the comb Terry had given him. Closing the door behind him, Terry approaches the dresser.
"Bad news, darlin'," he states with a sigh as he opens up one of the drawers, "I gotta head out for a bit."
There's a short pause before Edd asks meekly; "Why?"
"Got a call from my boss," Terry replies, retrieving a fresh pair of pants and a clean jersey, "I don't think it'll be too long. Just some general maintenance."
"What am I supposed to do?"
"Well, unfortunately, I dunno how long I'll be out," Terry explains, bringing the clothes over to the bed to lay them out, "So I'm gonna give you a choice. I can either take you to the bathroom — where you can use the shower and the toilet and all that — or you can stay in here and hope I won't be out too long."
As he begins undressing, he sees Edd deflate a bit.
"Well…" he mumbles, his head bowed, "I suppose it'd be nice to get in a nice, relaxing shower? But…can't you just let me walk around in the trailer?"
"No," Terry retorts, glaring at him as he pulls the shirt on, "I can't trust you with that. For now, it's one room."
Edd pouts, crossing his arms over his chest. As Terry pulls on his pants, he catches the disappointed look and groans a bit.
"Look," he begins, placing his hands on Edd's hips, "I know it's frustrating for you, but that's just how it's gotta be. You're the one who tried to run away, so you gotta suck it up for now."
Of course, Edd's not comforted in the slightest by this and averts his gaze with a grimace. With a sigh, Terry urges Edd's attention back to him.
"Alright, fine," he grumbles, "You be good for me and I'll give you a special reward."
Edd scoffs; "Oh yes, I bet you will…" He glares up at Terry. "What kind of reward?" When Terry doesn't answer right away, he presses further. "You always promise that, but you rarely deliver. How do I know that this won't be the case now?"
"Well, aside from wanderin' around the trailer or going home," Terry shrugs, "What would you like?"
Furrowing his brow, Edd thinks on that carefully. He's slower to respond than usual. Seems like he wasn't quite expecting this. Terry decides to give him some options.
"I could get us something extra special for dinner," he offers, "Or go pick up something else for you? I still wanna get you somethin' for your birthday. I could get you a toy or somethin'? Or maybe those clothes you were askin' for?"
Finally looking back to Terry, Edd swallows uncomfortably.
"Could…Could you perhaps provide me with some kind of…mental stimulation?" he asks.
Terry gives him an uncertain look; "Such as…?"
"Well…" Edd fidgets with the blanket, "I don't know…maybe some crossword puzzles or number puzzles…Something that I can apply my focus towards to pass the time?"
Terry hums thoughtfully, releasing his hips and standing straight.
"Alright," he agrees, "Once I'm finished with work, I'll head over to a nearby store and try to find you a little activity book."
Edd's cheeks burn in embarrassment; "P-Please don't refer to it as such. That makes it sound so…infantile."
Terry rolls his eyes; "Right. Anyway, if you'll stay in the bathroom while I'm gone and not give me attitude when I get home, I'll give you the book."
Edd takes a deep breath before giving a nod.
"Okay," he agrees, "You…really promise?"
"I swear, Princess," Terry grumbles, "Now, c'mon. I gotta get goin' or my boss'll have my ass. Do you want anything to eat? I probably have enough time to at least make you some soup or somethin'?"
"No, thank you," Edd replies, "But perhaps I could have the box of Chunky Puffs to snack on?"
"Sure," Terry shrugs, helping Edd to his feet, "Whatever you want…"
With little else said, Terry escorts Edd to the bathroom. His cooperation has Terry heavily on edge. As he leaves and returns with the box of cereal, he half expects Edd to race past him in a desperate bid for freedom. But, though he braces himself for such, he finds Edd gathering some towels and placing them on the ground near the tub.
Setting the box of cereal against the wall near the sink, Terry shuts the door behind him and takes a step towards Edd, who stops what he's doing to glance up at him. Taking a breath, Terry gently cups Edd's cheeks to hold him still. He gazes into those gorgeous green eyes, searching for the deceit that he expects to find. Instead, Edd merely returns his look with one of confusion, his brow furrowed.
Satisfied, Terry leans down to kiss him, making him gasp softly in surprise. As he closes his eyes to enjoy the sensation, he feels Edd's little hands against his wrists, but he doesn't push him away. Fucking heaven…Everything else fades away. All that matters right now is Edd's lips upon his own. The little puffs of air against his cheek are startling but a moment as Edd seems to remember to breathe through his nose. Good thing, too. Cuz he sure as shit doesn't feel like ending this anytime soon. Fuck — he could stay like this forever.
Except…he can't.
Wincing a bit, he reluctantly pulls away to look down upon him again. Edd doesn't hold his gaze this time, instead bowing his head shyly. Taking a breath to steel himself, Terry pushes himself away to stand straight.
"Be good," he warns, turning away and skulking back out of the room.
He offers Edd one last, longing look before closing the door and locking up.
As Mike described, the maintenance work is pretty routine. Cleaning off the snow from the rides and control panels, giving them a test run to make sure everything's working properly, and fixing any problems that might arise. The latter doesn't crop up nearly as much, thank goodness, and even when it does, it's never on the rides Terry's working on at the time. (That means he doesn't have to fuckin' deal with it.) He doesn't bother talking to anyone, though that doesn't stop Mike from giving him shit when he wanders by every now and then to check on everyone's progress.
"So what was it that was so damn important?" he asks, leaning against the control box.
Terry fights the urge to glare at him.
"None of your business," he grumbles back.
"That sounds an awful lot like insubordination," Mike notes smugly.
With a sigh, Terry looks up from the gears he's been carefully oiling to give Mike his full attention.
"It's personal," he replies, "And me not telling you about personal shit is not 'insubordination'. Besides…" He turns back to the console, "I'm here, ain't I? So it doesn't matter anyway…"
To his surprise, Mike seems to accept that answer and he instead changes the subject to ask about the maintenance procedures. And that's the end of that. Well, of the conversation, at least.
Mike's question drew his thoughts back to Edd, providing a frustrating distraction after the boss-man leaves. By now, Edd's probably gotten the shower he wanted. He's probably still dripping wet. Terry can so clearly picture each tantalizing water droplet sprinkling the pale, bruised skin. It makes his throat feel as dry as the goddamn Sahara as he feels a sudden yearning to lap up those drops right off of Edd's flesh. He imagines that slippery skin, chilled slightly from the low temperature within the bathroom. Fuck…how bad he wants to warm him up himself. How bad he wants to drop everything and race back to the trailer to do just that.
Gritting his teeth, he sets the oil can aside to then dig his nails into his palm and into his thigh in an effort to ebb his arousal before it can become a problem. He banishes the thoughts from his mind with great difficulty, trying to think about anything else. When he finally calms himself back down, he returns his attention to the ride, praying that they'll be done with all this shit soon.
Unfortunately, it's well after noon by the time they finish up. Thank fucking god. He feels like he's going fucking crazy…Retreating to his trailer, however, he stops before he can open the door. Shit…he's gotta run and get that book for Edd…With a sigh, he checks his pocket for his car keys before trudging away to where he'd parked his van. At least his coworkers don't feel like bothering him right now. Thank God for small miracles…
As he pulls away from the park, he heads straight for the grocery store. They always have those little activity — er…'puzzle' — books in the queuing line and magazine racks and he can pick up some pencils n' shit down the stationary aisle. Shouldn't take but a minute. And, as expected, he's able to get in and out pretty quick. He gets a small pack of pencils and a sharpener and then heads for the queuing line, where he finds the magazine racks. Tearing his eyes away from the more 'titillating' covers, he scans the various puzzle books and grabs one for crosswords and one for 'sudokus' (whatever the fuck that is…). He considers grabbing some of the word searches too, but he has a feeling Edd would be insulted by something so easy. As he turns to pay, however, he also notices a book of word jumbles and decides that it might also provide at least something of a challenge as well and adds it to the purchase. At least it's not too expensive.
After paying, he leaves the store, deciding in that moment to also stop to pick up lunch. He gets himself a burger with the works and some chicken nuggets for Edd — kids like those, right? — along with a side salad. He doesn't intend to buy the ingredients for salads right now and he knows he doesn't have it at home, but maybe Edd will still like the pre-made stuff?
Back to the trailer, he slips inside and locks up heavily behind him. Mike shouldn't need him again today — god willing — but he'd rather not take any chances if he decides to stop by. Fighting back the intense desire that's welling in him with each step towards the bathroom, he goes to retrieve Edd. Holding his breath, he finds him to be napping on the floor. His hair is damp, but he's fully clothed, indicating that he had gotten his shower well out of the way. Must've gotten bored after that…He clears his throat, hoping that might be enough to rouse him. Edd moans softly, shifting slightly in his slumber, but he doesn't wake.
Shutting the door behind him, Terry sets the bags aside and approaches Edd, licking his lips as he kneels down over the sleeping boy. Tilting Edd's chin up towards him, Terry leans in to place a gentle kiss to Edd's lips. He hears him whine a bit as he's finally pulled to consciousness, but he ignores it. I've earned a little reward of my own. Terry doesn't get to enjoy the kiss long, however, before Edd pushes him away, groaning in disgust.
"Please," he grumbles, "refrain from doing things like that while I'm sleeping."
"Why?" Terry smirks, "Afraid you'll start to like it?"
Edd glares up at him; "I'm afraid you'll take advantage of my unconscious state and do worse."
Terry rolls his eyes; "I told you I wouldn't. I even promised."
Looking away, Edd hunches his shoulders; "Ah yes. Forgive me for assuming that someone who abused me both physically and emotionally might lie about that…"
The sarcasm in his voice incenses Terry and he considers giving him a sharp smack — he can't let him keep getting away with shit like that, can he? However, he decides to let it go for now. He's tired from work and hungry as fuck. Fighting and smacking Edd around is a waste of time right now. All he really wants to do is get a bite to eat and maybe get in some cuddling with his little Princess. Maybe the next time it comes up…? Ooh…wait! He does have some leverage…Maybe he can use that to adjust this behavior in a different way and still get some tenderness out of this?
"I see," he tuts, pushing himself up, "Well, if you're gonna be that way, maybe I won't give you your little present?"
Edd glances up at him, startled; "Present?" He sits up. "Y-You actually got what I wanted?"
"Sure I did," Terry retorts, grabbing the bags, "But if you're gonna be giving me sass like that, then maybe you don't deserve it."
Bolting upright, Edd scrambles to his knees; "B-But you said—"
"I said, don't give me attitude when I get home," Terry asserts, "But you just can't help yourself, can ya? So why should I give you a reward when you couldn't do what I asked of you?"
Edd bows his head, his brow furrowed as he struggles to find an answer.
"Are you going to leave me in here again?" he asks softly.
"Maybe," Terry replies, "You're sure as shit not getting what you asked for. But maybe you should also stay in here even longer to really let the message sink in?"
With a sigh, Edd whimpers and his shoulders fall in disappointment.
"Unless…" That gets his attention again. "You apologize. Say your sorry for being so cold and show me you're sorry, and we'll go back to the bedroom where I'll give you your present."
He waits with bated breath for Edd to respond. It feels like a goddamn eternity as his expression scrunches in displeasure. As he sits up a bit straighter, he refuses to look at Terry.
"I…I'm sorry…" he mumbles.
"Sorry for what?"
Another sigh; "I'm sorry for what I said…" He finally turns his gaze up at the man. "May I please go back to the bedroom?"
Smirking, Terry steps towards him; "Maybe. Stand up."
Gulping a bit, Edd shakily rises to his feet and stands before Terry. His head is sunk low, but he maintains hesitant eye-contact and his shoulders are hunched to make himself look smaller than he already is. Shivering and rubbing his arms up and down, he waits for his next order.
"Good," Terry purrs, bending forward a bit so that he can be at closer eye-level with him, "Now, give me a kiss to make up for the one you interrupted."
Edd blanches at the very notion and wings his hands together uneasily. He makes strained noises as he fights with himself to just get on with it, keeping his head bowed and mumbling about the unfairness of the situation. When he finally turns back to Terry, his face is a deep red and his jaw is clenched. After a calming breath, he screws his eyes shut and leans up to press his lips against Terry's own. Satisfied, Terry places his hands on either side of Edd's head, holding him in place so he can better enjoy the sensation of Edd's lips upon his own. Fuck, does it feel good…
But he doesn't keep him there long. He's still hungry, after all, and making out in the bathroom isn't totally ideal. Before pulling away, he flicks his tongue across Edd's lips, making him recoil a bit once he's released. Standing straight, Terry grabs Edd's wrist and ushers him along and out of the bathroom. As he opens the door to the bedroom, he feels Edd fidgeting slightly, but never trying to free himself.
"Did you get food as well…?" he hears the sudden mumble.
Gritting his teeth, he turns away from the door as it swings open to glare down at Edd, who shrinks in on himself in fear. With a low growl, Terry shoves Edd into the room and follows after. Once he's ensured that the door is securely locked, he rounds on Edd.
"What the fuck have I told you about talking outside of this room or the bathroom?!" he demands.
"I-I'm sorry!" Edd whimpers back, shuffling away a little, but staying close to the bed, "I-I didn't raise my voice! I-I was just…asking!"
"You do not talk in that hallway!" Terry orders angrily, "I don't care how quiet you were!"
"I-I'm sorry…" Edd's started crying, "I-I won't do it again…"
As Edd covers his face to cry more, Terry clenches his fist. What the fuck should he do? Should he hit him? He could've compromised the situation by speaking back there. Isn't that grounds for punishment? But then again…he was quiet about it when he spoke and his shivering and sobbing are pretty clear indicators that he's remorseful. Taking a breath, he grabs Edd's arm and jerks him forward making Edd look up from his weeping.
"You're lucky I'm more hungry than angry," he warns, "If you ever do that again, you can expect a helluva lot worse outta me than just yellin' at you. You got that? You think what I did to you last week was bad? I'll make you wish I was that gentle."
Edd nods at him, sniffling and whimpering.
"Good."
With that, Terry releases him, leaving him to sob softly to himself as he cowers against the side of the bed. For a moment, Terry busies himself with setting the bag of food and books aside and kicking off his shoes. When he looks back to Edd, he finds him still quivering, still clearly shaken by the sudden hostility. Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, Terry turns to him fully.
"C'mon, Princess," he says, keeping his voice low and calm, "Ain't ya hungry?"
Edd peeks up at him, his brow furrowed. After thinking it over for a moment, he swallows nervously and pulls himself up to his feet. Terry nods his head towards the bed, silently directing Edd to sit down, which he does. Terry sits down next to him and spots him eyeing the bag with his books.
"Nuh uh," he nearly growls, "Eat first. Then you can play with your new toys."
He nearly gags as his tone reminds him of his old man. This whole caretaker role is starting to piss him off. The last thing he ever wanted was to become a parent in any sense of the word. Yet, here he is, setting boundaries the same way a father would. It makes him sick to think of it. Edd's not supposed to be his 'kid'. He didn't bring Edd here to be his kid. He brought Edd here to be his lover and that's it. Anything less than that is fucking unacceptable!
But…
Edd's listening to him more like this. Edd's obeying him more and cooperating with him. It's frustrating and unpleasant, but surely this parental relationship will fucking pass, right?
He removes his burger and sets it aside, then grabs Edd's chicken to hand it to him, along with the fries. Edd's posture visibly deflates.
"More fast food…?" he mumbles, almost too soft for Terry to hear.
"Don't worry, Princess," Terry grumbles, reaching back into the bag (and catching the terrified look on Edd's face as he realizes his comment was heard), "I got ya somethin' to go with it."
With that, he removes the salad and plastic fork packet, handing them to a very startled Edd.
"Y…You got me…a salad?" Edd stutters, his eyes wide as saucers.
"Well yeah," Terry shrugs back, "Figured you'd like that. Do you not want it?"
"N-No!" Edd replies swiftly, "I-I mean. Yes…I-I mean! I-I do want it! I was just…surprised…" His cheeks flush a light pink. "Th…Thank you…"
"Yeah yeah…" Terry picks up his burger and removes the wrapper to take a bite.
He's in no mood to talk or even really look at Edd right now. God does he just want to get off! Getting in a quick round of sex would elevate his mood like nothing else. But no. He's gotta hold off to make the little princess happy. He better fucking come around soon, though…He's not sure how long he'll actually be able to maintain his composure and prevent himself from jumping the boy. So, for now, just ignoring him is proving to be the best strategy.
Or at least it would be, if Edd wasn't fidgeting beside him.
"What is it?" he nearly snaps.
Back to fidgeting a moment before Edd speaks again, his voice quivering and soft.
"H-How was work…?"
Terry stops mid-bite when the question hits him. It's obviously not something he ever expected out of Edd, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't fuckin' delighted by it. Sure, Edd might just be trying to kill the silence with a tentative conversation, but it doesn't change the fact that it sounded positively domestic — like a loving wife asking how her hard-working husband's day was. His mouth feels dry again and he digs his nails into the palm of his free hand to sway the arousal building from the very notion of Edd behaving like a doting little wife. Sitting up, he hunches over a bit, focusing with all his might against how bad he wants to pin him to the goddamn bed and fuck his brains out.
After a few deep, calming breaths, he feels confident enough to actually respond.
"It was fine," he grumbles back, refusing to let himself relax, "Nothin' too complicated. Just a lot of shit to do."
"You said it was maintenance, right?" Edd asks, earning a nod in response, "Does that mean that this place is still open for business? It certainly doesn't look it."
"Kinda," Terry replies, glancing at him finally, "Park's closed for the holidays, but we're gonna open back up some time after New Year's."
Edd goes quiet for a minute after that, poking at his half-eaten salad. Shit, either he was hungrier than Terry expected, or the salad was just small enough that a few bites left only half the meal remaining. Good thing I got the nuggets too…
"Would you ever consider…" Edd begins, pausing for a moment as though he wants to stop before picking back up, "taking me out to the park?"
"Why the fuck would I do that?" Terry scoffs, "What makes you think you deserve that?"
Edd shrugs, his brow furrowing; "Wouldn't…Wouldn't it be a good…" He grimaces. "Date idea…?"
Now that catches Terry's attention. His eyes narrow as he gazes at him.
"I see what you're doing," he nearly growls, "Nice try, Princess. Until I can be sure you won't run from me, you ain't leaving this room, let alone this trailer."
Edd sighs softly, but that seems to be the end of that particular conversation for now.
Onto others…
"Are you still upset with me…?" he asks after a moment.
With a grimace, Terry raises the burger to take another bite.
"Yes."
As he chews, Edd remains silent.
"Because I spoke out of turn?"
Terry glances at him before swallowing down the bite.
"No."
Another pause — during which Terry scarfs down as much of his lunch as possible in anticipation of more questions — followed by a quiet scoff.
"Ah…" Edd mumbles, "Because I asked you to refrain from forcing those lewd acts upon me."
Terry grits his teeth, resisting the intense urge to snap at him; "Yes. That's why."
"Is it really so terrible for you?" Edd asks, setting what's left of the salad aside, "To stop doing those inappropriate things to me?"
Terry sighs, lowering the quarter remnant of the sandwich.
"I don't want to talk about this," he asserts, rubbing his forehead as he places the burger on the bedside table.
"I want to know," Edd presses, turning to him, "Why is the idea of just…being so horrible to you?"
"Maybe I don't like 'just being'," Terry retorts, glaring at him out of the corner of his eye, "Maybe I don't know how to 'be'." He sighs, moving on to rubbing his temples. "At least not with someone else."
"What do you mean by that?"
The question makes Terry groan in frustration. He doesn't want to keep going with this…
"What do you want me to say?" he demands, "I've spent most of my fuckin' life gettin' by — just goin' day by day and doin' whatever I can to make it through an otherwise dull existence. And sex or masturbation just so happens to be the best way I've found to pass the time and forget about all that."
Edd pouts, back at him, his brow furrowed; "You told me it was for…intimate reasons? To feel closer to someone."
"It can be both, Princess," Terry sighs, "Look, I dunno why this is suddenly so goddamn interesting to you, but I'm not in the mood to deal with it anymore. I've had a long day and all I wanna do is relax."
"B-But…"
Rather than let him finish, Terry shoves the grocery bag at him. Before anything else, he also checks to ensure his keys are securely in his pocket.
"There," he grumbles, turning away, "Play with those." He lies on his side, ignoring as best he can the jabbing of his keys against his thigh. "And don't bother me."
With that, he closes his eyes, prepared to drift off into an irritable sleep to avoid any more of Edd's frustrating questions. This isn't what he was expecting when he came home. He anticipated coming home, giving Edd his little present and receiving a little affection in return. But no. He almost wishes he could've stayed at work. At least then, he wouldn't be dealing with this bullshit. He only hopes giving Edd a bit of the cold shoulder will make him feel as shitty as he's feeling right now. |
Phil goes home Friday night solidly drunk and not at all reassured, sleeps it off and doesn't wake up feeling that much better. No hangover, thank god – his friends pressed enough food and water on him to save him from that fate – but his mind is still unsettled and he has yet to land on a solution to his problems.
He spends the remainder of the weekend quietly freaking out. He refuses to acknowledge the many, many texts of both one Nicolas Fury, Superintendent, and one Melinda May, Principal. He understands their concern – Phil is an employee of the school, Kate is a student – he could seriously fuck this up if he's not careful; destroy his career and his reputation and his future, not to mention that of the school itself.
Stupid.
He should forget this whole thing ever happened, forget about Kate, forget about Clint, and yet he...
He can't.
It's stupid and it's self-destructive and it hurts, but he can't forget.
Fifteen years, and he hasn't been able to forget a moment.
He gets a haircut.
Has Lola washed and waxed.
Picks out his very best suit and his favorite tie and spends a whole ten minutes staring at himself in the mirror, at the gnarled, ropey scar that crosses his chest and very nearly obliterates the tattoo he'd had put on over his heart the day he'd been accepted into the Rangers.
Dark purple ink, an American Eagle in flight, but only at first glance.
No, a hawk, wings outstretched, an arrow clutched in its talons.
Less than half of it is left now.
Swallowing hard, he slips his shirt on and buttons it up over the mess, the mostly-disconnected strikes and slashes of color still sunk deep into the skin.
Monday.
New week, new opportunity.
He could do this.
He arrives at the school half an hour before even he needs to be there. Unfortunately, he's still not early enough – Melinda May sits in her tough, sensible little Honda in the parking spot next to his, waiting for him. He makes a point of ignoring her as he gets out, the hair on the back of his neck standing straight up what with the way she's staring at him, cataloguing every little tic and tell she likely knows better than anyone.
"Expecting someone?" she asks coolly as they let themselves in the employee entrance and head down the empty, echoing hallways toward the front lobby.
"I wouldn't be surprised if Miss Barton's father comes storming in this morning," he says tightly, straightening his tie, and unbearably obvious tell. "I didn't make the best of first impressions."
"Hoping or dreading?"
Phil doesn't answer, but Mel just squeezes his shoulder and splits off from him, heading to her office on the left side of the administration suite and leaving him to his on the right. It's quite obvious that she hadn't been expecting a response, but he doesn't have the energy or the brainpower to worry about her passive-aggressive disapproval.
He's too busy trying to decide for himself if he's hoping or dreading Kate Barton's arrival in his office with her father.
Closing his office door behind him, he drops his briefcase onto the floor beside his desk – empty from when he'd left in a mess on Friday. He gets his computer booted up, opens the blinds and drapes his suit jacket over the back of his chair, breathes through the clang of the first bell as students begin to trudge in and waits.
For what exactly he isn't sure, but it never comes.
AVAVA
America is waiting for her at the edge of campus, right where she'd promised she would be. As her dad makes to turn into the long roundabout where all the parents are dropping off their kids, Kate tugs on the hem of his jacket – a heavy linen flak jacket – and points off to the left where she's standing near the SHIELD Public School sign. They're early so there aren't a ton of people there yet, aren't a ton of cars, so it's easy enough for him to pull over and let her off before they get anywhere near the building – exactly as she'd planned. Hopping off, she tucks her helmet away in the pannier, presses a kiss to the cold plastic face-guard of her dad's, and hurries away before he can stop her, before he can ask again if she's sure she's alright.
She is – at least she thinks she is – but she's still not ready to share her suspicions.
"Hey!" America greets gently as Kate comes walking up, swooping in on her with a surprise hug that's warm and sure and wonderful before it's over. "You ok?"
"I don't even know," Kate laughs, but it's a lighter laugh than before, less pained, less... complicated. "I..."
"Come on," America murmurs, and then she's taking Kate's hand in hers and tugging her up the sidewalk toward the school.
As they turn to take the steps up to the main entrance Kate's eye is caught by a flash a bright red and she hangs back, pauses to stare. There's a car at the end of the line of cars, on the faculty side of the lot that she'd never seen there before, a bright red car all sleek and shiny, and oh god, she knows that car.
That's a 1962 Corvette.
She's sure of it.
Swallowing hard, she shakes her head at America, who's waiting silently, and follows her inside, into the half-empty school and down the quiet hallways. The hair on the back of her neck is standing straight up as they pass the Principals' Offices and her steps quicken, and her shoulders don't relax until America pulls her into the Library and guides her to the furthest row of shelves, all the way to the back where there are reading chairs and a small table, where they're hidden from view of anyone who might come to the library before class.
They're barely seated when the whole sordid tale comes tumbling out of her.
What happened in AP Coulson's office.
What happened that summer fifteen years ago.
Everything her dad has ever told her about... well, about her dad.
America listens quietly and even though Kate is practically shaking by the time her story's over, she doesn't react, doesn't sneer of scoff or... anything. It's nothing like what happened back in Iowa at her old school, nothing like the way her friends and classmates responded when they found out her father was a single omega, her uncle a drunken felon.
America just listens.
Then, when It's done, instead of pulling away or asking again if she's alright – god Kate's so over that question! – she asks something else instead.
"So what do we do first?"
Kate doesn't have to fake her relief. She practically lunges across the space between them, her turn for a surprise hung, but she doesn't even register the blush on America's cheeks as she digs her notebook out of her backpack.
"I just... it's stupid to freak out when I'm not sure, you know?" she babbles, paging through to the list she's been working on. "I need to be sure. Then I can figure out what I'm gonna do, if I'm gonna... I mean, how I'm gonna..."
"It's ok." America's hand covers Kates and she looks up to find the other girl staring at her softly, lips quirked. "First things first. I've never heard anyone say AP Coulson's first name, but I know where we can find a yearbook."
AVAVA
Phil's a mess by the time lunch rolls around. He hasn't gotten any work done all day, hasn't made any of his phone calls or reviewed the proposal for the new engineering group on his desk or anything. To be truthful he's done little more than pace around the small room, peer fitfully out the window, and scribble nonsense notes on spare bits of paper.
He'd been sure Clint Barton would come storming in, either oblivious and angry, shocked and angry, or... something else and angry.
It's how Phil would feel, if Clint had left him without a goodbye.
The fact that Phil had left him pregnant, well, that probably just adds hate to the mix and that...
That kinda breaks his heart.
He'd never expected to see Clint again, after all the time he'd spent looking for him. Once he'd gotten out of the Rangers he'd tracked Carson's Carnival down, flown out to Arkansas and interrogated every carnie he could, but not a one of them would speak about the archer who'd left them high and dry. Even with all his connections Phil hadn't been able to find him, and after a year and a half of searching he'd given up.
Never stopped loving the boy he'd fallen in love with, but... stopped looking.
Stopped hoping.
Now, he's faced with the prospect of actually getting what he'd wanted so badly for so long and having it all thrown back in his face, having Clint come storming back into his life, rail him out, and leave again, taking his jacket, his heart, and his daughter with him.
But Clint never comes.
"Doesn't make sense," he mutters to himself, half bitterness, half anger of his own.
Melinda shoots him a glare from across the little lobby where she's leaning over the desk speaking with his secretary, but Phil ignores her and keeps walking. This is his school, his routine, and he can't allow a little fear to completely throw him. Maybe Clint hadn't shown up, maybe he was just as confused as Phil, but he'd been sure, sure that at the very least young Kate would present herself to him at some point during the morning, if only out of sheer curiosity.
Surely she doesn't hate him too?
Phil scoffs, scowls at himself.
This is counterproductive and just plain silly, waffling like, well, like a teenage girl. He doesn't really know anything about all this and all the scenarios, the two hundred and fifty-three scenarios he can think of just off the top of his head, are guesswork plain and simple.
He has work to do.
Phil has always taken more of a hands-on approach to teaching (and principaling) than what he remembers from his own high school days. The way he sees it, he needs to be more than just the dreaded, shadowy figure of authority if he wants to make a difference. Get to know these kids, to talk to them, you realize just how much potential they have, to become something or not. A kind word, a guiding hand, a role model can make the difference between a young life lost to poor decisions or terrible circumstances and one that goes on to change the world.
Trawling the cafeteria during lunch period had always been his habit. It gives him facetime with his students, better enables him to spot problems before they happen, allows him to mediate and encourage and offer his attention. He's hit by the overwhelming scent of cumin – it's Taco Day – and is immediately hailed by several groups of students.
Offering a mild wave, he starts making his rounds.
He so determined to focus and keep his mind of off Kate, he doesn't realize his mistake until he's practically on top of her and her group of friends.
"Principal Coulson!"
Forcing a smile, one that feels far too tight, he turns back to the little cluster of teenagers he'd instinctively turned his back on and straightens his tie.
"Miss Lang," he returns, far more calmly than he feels before offering the rest of them a nod – the Kaplan brothers, America Chavez, and of course Kate Barton. "Enjoying your lunch?"
He receives a chorus of middling replies and all seems well, but for Kate Barton who is staring at him with dark, intense eyes like she's trying to memorize his face, trying to... read him.
"Miss Barton," he hears himself say, before he means to or even realizes that he will. "I'd like to apologize again for our encounter on Friday. For... running a bit late."
Kate tilts her head and oh god, he recognizes that gesture, chews her lip and shrugs, the shoulders of her jacket, his jacket, black and glossy like it hadn't been before. It looks brand new, or at least fifteen years newer, the pins gleaming along the sleeve and his heart thumps against his ribs.
"It's fine," she mumbles, before squaring those shoulders, thrusting out her jaw, and looking him dead in the eye. "Everybody runs late. It was Tommy's fault anyway."
"Hey!"
The tension is lost for a moment while the group cheers and jeers, ribs on Tommy while he laughs and throws his arm around Kate's waist in a forgiving hug.
"Hey AP, you got any candy?" Cassie Lang asks, smile bright and sly. "Pretty please?"
Phil offers her a wry grin in return but reaches into his pocket anyway, brings out a handful of the wrapped hard candies he likes to carry and drops them into her cupped palms. She quickly passes them around and the crinkle of cellophane is intensely loud, even as a whiff of root beer hits him over that of the spicy beef smell of the cafeteria
"Mmm, thank you sir!" Cassie smiles. "Still not gonna tell us what this stuff is?"
Phil opens his mouth to deny her, but Kate beats him to it.
"It's horehound," she says coolly, even though she hasn't unwrapped her piece, is just twirling it between her fingers. Lifting her chin once more, she stares at him with a challenge so clear it hits him in the chest like a wrecking ball. "You get it at the circus, only it comes in sticks and you suck it to stop your throat getting scratchy."
He can't breathe.
He just stands there like an idiot, staring at her, knowing, knowing that he was right.
"Very good Miss Barton," he finally manages, licking his lips. Nodding to the group, he doesn't drop her gaze. "Enjoy your afternoon."
Turning on his heel, he scrapes up the very last of his calm and uses it to stop himself from fleeing the room at a dead run. |
After eight months on the road, they were so happy to be home. They’d all gotten homesick after the first month. By the second, they’d been video calling their parents every day. Mitch absolutely loved it, he’d gotten closer to his son in the months since Emily’s death than he had been in the first fifteen years of his life. It broke his heart that Emily wasn’t there to experience it too.
At least now though, Luke had opened up to him completely. About his music, Julie, his never ending sadness over Emily’s death. It was as if he’d gained a best friend in his son and that was a gift he’d never thought to ask for, and one he’d never return.
In turn, Mitch had opened up to Luke about his own feelings and grief. About his thoughts on Luke pursuing music, and most of all, how proud he was of his son and how proud he was sure Emily was. He explained to Luke that he always felt her presence even though she was gone. How he smelled her perfume all the time, and heard her voice in the moments between wakefulness and sleep. That it brought him more comfort than anything else.
Robert and Jason were so proud of both of their kids. Flynn who had decided at eight that she was going to be the driving force behind her best friend's success. Who never took no for an answer and never stopped going until she got what she wanted.
She had exceeded all of their dreams for her, including her own. Being the youngest ever member of the Destiny management team, having a position created just for her because her friends were so loyal that they refused to grow without her. Friends who had brought her on stage and created a space for her where there was none only to be able to experience it all together.
Alex, who had come to them a little over a year ago and had absolutely blossomed in his self confidence. He was secure and proud of who he was, proud of the blossoming relationship with his boyfriend. That was all they had wanted for him and boy had they got what they wanted.
He no longer hid his relationship, and had to be told about the no closed door policy multiple times while Willie was over. Flynn hadn’t fared much better in that respect either. Alex was a regular teenager with enough confidence and trust in Robert and Jason to test their resolve on all the different rules of their family.
It was as Robert was teaching him the proper way to do laundry that he had called him dad for the first time. When Jason was discovering that Alex had a talent for cooking and he had asked “Dad, can you pass the flour?” all in the space of a day that they realized exactly how monumental the moment was.
The Molina’s had experienced a similar moment with Reggie. He was sixteen and so Rose and Ray never even thought about the possibility that he’d come to see them as his parents too. They’d been mistaken, as the night of their final show as an opening act Reggie sat them down as a family for a conversation that had been long overdue.
“I just wanted to talk to all of you for a second. I’ll tell Carlos about it in the morning.” Reggie said with a smile. The five year old was down for the night but Reggie suspected he’d be extremely happy, if his tendency to reach for Reggie regardless of who was in the room was anything to go by.
He sat on the coffee table, facing the couch where Julie sat between Rose and Ray, their arms around her and their others on each of Reggie’s knees.
“Sure,
mijo.
Anything you need.” Ray said and Reggie smiled wider.
“So this is going to sound a little...weird? But it’s how I feel and I just want you all to know.” He took a deep breath and continued on.
“So, I’ve kind of thought of you guys as my family since, well, forever. I’ve been calling you Mom and Dad in my head since I was like ten. I always kind of wished you’d been my parents instead so I guess my question here is would it be okay if I called you that, like outside of my head?” Reggie’s voice got quieter as he spoke, his shoulders slumped and curved inward towards his body. He looked back up to Julie.
“Jules, would that be okay with you?” He asked. Julie had teared up while he was talking but launched herself into his arms as she nodded and hugged him close.
“I’ve always considered you my brother, now it’s official. Hell yeah it’s okay with me!” She giggled into his ear and then pulled back to give her parents the time to answer.
“Reggie…’ Rose’s voice was soft, her eyes full of tears as she reached out and took his hand. She pulled him forward so he was closer to her and reached up to cup his cheeks, looking him in the eye.
“I’ve always considered you my son. I would absolutely love it if you called me mom.” She tugged him forward and into her arms. Reggie swore he felt his heart grow three sizes.
“
Mijo
, have we ever done anything that would lead you to believe that we’d ever
not
want that?” Ray asked gently, his hand squeezing Reggie’s knee, he shook his head in answer.
Now all four of them were crying and clutching each other. The beginning of a new family made all the better because Rose and Ray had always considered Reggie their own. He went to sleep that night feeling more secure in his family than he’d ever felt.
While he laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling, with a wide smile stretching his face, that he’d make it his mission to make his new family's life that much easier. He started that morning when he printed a form from the LA county courthouse. A petition to legally change his name.
The day after they arrived home, the kids were seated around the Molina’s kitchen table. Ray was holding an envelope in his hand. Robert, Jason, and Mitch were seated on one side while the kids sat on the other.
“This is the check for the tour. Brendon arranged for you to get five percent of the ticket sales. We haven’t looked at it yet and before we do there are decisions that need to be made.” Ray started.
“For example, how you're going to be splitting the profits and how much your manager is going to get. In this case it would be split between Flynn and Destiny management. The usual agreement is ten percent of gross income for the manager.” Robert stated.
“So we actually already talked about it. We all decided that we want Flynn to get twenty percent. The four of us will split the rest evenly. Can we give ten percent to Destiny and twenty to Flynn? We also want to pay Willie for all of his help as well, so ten percent for him too.” Luke spoke for all of them, a conversation they’d spent hours having already.
Flynn gasped next to them and shot out of her chair to wrap her arms around the four members of Sunset Curve. The usual payment for a manager was ten percent. Instead they were giving that ten percent to Destiny management and another twenty to her. She didn’t even know how she’d handle that. What she’d even do with money like that.
“Very good. That makes my job easier. So when you signed on with Destiny, the ten percent was already included in the contract so that’s a given. We’ve already opened accounts in all of your names. We’ll deposit the check today. These are for you.” Robert pulled out five cards from his pocket and handed them out. One for each of the members of Sunset Curve.
“Are you guys ready for your first check?” Rose asked as she sntached the envelope out of Ray’s hand.
They nodded eagerly and watched as Rose tore it open. She pulled it out and her eyes went wide.
“Wow.” She said as she tilted the rectangular paper in Ray’s direction for him to see. They watched as his eyes went wide too, he took it out of her hand and turned it towards Robert who chuckled and shook his head, he was in disbelief.
“Hello! We’re dying here!” Julie shouted from her place under Flynn’s arm.
Robert laughed and then turned it around so they could make out the six digits staring them in the face. Check payable to: Ray Molina. In the amount of: Five Hundred Thousand Dollars. Memo: To be paid to the members of Sunset Curve.
“Holy shit!” Reggie screeched.
“That’s- What? That’s…” Luke had his hands clutching his hair, his face getting steadily redder.
“We’re rich!” Julie giggled and shot out of her chair, grabbing Flynn’s hands as they danced around the table.
“Not rich but totally getting there.” Alex said. He took his phone to text Willie a picture of the check. Informing him that there would be an account setup for him as well for his percentage.
They went to the bank shortly after where Ray opened another account for Willie and had the check deposited into everyone's accounts. It was the first time any of them would have their own money to spend. Of course the parents would be monitoring the accounts but otherwise, they were allowed to make their own choices with it. They’d decided that aside from small purchases, they’d let the money sit.
Two days after coming home, Trevor picked the kids up for their first day in the studio. It took three cars to get the five adults and eight kids to the studio. Everyone wanted to be there to watch them record their debut album.
It was a culmination of all of their struggles. They poured every ounce of their souls, their pain, their trauma, into the songs that would be included on the album, titled
100 Bad Days.
A name chosen by Flynn and Willie.
“It sums up the story of the album pretty well.” Willie had said and they had wholeheartedly agreed.
Flynn then positioned herself and Willie at a table in the far corner when she laid out samples of album covers she loved and he presented the ones he did. By the end of it, they had a pretty great concept.
Willie would help Flynn create the Jacket Julie would wear. Leather and bedazzled all over with the Sunset Curve logo made up entirely of crystals in the back. It would fade from yellow to orange to red creating an actual sunset. Underneath she’d be wearing one of Rose’s original designs. Bright purple and poofy enough to be a prom dress but tasteful enough to be considered couture.
The boys would be dressed in fitted suits with a rockstar edge. Luke in navy blue and studded throughout. Reggie would be in a red suit with black butterflies stitched intermittently throughout. Finally, Alex would be in a powder pink and black suit. She’d gotten everything from a local thrift shop and with Willie’s artistic eye, she was confident they’d be able to make it look amazing.
Julie would be front and center, her jacket facing the camera where the logo would be in place of pride and her face turned towards the camera. Luke, Alex, and Reggie would be behind her, jumping up and clutching their instruments and in Alex’s case, his drum sticks. She’d have Willie draw up a promo image to get their approval but she was pretty sure they’d love it.
While Julie, Luke, Reggie, and Alex went into the recording booth and situated themselves around their instruments, everyone else sat one the couches to watch Trevor and the producers work.
Ten songs would be included on the album, telling a story as the listener went through the songs:
The last track was a surprise for everyone assembled. It was written on tour by all four of them, practiced in secret soundproofed rooms. No one except Trevor knew about it.
Flynn recorded five second videos to post to the Sunset Curve instagram, a teaser for their fans of what was to come. If their reactions were anything to go by, they might end up going platinum soon after release. Flynn wouldn’t be surprised.
While they recorded and re-recorded snippets and sound bites, Rose would step in and give them tips and advice on the way they should tweak their runs, or their instruments. She ended up doing it for the entire album and therefore earned herself a producer credit.
Finally, it was time for the final song after Trevor and everyone else signed off on the rest.
“So none of you have heard this song yet. We kind of wanted it that way, so...Surprise?” Reggie spoke to the gathered crowd behind the soundproof glass.
Everyone held up matching thumbs up and happy smiles so he turned back to the band and nodded to Alex to count them in. Alex’s drums brought them in with Reggie’s bass cushioning it. Finally Luke joined in on the guitar and Julie took over the first verse.
First things first
I'ma say all the words inside my head
I'm fired up and tired of the way that things have been, oh-ooh
The way that things have been, oh-ooh
She felt aggressive, like a badass who took no shit from anyone. This song made her feel powerful and the fact that it was written by all four of them fed into that feeling. Her lip curled as she sang into the mic, her voice rasping and hitting the high notes like that was exactly what she was meant to do. And it was, it was exactly everything she ever wanted.
Second thing second
Don't you tell me what you think that I could be
I'm the one at the sail, I'm the master of my sea, oh-ooh
The master of my sea, oh-ooh
Reggie took over for his verse and these lyrics, the ones that he felt came directly from the essence of his soul, made him feel like a god. He had no one telling him what he should or could be. Instead, as he sang, he looked over to Ray and Rose who were beaming with pride and nodding along to the beat. He had felt like humpty dumpty when they’d taken him for the first time and somehow they’d taken his broken pieces and put them back together and now they fit better than they ever had before.
I was broken from a young age
Taking my sulking to the masses
Writing my poems for the few
That look at me, took to me, shook to me, feeling me
Singing from heartache from the pain
Taking my message from the veins
Speaking my lesson from the brain
Seeing the beauty through the…
Singing this particular verse felt like blood letting to Luke. Like he’d sliced himself open and let his entire being bleed out. He was exposing himself more than he’d ever done and that was saying something, seeing as most of his songs were that way. It lifted a weight off of him though, to put these words to paper and then to the studio. He hoped his words would do the same for everyone who’d be listening to this album.
Pain!
You made me a, you made me a believer, believer
Pain!
You break me down and build me up, believer, believer
Pain!
Oh, let the bullets fly, oh, let them rain
My life, my love, my drive, it came from...
Pain!
You made me a, you made me a believer, believer
All four of them took over for the chorus and as their voices blended, ebbing and flowing with the beat, it connected them. More than they’d ever thought they were. If they’d considered each other soulmates before, it was proven now. Luke could almost make out a faint glow around them, a trick of the light, surely, but there just the same. When his eyes passed over to where his dad was standing, for a split second, he saw his mother standing next to him. Smiling as wide as he’d ever seen. When he blinked, she was gone.
Third things third
Send a prayer to the ones up above
All the hate that you've heard
Has turned your spirit to a dove, oh-ooh
Your spirit up above, oh-ooh
Alex brought the bridge in and as he sang his own lyrics into the mic it hit him. This was it. They’d made it, their dreams were laid out for them to touch and it felt as freeing as it did when he walked out of his parents house for the last time. He made eye contact with Willie who was just about bursting with pride. Everything he needed, all of the people he loved were right behind the glass and in the room with him. He’d never felt safer in his life.
I was chokin' in the crowd
Building my rain up in the cloud
Falling like ashes to the ground
Hoping my feelings, they would drown
But they never did, ever lived, ebbin' and flowin'
Inhibited, limited 'til it broke open and rained down
It rained down, like…
Julie brought in the next verse, the symmetry of her both beginning and ending the song felt predestined. It was a beautiful moment, one she’d look back on over the years of her life as the moment it all fell into place. Her purpose, their purpose. The talent they’d been given as a whole. It all felt like magic and she knew down in her bones, that this would be the song that connected them to their fans.
Last things last
By the grace of the fire and the flames
You're the face of the future
The blood in my veins, oh-ooh
The blood in my veins, oh-ooh
Alex took over and let his voice reach a new note that it hadn’t before making the rest of them turn to look at him with a note of wonder on their faces before they broke into giant smiles.
But they never did, ever lived, ebbin' and flowin'
Inhibited, limited 'til it broke open and rained down
It rained down, like…
Luke finished the final verse and then all four of them crashed in to repeat the chorus twice before the song faded out on a final
oh-ooh.
All in their high head voices.
Twelve hours later, exhausted, sweaty, and with sore throats they exited the studio and made their way to a diner across the street where thirteen loud and boisterous people sat around a table and ate greasy fried food and toasted with almost flat soda to their future Grammy nominations.
|
“Why are we here, why aren’t we rescuing Simon?” Clary screeched as they walked into the institute. `
“It’s night, we can’t attack the vampires then,” Jace calmly explained to her.
“Why not, why are shadowhunters so much better than them we need to get Simon!”
Jace put his hand on Clary’s shoulder. “Listen, I know you just lost your best friend,” he said. “But we have to wait until daylight because if they follow us when we get him, out they’ll burn. We just have to wait.”
They walk to the computers, Jace keeping his hand on Clary’s shoulder. Alec and Izzy share a look.
“Why did you leave Simon?” Clary said. She angrily turned to Izzy who put her hands up in defense.
“How would I have known that vampires were there, I heard something and left the van to go check it out, and when I came back Simon was gone.”
“Also, there’s some truth to the idea that human beings should have a minimum of sense,” said Alec.
“Alec, it’s not Simon’s fault, and it’s not our either,” Izzy said.
Alec shrugged. He honestly didn't care about Simon like they all did, he just wants to rescue him because the vampires broke the Accords.
“What we need to do is find the cup before Valentine or anyone else can,” continued Alec. “That should be our top priority, not rescuing the mundane.”
“The cup is just a cup, Simon is a life,” argued Clary.
Alec turned and glared at her. “If your father gets the cup he will be able to create an army of shadowhunters and destroy every downworlder.”
“We have to report to the clave we have to tell them what we’ve learned about Valentine," Alec said.
“What that he’s my father,” said Clary.
“Alec what is your obsession with the clave,” asked Jace.
Alec walked closer to Jace.
“I don’t have one, I’m just trying to keep us safe.”
Clary stepped in between them and turned to Jace excitedly.
“What if we trade Simon for the cup?” She asked as she bounced on her heels.
“What? No! Did you not listen to anything I just said?” Alec asked. This mundane girl was really starting to get on his nerves.
“Don’t you want new shadowhunters?”
“Does this really not matter to you enough that’d you risk the lives of millions of people,” Alec said harshly. His eyes blazed with anger and Clary flinched back.
“Alec calm down, you know that’s not what she meant, she’s just worried for her friend,” said Jace. He put his hand on Alec’s shoulder.
“What are you, her spokesperson?”
“Stop talking about me like I’m not here!” yelled the mundane. “I can’t become a Shadowhunter in one night, and I just lost my mom and best friend and was thrust into a world that I don’t know anything about. Stop talking to me like I’m a child!”
Alec felt a twinge of sympathy for her. He knew he should be treating her nicely but he was in over his head in this.
“Boys, you need to stop fighting,” said Izzy. “We’ll get the cup, we’ll save Simon, and the downworlders will be okay.”
Jace laughed and turned to her.
“Yeah I know you really want them to stay alive.”
Izzy fake gasped and put her hand on her chest.
“Um,” said Clary. They all turned to look at her. “What exactly is a downworlders.”
“A downworlders is someone with demon blood; it can be a seelie, a vampire, a werewolf, a warlock, or a bunch of other things” explained Alec.
“You know you explaining that to me was the nicest you’ve been to me since I got here.”
Alec rolled his eyes and was about to walk away when he heard what Jace said next.
“Downworlders are a slave to their emotions.”
Izzy opened her mouth to start telling Jace off, but Alec started to first.
“That’s not true, they’re like us, except with demon blood instead of angel blood. We’re no better or worse than them, and if you keep saying things like that you’re going to sound like mom.”
They all stared at him in bewilderment, and Alec realized how he must look: the perfect firstborn wildly defending downworlders and insulting his mom.
“I- I mean,” he started.
“No man it’s cool, I was being an ass.” Jace clapped him on the shoulder and he and Clary shook it off, but Izzy looked at Alec in a way he couldn’t decipher. Alec quickly looked away from her.
“Why does Izzy care about them staying alive more?” asked Clary.
Alec smirked, “It’s her seelie boyfriend, it’s kind of her thing.”
“Well we’ve all got our things, don’t we,” Izzy said as she smiled sweetly.
Alec didn’t dignify that with a response.
“Well, we need to get Simon, before we get the cup,” said Jace.
“Well we’re going to need weapons, and we can’t let anybody see us getting them,” Alec said.
“Then let’s go to the cemetery.”
They all walked out the institute doors leaving a confused Clary trailing behind them wondering what a cemetery has to do with getting weapons.
They got into the mundanes car and Alec grimaced at the smell, even after years of fighting demons this car was one of the worst things he has ever smelled.
Izzy pulls out a tablet she stole from the institute when they get to the cemetery.
“So who’s grave is it?”
She tapped something on the tablet and smiled. “Mary Mulligan, born 1802 died 1807, Shadowhunter weapons in her tomb.
“Why are there weapons in a churchyard?” asked Clary.
“Well, all the ancient religions recognized the existence of demons, or at least they used to.”
“Yeah then they forgot because we did such a good job of protecting them, typical mundane failure of imagination.”
Alec walked into the cool air of them cemetery and looked around. The fog dusting the gravestones led to an almost picturesque scene and he wished he had Magnus’ camera to capture the moment.
“Where should we look first?” asked Clary, squaring her shoulders back.
“Probably the most obvious places, Alec go check out all the angel statues,” declared Jace.
Alec listened and went to go look for one, he lost them in the mist and decided to pull out his phone to text Magnus: I need to talk to you later, I promise it’s not bad it’s just about Izzy
He stuck his phone back in his pocket when he heard Clary and Jace’s voices getting closer, he felt it buzz but it was too risky to check it. Alec quickly checked the name on the nearest angel statue and to his relief it read Mary Mulligan. He watched Clary and Jace laugh and talk to each other, drawing so much attention to themselves when they were already on risky business.
“Jace, come over here,” Alec called as he waved his arm. When Jace arrived he pulled him in and said: “we’re crossing a line into vamp territory, you know that, right?”
Jace laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Yeah man that’s kind of the point.”
“Damn it Jace have you thought this through, you don’t even like this guy.”
Jace scoffed, “Just because I don’t like his doesn’t mean I want him to be killed by vampires.”
Alec glared at Jace. “This isn’t about the mundane, okay, this is about Clary. Are you really so desperate to get laid that you’d risk killing us.”
Jace stepped back, looking offended. “There’s so much wrong in that that was wrong that I’m just going to pretend I didn’t hear it.”
Jace turned to walk away but Alec grabbed his arm and spun him back around.
“That’s the thing,” Alec said, “You aren’t listening, not to me or anyone else, but you’re listening to this girl that you barely know.”
“Is this about her being Valentine’s daughter.”
“No, it’s that she doesn’t know what she’s walking into and she’s never going to learn if you keep blindly following her.”
Before Jace could respond Alec called Clary over to the tomb and blew the dust off the plaque.
“Mary Mulligan,” she breathed.
“Abra cadabra,” mumbled Jace as he pushed the lid off.
“You people actually say that?” she questioned.
“What? No,” said Alec.
The lid came off and parts of it cracked off when it hit the ground. Alec was too distracted to care as he noticed his newest dilemma; there was no bow in there.
He reached out of it to tell Jace when he was met with Clary nearly cutting his nose off with a seraph blade.
“Woah, you don’t know how to use that,” Alec cautioned her.
She smirked at him, “Like how I didn’t know how to use it at Pandemonium.”
He glared, “That was pure adrenaline, this is an actual battle, for you at least. Anyway, that’s not what I was going to say,” Alec cleared his throat and looked back in the tomb once more, coming up with nothing. “I was going to say there’s no bow here.”
“Then go get one from the institute, just be quick,” responded Jace, who didn’t seem to really care as he was getting up in Clary’s personal space.
Alec had a better idea than going to the institute, he could go to Magnus. The trek from the cemetery wasn’t that long, and from the cemetery it was on the way to the institute. Alec let himself in, and was greeted to Magnus, lying on the couch, watching one of the mundane shows he loves in purple silk pajamas. It was a nice sight.
“Hello Alexander,” Magnus said distractedly, immersed in the show.
“Hi Mags, I have to talk to you about something, it’s about Izzy.”
Magnus shut the tv off and sat up, cat eye’s sparkling. Alec sat on the couch next to him and took Magnus’ hands in his, marveling over the way they are so smooth compared to his scarred ones.
“I want to tell Izzy that we’re dating, she already knows I’m dating and she’s in a weird relationship with that seelie so I know she won’t mind,” Alec rushed out.
“I think you should tell her too,” Magnus replied.
“Wait what?”
Magnus laughed, and rubbed Alec’s hands. “I think you should tell her too, we’ve been dating for quite a while, we might as well tell the people we trust. Besides,” Magnus said with a glimmer in his eyes, “The people I tell might not bother the institute of they know they’ll have to face my wrath.”
Alec smiled and cupped Magnus’ face and leaned in to kiss him, a proper one, that lasted for quite a while. That is, until he remembered he was supposed to be doing something.
“Oh shit,” he said as he pulled away. Magnus looked at him curiously.
“I was supposed to be getting my bow from the institute,” he explained. He looked at the clock and saw that it had been an hour since he got here. Alec really didn’t want to leave, but he didn’t want Jace to get suspicious.
Magnus saw his panicked face and quickly put him at ease. “Don’t worry, I’ll get some bow and arrows out for you, I’ll even get your quiver.”
Alec quirked an eyebrow, “Aren’t there wards meant to prevent people accessing it from outside?”
“Oh darling, I made those wards I know how to get past them,” with a flick of his wrist blue magic surrounded his hands, and seemingly from nowhere, Alec’s bow and arrows appeared in his hands.
“This whole ‘enchanted to appear at will thing’ isn’t really true when you still have to go physically go get your bow and arrows from the armory. Remind me to fix that, will you?”
“Okay Mags.”
“Think of me when you shoot your arrows,” Magnus said suggestively as he handed them to Alec. Alec turned rather red at that.
“And to save you the stress, I’ll make a portal for you, where do you need it to be?”
“Oh you don’t have to do that-“
“I want to,” Magnus interrupted. “Where do you need to go.”
Alec was about to give him the name of the cemetery, when he felt his phone buzz. Quickly checking it, he saw that Izzy wanted him to go to the Hotel Dumort.
“The Hotel Dumort.”
Magnus grimaced. “That’s where the clan Camille runs is.”
Alec cringed too, he’s heard all about Camille from Magnus and didn’t particularly want to see her.
“It’s not all bad though,” Magnus continued, “There is a lovely vampire there named Raphael. You’d like him.”
Alec laughed, “seeing as I’m about to go on an illegal mission there, I don’t think our meeting is going to go so well.”
“Hopefully you’ll get along later.”
Alec stuffed his phone in his pocket and watched in fascination as Magnus summoned a portal to the hotel.
He gave Magnus one last lingering kiss and right before he stepped through the portal Magnus said something.
“You know Alec, you’re not in Jace’s shadow, you’re not in anybody’s shadow. You’re your own beam of light.”
Alec smiled at him and stepped through the swirling portal which dropped him near the Hotel Dumort. Alec always loved Magnus’ advice, even if sometimes it had no correlation to what was happening. Following the instructions Izzy gave him he eventually found her looking bored.
“Izzy, I got your text, where are we exactly.”
She smiled and turned to him, “It’s an old meat packers service entrance, if we go there,” she pointed to a hallway with a ladder at the end,” We’ll come up in the basement.”
“Okay,” Alec replied offhandedly, looking at the metal walls all around them. Izzy wasn’t okay with that.
‘Okay? It was hard work getting this intel.”
Alec looked her up and down, spotting the glitter all over her dress.
“Great job Izzy,” he replied sarcastically. “You have fairy dust on your dress. I hate being the distraction.”
“I don’t, and Alec? You’d be a lot happier if you weren’t so repressed. Alec?”
Alec ignored her, until he told her about Magnus she wouldn’t know what she was talking about. He kept looking around, bored out of his mind until he needs to be the distraction.
“Hello?” she called, drawing out the “o”.
He walked down the hallway towards the ladder and Izzy catched
“You really aren’t going to talk to me are you?” she asked
“Actually, you know what, I am.” Alec turned to Izzy who looked shocked. He takes a deep breath to steady himself then blurts out: “I’m dating Magnus Bane.”
Silence, then, “Oh. My. God. Tell me everything!” She jumped up and squealed, looking very much like a school girl. Alec blushed and looked down at the ground, rather embarrassed. He loves his sister but she was a little too loud and eager sometimes.
“It started like 6 months ago, I didn’t know how to tell you, so I just told you now.”
“It sucks that we’ve got to do this right now,” she said and pointed a finger at Alec. “But you are going to tell me all the juicy details later, promise.”
“Promise.”
“Good.” Izzy turned and climbed up the ladder and muttered, “Everything looks pretty smooth so far.”
They get to the basement and Izzy opened a door, exclaiming, “This must be the way.” The door opened onto a bunch of vampires, who immediately try to get in as Izzy and Alec slam the door shut. Alec fumbled to get his stele out while they push the door close.
“Any day now big brother,” Izzy called with her back against the door.
“Yeah well if you hold the door still it might be a lot easier.” Alec managed to get his stele out but when he tried to draw the locking rune, it wouldn’t work.
“Izzy, the rune isn’t taking.”
“I’ve got this.”
Izzy grabbed an arrow out of Alec’s quiver and sliced the piping with it, locking the door by putting the piping through the handle.
“Whoever said the pen is mightier than the sword is an idiot,” she quipped, flipping her hair.
“When you’re right, you’re right.” Alec shrugged and went to stand next to Izzy in the middle of the room. He notched an arrow in his bow so he was prepared to shoot at any moment. The vampires banged on the door, the metallic clanging echoing throughout the room.
“You know Alec,” Izzy began in a sing-song voice, “Now that we aren’t doing anything you can tell me more about your boyfriend.”
“This really isn’t the time,” Alec said. Alec didn’t regret that he told her, but he’s really rethinking his timing.
“No wonder you’ve been more relaxed; you’ve been getting laid by Magnus Bane. Oh my god, is that where you’ve been disappearing to.”
“You are way too excited by my love life.” Another vampire banged on the door, denting it enough that he could stick his hand through, Alec aimed his arrow at the door while Izzy unraveled her whip.
“Do you think they know where we are?” Izzy asked.
“Well that’s kind of the reason they are banging on that door.” As Alec said that the door bent even more and even more hands get in, groping for the pipe.
“How long do you think they need the distraction for?” Alec said to Izzy.
“Ten more minutes,” she responded.
Alec laughed smugly, “Ten minutes, we’ll be done with this bunch I five.”
Izzy smirked, “So let’s distract them.”
“So let’s distract them.”
They watched as one of the hands grabbed the pipe, pulling it and allowing entrance to the room. The one that entered first bared his teeth at them and Izzy grabbed his leg with the whip and yanked him towards her. Alec didn’t see what happened next as he was distracted by the vamp bounding towards him. He quickly shot an arrow in its chest and watched as it burst into flames. Izzy stabbed one with her seraph blade and Alec shot another.
The number of vampires attacking them was quickly dwindling.
“This is fun,” quipped Alec.
“I know right, sibling bonding,” Izzy said as she stabbed the last vampire in the room in the head.
Alec saw more vampires about to rush in the room and aimed his arrows at them, and they quickly got out of range. Vampires are getting even more stupid, he thought to himself.
“Keep coming boys,” called Izzy while she cracked her whip. They quickly killed the rest of the vampires outside the door and went to go look for Clary and Jace. They do eventually find Clary and Jace… except that they are outnumbered by vamps. Alec aimed an arrow at the vampire fighting Clary but he saw and held Clary in front of him. Clary’s out looked panicked at him and Alec felt bad for her, he knew what it was like to be terrified on your first hunt.
“Okay.” Alec tilted his head and aimed his arrow at the wall next to the vampire and released. The concrete broke and light poured in, reducing the vampire holding Clary into nothing but ashes. Like a true Shadowhunter, Clary immediately goes to stab the one fighting Jace, killing it in the process. Jace finished off the last one and turned to Clary who stared at her hands.
“I killed him,” she whispered.
“He was already dead,” Jace gently reminded her.
“Plus,” Izzy said from behind Alec, “He was trying to kill you, remember that.” She laughed and walked towards them. “Besides, you did great.” She squeezed Clary’s shoulder.
“Yeah you did, you should be proud.”
“Well this isn’t about me,” she replied, “This is about Simon.”
With that Clary walked out of the rom to go find Simon, leaving Alec to keep watch behind them.
They walked into a lavish room, filled with gold and statues and a vampire holding a blade to Simon’s neck. Alec notched an arrow at them but the vampire held the mundane in front of him. They were deeper into the hotel now, shooting the wall wouldn’t do any good.
“Simon,” Clary cried as she tried to rush forward. Jace grabbed her am and pulled her back.
“Don’t, it won’t do any good.”
“You should listen Clary Fairchild. Now put your weapons away, don’t give me a reason to hurt your friend.”
When they hesitated to put their weapons away the vampire screamed, “Put it away!”
He sounded like a madman and looked like one so they quickly put their weapons away, Alec willing his weapons away.
“Simon, Simon are you alright?” Clary said frantically.
“Well I wouldn’t say alri-.”
“Stop talking.” The vampire pushed the blade deeper against Simon’s neck.
“Now we can all just follow me,” said the vampire. He led the out of the room, the others following him to make sure he didn’t hurt the mundane. Alec was really starting to regret going on this mission, with his luck the one holding the mundane hostage is the friend Magnus was talking about.
The vampire led them to an exit with stairs, “Come on, up here now,” he roared. Alec went first with his hands up and Izzy stood next to him.
“Leave, leave right now or I’ll kill you all,” yelled the vampire.
“Please, we don’t want to hurt you we just want Simon,” pleaded Clary. Jace pushed Clary behind him.
“I’m glad you do, we don’t want him, we wanted you,” replied the vampire.
“Well here I am!”
“Clary no,” said Jace.
“I said wanted, not my idea, now go.” With that the vampire pushed the mundane towards him and Alec opened the door and stepped out into the sunlight. He didn’t hear the rest of what happened, and honestly he really didn’t care. When the rest of them stepped out onto the roof he ignored the mundane’s stupidity and walked to the top of the roof, where Izzy joined him.
“So, Magnus Bane.”
“Now is really not the time.”
Izzy made a noise and started to reapply her lip stick. Did she really bring make up on a mission, Alec thought.
Jace came up the stairs to leave Clary and her friend alone and Alec pulled him over.
“Can I just say one thing, you think you know Clary, you may not.” Alec held up a finger before Jace could interrupt him. “Think about who her father is.”
“Do not start this again with me Alec,” said Jace.
“She just came out of nowhere.”
“She has no one.”
“Listen to me,” said Alec, pointing at himself. “For one second.”
“Alec stop,” Jace yelled. Clary and the mundane looked at them while Alec took a step back. Jace treating him like he was inferior was pissing him off and what Magnus said floated through his mind.
“I’m not in your shadow Jace, stop treating me like it,” warned Alec. With that he walked away, leaving Jace sputtering behind him. |
"So that's how he and Shanks met," Nami smiled. "Hmph!" Zoro grinned. "That's Luffy, always full of surprises." "And it was because of Shanks that Luffy was able to overcome the loss of his mother," Blizzard added. "So now what's gonna happen?" asked Kumi. "I think we're about to find out," Chopper answered. "Look!" The Straw Hats found themselves standing on the deck of a ship...but not just any kind: the moment they saw the black flag that carried the mark the Red-Haired Pirates, they realized they were on the Red Force, and by the looks of all the crates, barrels, and treasure chests on the ship, it looked like the crew had just gotten back from a raid. "Must have been quite a haul, that day," Robin noted. "Yeah, look at all that stuff," Sanji said. "Spices, alcohol, preserves...they even have quite a load of treasure, too." "Yeah, I know," Nami replied, fighting every fiber of her being not to lunge at the treasure chests in a mad frenzy, knowing that she would just phase right through them. "Hey, where is Luffy, anyways?" Usopp asked. "Hey! What are you doing up there, Luffy?!" a pirate suddenly called, and immediately, all eyes turned to the figurehead...where Luffy stood, holding up a dagger. "...Oh, good lord, what is he doing now?" Nami muttered with dread. "Okay, you guys! Watch this!" Luffy declared. "I'm done joking around! I'll show you what real bravery is!!" "Go on, then," said Shanks, mockingly. "We're waiting." "What is he talking about?" Aika asked. "...Hold it," Usopp said as he watched Luffy. "W-where is he putting that knife?!" "Wait...don't tell me...!" Blizzard whispered. SNIK!! Luffy, though as hesitant as he was, actually pierced the knife through the skin under his left eye before letting out a bloodcurdling scream, to everyone's shock. "AAAAAH!!" Chopper shrieked with his eyes bugging out of his head. "HE STABBED HIMSELF UNDER HIS EYE!!!" "Good heavens!!" Brook cried. "Of course it would be self-inflicted!" Zoro groaned, slapping his palm against his forehead. "YOU DUMB-ASS!!!" Shanks shouted, although the Straw Hats could tell that his anger was only there to hide his concern. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!!" "WAAAAAAAAAAAHHH~!!!!" Luffy cried in pain. "IT HUUUUUUURRRTS!!!" "Of course it woud hurt, you little idiot!!" Franky shouted. "Why would Luffy do something so crazy?!" Chopper questioned. "He could've lost his eye!!" "That's Luffy," Nami said. "Always crazy." "...So that's how Big Brother got that scar," Aika said. "Don't you go getting any ideas, missy!" Sanji shouted. "PLEASE don't!" Kumi cried. The memory soon shifted, and before the Straw Hats knew it, they found themselves in Makino's Party's Bar, once again, where the Red Haired Pirates were celebrating. "This place, again?" Zoro groaned. "Easy, Zoro," Robin said as she put her hand on her boyfriend's shoulder. "To Luffy's...err...courage!" one pirate declared as he raised a tankard of booze. "And to our next voyage!" "Let's all drink in celebration!!" another shouted. "Ah," Luffy grinned, a bandage under his left eye, and it was clear by the look on his face that he had been crying. "That didn't hurt at all." "You little liar!" Shanks retorted. "Don't do anything so heinous again, hear me?!" The Straw Hats blinked at the Emperor in slight surprise at how unnerved he was. "I'm not afraid to get hurt," Luffy said. "Next time, take me out to sea with you guys! I wanna be a pirate, too!" "HA!!" Shanks laughed. "Yeah, right. You can't handle being a pirate, Luffy. Besides, you can't even swim." "That's only half-true," Sanji added. "Wait, Big Brother couldn't swim, even before he got his Devil Fruit?" Aika asked. "Apparently," Brook answered. "As long as I just stay on the ship, I'll be okay!" Luffy reassured. "Psh!" Zoro scoffed. "Please. He can't even do THAT!" "Tell me about it," Blizzard murmured in irritation, remembering all the times Luffy fell overboard and one of the Straw Hats had to fish him out of the sea, then squeeze his waterlogged stomach to get the water out. "I can fight good, too!" Luffy added as he threw a punch. "I've been training since I was 4 years old, and now my punch is as strong as a pistol shot!" "Is that so?" Shanks asked with a bit of a deadpan tone. "WHAT IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?!!" Luffy questioned. "HEY!!! LOOK AT ME WHEN I'M TALKING TO YOU, SHANKS!!!! ANSWER ME, DAMMIT!!!!" "Jeez, Luffy seemed so mild-mannered back when his mom was around," Usopp noted. "Now, when he's hanging around with Shanks, he's a foul-mouthed, short-tempered kid. Just goes to show you how much someone can influence somebody." "Wow," Aika said. "I thought Shanks was nice, but...he seems pretty mean to Big Brother, like Mister Garp." "I don't think he means it, Aika," Robin said. "Garp was abusive. Shanks, on the other hand, is just teasing Luffy, but he actually means well." "Yeah, it's the same with me" Franky said. "My mentor, Tom, used to tease me a lot, when I was a kid." Usopp suddenly gasped as another pirate suddenly entered the scene. "Oh, my god...!" he whispered. "That's...that's my Dad!!" Indeed it was. Yasopp grinned as he ruffled Luffy's hair, causing him to grumble in irritation. "Come on, Luffy, buck up!" he exclaimed. "Yeah! Be happy to face anything!" added another pirate. "The life of a pirate is one of a kind!" exclaimed Lucky Roo, who was eating a hunk of meat. "The sea is grand and vast!" declared a fourth pirate. "Go out and seek adventure of all kinds! Nothing is greater than freedom!" Hearing this only caused Luffy to beam in excitement while Shanks rolled his eyes, "Come on, you guys, don't encourage him," Shanks said. "Why not, Boss?" asked Lucky Roo. "It's the truth, ain't it?" "Look, Luffy," Shanks said as he turned to face the boy. "The truth of the matter is you're just too young to be on a pirate ship. Wait until...ah, I dunno, 10 years, and then I just might consider bringing you along on my next voyage." "...Why does that sound familiar?" Aika asked. "Well, Aika, maybe now you see Luffy gets so worked up when you try to get yourself involved in fights, all the time," Blizzard said. "Strong or not, it's dangerous for a kid to be out at sea." "But Kumi and I are with you guys," Aika answered, "and we're still kids." "Well, Aika, that's different," Robin replied. "We took you and Kumi with us because you didn't trust the Marines. Plus, since we found out you're Luffy's sister, it would be too cruel just to drop you off somewhere." "And besides, we love having you guys around!" Chopper added. "That's true," Aika smiled. "Dammit, I'm not a little kid!" Luffy pouted. "I'm a man!" "Ah, calm down," Shanks said as he gave Luffy a glass of orange juice. "Here, have some juice." "Oh, wow!" Luffy grinned as he took the glass. "Thanks, Shanks!" He then began to take a sip, and not long after, Shanks began to burst into laughter while slapping his hand on the counter. "I don't know any man who drinks juice!!" he shouted, and that got Luffy all riled up again. "DAMMIT, YOU TRICKED ME AGAIN!!!" Luffy yelled, and even the Straw Hats couldn't help snickering...except for Chopper, Aika, and Kumi. "I drink juice," Aika said. "Yeah, what's so bad about it?" Chopper asked. "It's a complicated thing," Zoro answered. "Ah, simmer down, Luffy," said another pirate as he put his hand on Luffy's shoulder, causing the boy to look up at him. "Oh," Robin realized. "I think that's Benn Beckman, the first mate of the Red Haired Pirates." "He looks really strong," Aika noted. "Oh, of course!" Brook exclaimed. "Benn Beckman is among the strongest members of Red Haired Shanks' crew!" "It's not fair, Benn," Luffy said. "How come Shanks always picks on me? I'm trying to show him I'm grown up enough for him to take me out to sea...I even stabbed myself and he still won't take me seriously!" "Don't take it so hard," Benn said. "You gotta understand, Luffy, the captain's not teasing you to be an ass. He really does care for ya." "Oh, yeah?" Luffy asked, incredulously. "How?" "Luffy, the life of a pirate is an exciting one, that much is true," Benn told him, "but it's also full of danger. The captain's trying to make you see that." "I don't see how!" Luffy remarked. "All he does is tease me!" As he said this, Shanks turned to him and stuck his tongue at him. "Anchor," he said. "YOU SEE WHAT I MEAN?!!" Luffy questioned. The Straw Hats couldn't help chuckling, despite this. "I can kinda understand where Shanks is coming from," Nami said, "even though he does have a funny way of showing it." "I still don't understand," Aika said. "Shanks is trying to discourage Luffy from going out to sea at his current age," Sanji pointed out. "Sure, he could've gone about that another way, but still, his heart was in the right place." "...Oh," Aika realized. "I see now!" At that moment, Makino walked in, holding a barrel full of beer. "Goodness," she said. "You all seem lively, don't you?" The way she greeted the pirates showed that the bartender had gotten used to their presence and welcomed them as if they were lifelong friends, a deep contrast to how she viewed them back when they first met. "Well, Makino, what can I say?" asked Shanks as he pointed at Luffy. "Making fun of this kid puts a smile on my face." Luffy only pouted at this. "Oh, Luffy, don't fuss," Makino said. "How about I make you some steak?" "Ooh!" Luffy chirped, his mood shifting from happy to sad almost instantly. "Yes, please!" "That changed his mood quick," Nami smiled. "Seriously," Franky added. "Doesn't take much to make Luffy happy," Sanji said. "Just say you'll feed him and he's grateful to you, forever." "Shishishishi!" Aika giggled. "Silly Big Brother!" "And just how are you going to pay for your food, Luffy?" Shanks asked. "Oh, I'm gonna pay Makino back with my treasure tab!" Luffy answered. "When I become a pirate, I'll pay her back with all the treasure I find!" "So you're scamming the poor woman?" asked Shanks, jokingly. "Am not!" Luffy argued. "Makino understands! Don't you, Makino?" "Of course I do," Makino answered. "I hope you do pay me back, soon." The Straw Hats could tell by the sound of her voice that she didn't really mind getting paid back or not. Just like Star, the fact that Luffy was happy was good enough for her. Within minutes, Makino put down a steak for Luffy, who licked his lips before he began to eat. "Hey, Shanks," Luffy said with his mouth full. "Yeah?" asked Shanks. "How long are you guys gonna be staying, this time?" "Oh...I dunno. It's been nearly a year now since we first got here. I think we'll take a couple more voyages before we split this place for good and head out north." "They've been there for nearly a whole year, now?!" Usopp questioned. "Sheesh!" Sanji exclaimed. "You'd think that if some pirates were taking shelter at the home base of a Vice-Admiral, someone would take notice by then!" "Well, Garp was gone for a whole year," Nami said. "Plus, I think he was the only Marine there." "That would make sense," Robin added. "...Oh..." Luffy muttered, distantly...almost sad, and hearing that downhearted tone in his voice caused the Straw Hats to look at him worriedly. "Oh, no," Aika said. "Big Brother sounds lonely again." "Even if Shanks did tease him," Blizzard started, "he was probably the closest thing Luffy had to a best friend. Without him around, who's he gonna hang out with? Not those kids who were always running away from him...not Garp because the guy practically beats him up every time he shows his face around him, even if he does mean well." "Poor Luffy," Chopper said. "I know how he feels." "I almost wish Shanks took Luffy with him," Nami said. "At least then, he wouldn't be lonely." "Maybe so," Zoro started, "but Luffy's far too young and...he's probably still trying to get over the loss of his mother, even if Shanks is there." "...I guess you're right about that," Nami said, solemnly. "Well...that's okay!" Luffy said, trying to hide his disappointment. "I'll have learned how to swim by the time you get back!" "Sure you will," Shanks rolled his eyes. By now, Luffy had finished up his steak, but as usual, he was still hungry. That's when his eyes fell upon something next to him: an open treasure chest of some sort and inside it was some sort of fruit. It looked like a melon, but it was lavendar in color with these peculiar swirls. He blinked curiously before he shrugged, picked it up, and took a bite...and almost instantly, he grimaced and his face turned a sickly green. Yet despite that, Luffy kept eating it. "Jeez," Kumi said. "That must not have tasted very good." "And yet, Luffy's still eating it anyway," Blizzard pointed out. "I swear, his appetite amazes me, sometimes." "...Hey," Nami said. "What's that Luffy's eating?!" "...Wait...is that...?!" Sanji questioned. "What is it?" Aika asked. "What's wrong?" "I think that's the-" Robin started, but before she could finish her sentence, the door was suddenly kicked off its hinges, causing everyone to turn and see a group of men, the one leading them being rather tall with tanned skin, wearing a brown coat, and a rather disheveled appearance. "Excuse me," said the man in a deep, gruff voice as he and his group barged in. "Hmph! So...these are pirates, huh? Look pretty dumb to me." "Who the hell is this loser?" Zoro asked. "Looks like some common thug to me," Sanji answered while Blizzard growled at the man's appearance. "We're mountain bandits," said the man as he approached the bar. "Just relax. We're not here to start something, miss. We'll just take about 10 barrles of booze to go and we won't hurt anybody...much." He then snickered, as did his men, while Sanji sneered. "Damn no-necked bastard," Sanji cursed. "That's not how you speak to a lady." "Sanji, calm down," Nami said. "Remember, this is a memory. There's nothing we can do here except watch." "I-I'm sorry, sir," Makino answered, trying her hardest not to show any fear. "I'm afraid we're all out of liquor." Almost instantly, the man's demeanor changed as he glanced at Shanks and his crew. "...Is that right?" he queried. "Well then what are these idiots drinking? Doesn't look like water to me." "Well, you see," Makino began, "I gave the last of the liquor to them." "It's true," Shanks spoke up, nonchalantly. "I'm afraid my men and I cleaned the place out. Sorry about that." The man sneered at the Red Haired Captain, who held up an opened bottle of rum. "Here, you can have this," Shanks said. "I was saving this for myself, but I think you should have it-" SMASH!! As quick as a flash, the man back-handed the bottle, smashing it and sending booze and shards of glass all over the floor and counter. Luffy yelped as he shielded himself from the glass while Makino, as well as the Straw Hats, gasped in shock. Even Chopper, Aika, and Kumi, out of instinct, ducked behind the older members in fright, even though the glass shards phased right through them. "Well that was quite unnecessary!!" Brook exclaimed. "Oh, man," Usopp muttered. "I got a bad feeling about this." "What kind of idiot do you take me for?" asked the bandit. "What good is one bottle of rum, huh?!" Everyone looked over at Shanks, who had his eyes covered by his hat...but then, he sighed as he raised his head, revealing a disappointed look. "Oh, look at this mess you made," he said, to the Straw Hats' surprise. "Is he serious?" Chopper asked. "He's not gonna punch him or anything?!" Aika questioned. "But why?!" "...Because it's not worth it, that's why," Sanji answered as he blew out a puff of smoke. "I'm sure back then, Shanks was a very powerful pirate...which is why he wouldn't waste his time with this moron." "Lemme show you something," said the bandit leader as he put down a wanted poster with his face on it.HIGUMA THE BEARBOUNTY: 8 MILLION BERRIES "I'm a wanted criminal, you know," said Higuma. "I've killed 56 people...especially idiots like you." "8 million?" Aika asked before she pouted. "That's not so big. Why gloat about that?" "The East Blue is known as the weakest corner of the sea, that's why," Robin replied. "Normally, bounties range between 1-4 million. That's why this Higuma person is boasting so much." "You best watch your back, pirate," Higuma warned, "because if you cross me again, you won't live to see another day! I suggest you get back on your little boat and get outta here so I never have to see your face again...that clear?" Shanks didn't answer. In fact, he didn't even acknowledge him. He just quietly picked up some broken glass. "Here, Makino," he said. "Let me clean this up for you." "Oh, please!" Makino exclaimed. "Captain, don't trouble yourself! I'll-" Without a warning single warning, Higuma drew his saber and slashed an entire row of bottles off the counter, soaking Shanks and sending glass shards almost everywhere. "You like cleaning, huh?" Higuma asked. "Well here! Have another mess to clean up!" He then turned to leave with his men following after him. "You guys are nothing but a bunch of jokes." As soon as they were out of the bar, Makino ran over to Shanks, putting a hand on his shoulder, worriedly. "Captain," she said. "Are you all right?!" "Not a problem in the world, Makino," Shanks said...before he snickered, and soon after, he and his whole crew exploded into laughter. "That guy sure got you good, boss!" Yasopp exclaimed. "Talk about a loser!" added another. "...That Shanks is something else," Nami smiled. "You got that right," Zoro agreed. "He could tell that idiot was nothing but a bunch of talk. That's why he didn't fight back." "WHAT ARE YOU ALL LAUGHING AT?!!" shouted Luffy, who stood on the stool. "YOU THINK THAT WAS FUNNY?!! HE MADE YOU LOOK LIKE A BUNCH OF IDIOTS, AND HERE YOU ARE, LAUGHING ABOUT IT!!!! AND YOU CALL YOURSELVES PIRATES?!!?! HE WAS RIGHT, YOU GUYS ARE A BUNCH OF JOKES!!!!" "...Whoa...!" Usopp whispered. "Now that was very uncalled for," Brook said. "Now THAT doesn't sound like the Luffy we know and love, at all," added Blizzard, sounding utterly disappointed and a little shocked, too. "Hey, simmer down, Luffy," Shanks answered. "It's nothing to get worked up over. The guy just spilled some booze on me." "Whatever!" Luffy said as he jumped down from his stool. "Don't ever talk to me! I'll find a new role model!" "Ah, calm down," Shanks said as he grabbed his arm. "Get back...here...?" Before anyone realized it...Luffy's arm stretched a considerable length, and upon hearing everyone's gasps, Luffy suddenly took notice, too. "...Did...did he just...?!" Nami whispered. "Yep, I knew it," Sanji muttered. "That fruit he was eating was the Gum-Gum Fruit." "What the hell?!" one of the pirates questioned in disbelief. "H-his arm just stretched!!" exclaimed another. "Wait...don't tell me he...!" added a third. "WHAT'S HAPPENING TO ME?!!" Luffy cried in comical horror. "BOSS!!" Lucky Roo cried. "It's gone!! The Gum-Gum Fruit that we stole from that enemy ship!! It's gone!!!" "...You mean...?!" Shanks whispered. "Luffy!" Lucky Roo called as he held up a sketch of said Devil Fruit. "You didn't eat this fruit, did you?!" "Y-yeah, I did," Luffy answered. "I thought it was dessert...it tasted pretty nasty, though-" Before he could elaborate further, Shanks suddenly grabbed the boy by his face. "LUFFY, YOU JUST ATE THE GUM-GUM FRUIT!!!" he shouted. "PART OF A GROUP CALLED THE 'DEVIL FRUITS'!!! EAT ANY ONE OF THEM CAUSES YOU TO LOSE YOUR ABILITY TO SWIM FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE, BUT THE ONE YOU ATE TURNS YOUR BODY TO RUBBER!!!" Luffy gasped in horror at this. "NO WAY!!!" he shrieked. "IT CAAAAAAAAAAAAN'T!!!!" "YOU DUMB-ASS!!!!" Shanks yelled. "Oh, my goodness," Nami muttered. "Poor Luffy." "I had the same reaction when I ate my Devil Fruit," Robin said. "Same here," Chopper added. "And I, as well," Brook spoke. "Me, too," Aika chimed in as she looked down at her hands, which she momentarily transformed into paws before changing them back to human hands, but then, the memory faded away into the darkness. "Hey, what happened?" Usopp asked. "Why'd it go black all of a sudden? Was the shock so bad that Luffy fainted?" "No, I think it stopped because we got all the information we need here," Nami said. "Still, that was surprising!" Aika said. "How Big Brother got that scar under his eye and how he got his powers...I'm still trying to process all this!" "That was pretty crazy, wasn't it?" Kumi asked. "I don't think it's over yet," Franky said. "Look." Sure enough, the darkness fled, showing a new memory this time. Luffy was walking down the street as usual, and he seemed surprisingly cheery, despite what happened in the bar. The Straw Hats could see the Red Force behind him, so either the Red Haired Pirates hadn't left yet or they were preparing to leave. As Luffy walked, he gasped as he spotted someone up ahead: the children he met back when he was 4. They also looked a little older and were playing a game of Hot Potato in the street. "Oh, no," Usopp said. "It's those brats, again." "Why would Big Brother go to them?" asked Aika. "He knows they don't like him." "It's because he's so desperate for friends," Chopper said, sadly. "I know what that's like." "Hey, guys!" Luffy called to the children, who all cringed upon hearing his voice. "Oh, great, it's the village freak, again," muttered the girl. "Quick!" said the boy with auburn hair. "Let's get outta here! Maybe we can lose him before he gets here!" "Too late," answered the boy with dark blue hair. "Here he comes now." "Hey, guys!" Luffy said as he approached him. "What do you want?" asked the dark blue-haired boy. "You come to break my arm again?" Luffy seemed a bit hurt by that, but he quickly grinned at him. "Look, I'm really sorry I hurt you," Luffy said. "Like we care," said the lavender-haired boy. "Go and bother your pirate friends instead. Monsters should stay with monsters." "Little jerks," Franky sneered. "He already apologized. Why can't you just accept him already?!" Blizzard growled viciously, remembering how he was treated by the local dogs on Rivet Island. "...That's not very nice," Aika said, sadly. "He just wants to be friends." "I just wanted to show you guys something cool!" Luffy exclaimed. "This better be good," said the auburn-haired boy, crossing his arms in irritation. "Okay, watch this!" Luffy said before he grabbed his cheeks and stretched them far apart. "See? Ta-dah~!" The kids all gasped in horror at what they were seeing. "Look! I'm made of rubber now!" Luffy exclaimed. "Isn't that cool? Now nothing can hurt me as much!" A pause...but then the kids screamed and ran off. "MONSTER!!!!" they cried. "GET HIM AWAY FROM US!!!!" the blonde-haired girl yelled. "I thought he was a freak before," the dark blue-haired boy shouted, "BUT NOW HE REALLY IS ONE!!!!" "DON'T GO NEAR HIM, OR YOU MIGHT TURN INTO RUBBER, TOO!!!!!" the lavender-haired boy screamed, and Luffy could only watch as they ran away from him, again. The adults around him watched sadly. "Not again," a man whispered. "Poor Luffy," a woman said. "Why can't they just give him a chance?" "It's like it got worse ever since his mother passed," added another man. "...Oh, Luffy," Nami said, worriedly. "The poor thing," Robin whispered. "Damn those little bastards!" Franky cursed. "It cannot be helped," Brook said. "It seems no matter what he does, Mister Luffy will never be accepted by those children." He then sighed. "The poor lad." Luffy sniffled and wiped his eyes before he turned and walked away. He didn't go very far, just went to the nearest pier and sat down on the blanks, watching the water ripple. He then looked up at the sky where he watched a flock seagulls fly away. "...At least they have friends," the boy said before he looked down. "I have...nobody." "That's not really true, you know." Luffy looked up to see Shanks, who smiled warmly at him as he walked up to him. The boy only sneered before he looked away from him, obviously still a bit peeved after what happened in the tavern. Shanks didn't seem to care, though, but instead sat down next to the 7-year-old. "...I saw how those kids were treating you," he said, causing Luffy to look up at him. "I'm sorry about that, Luffy." "...I just thought that...if I showed them my new powers," Luffy said, "that they'd think I was cool and they'd wanna hang out with me." "Makino told me about those kids," Shanks said. "They said they always run away from you...call a freak...and yet you still try and be friends with them. Why?" "...Because I don't know who else to turn to," Luffy answered. "Makino's nice and all...but she's not into all the stuff that I'm into, plus she's busy with her bar. My Grandpa's hardly around and...whenever he does come and see me, all he does is beat me up, throw me off cliffs, tie me up to balloons, and leaves me in the forest to get eaten by animals. The only one who would ever play with me...was...was..." "Your mother?" Shanks concluded, and Luffy nodded his head. "...My Mom always made me feel better when something like this happened," he said, "but now that she's gone..." "...I understand," Shanks replied as he looked up at the sky. "...I think you're lucky, Shanks," Luffy said. "You're surrounded by your crew and...they all get to have fun with you." "Yeah," Shanks said. "Sometimes, they're a pain, but...I love them all, too." He then sighed. "It's too bad that someday, I might have to say goodbye to them." "...What makes you say that?" Luffy asked. "Well, Luffy," Shanks began, "sometimes, when a pirate crew is all done with their adventures...they go their separate ways. Sure, it's sad, but that's why I always cherish whatever moments I have with my crew." "...If I became a pirate," Luffy began, "do you think...I'll get some friends?" The Straw Hats felt their hearts go out to their captain as he asked this, and Shanks chuckled as he gently ruffled Luffy's hair. "Well...maybe," he said before he gave a playful smirk. "I still don't think you have what it takes, though." "Oh, come on, that doesn't help!" Luffy complained. "It really doesn't," Nami agreed. "Still, it was kind of Shanks to at least try and comfort him," Robin added.
The memory shifted, once more, and the Straw Hats once again were in the Party's Bar, where it was just Luffy and Makino, the former holding a glass in his mouth. "Shanks and his crew sure have been gone a while," said Luffy. "Do you miss them?" Makino asked. "Of course I don't miss them!" Luffy answered. "Especially after what those bandits did!" He then took out an ice cube from the glass and chomped on it. "I really misjudged Shanks...he and his crew really a bunch of losers." "You'd think he'd change his tune about them after Shanks went out of his way to make him feel better that day," Usopp sneered. "That's Luffy," Sanji said. "Always stubborn." "Well, I thought they were very brave," said Makino. "It takes a lot for someone not to get angry and fight back, you know?" "You don't know what you're talking about, Makino," said Luffy. "A real man would stand for himself, not let himself get humiliated like that." "Is that right?" asked Makino. "Well...I guess I really don't know, then." "No, you don't," Luffy answered. "Make way for the Terror of the Highlands!" Luffy and Makino both looked up, only to gasp upon seeing Higuma and his gang, again. "So, those pirate bastards aren't here, are they?" asked Higuma. "Hmph! Smells a lot better in here without them." "What are you all doing here?" Makino asked. "Well, we were just in the area," said Higuma, "so we figured we'd just stop by and say 'hello'." He then sat down in a cheer and propped his feet up on the table. "So, are you just gonna stand there and gawk at us? We're customers and we demand service!" Sanji growled as he attempted to attack Higuma, but once again, Nami stopped him and shook her head, reminding him there was nothing he could do, to the cook's anger. Luffy only watched as Makino begrudgingly began to serve the bandits. After she had gotten them their drinks, they began to talk amongst themselves. "Hey, speaking of those pirates," said one bandit, "did you see their faces the other day?" "Ha!" Higuma laughed. "How could I forget? I broke a bottle over that guy's head, and he didn't say one word of protest! How pathetic, right boys?!" The bandits only guffawed while Luffy scowled at them. "Cowards like that make me wanna puke," Higuma said. "I wanted to kill that bastard. Those pirates were nothing but a bunch of talk." "YOU TAKE THAT BACK!!! The Straw Hats and Makino gasped while Higuma glanced back and saw Luffy...who was seething at them. "TAKE BACK WHAT YOU SAID, RIGHT NOW!!!" Luffy yelled. TAKE IT BACK, DAMMIT!!!!" "Luffy, stop it!!" Makino cried as she tried to hold him back. "SHANKS IS NOT A COWARD, YOU JERK!!!" Luffy barked. "DON'T YOU DARE BADMOUTH HIM IN FRONT OF ME!!!!" "...Oh...my god...!" Nami whispered in awe. "Wait, I don't understand," Aika said. "Why would Big Brother stand up for Mister Shanks when he was just insulting him, not too long ago?" "Insulting the person you respect is one thing," Usopp answered, "but it's when someone else insults him, that's a different matter." "Yeah," Franky said. "I mean, sure, I used to talk trash about Iceburg all the time, but when someone else badmouthed him, I'd beat 'em to a pulp!" "Excuse me?" Higuma asked as he approached Luffy. "What did you say to me, you little punk?" "You heard me...!" Luffy hissed. "Take back what you said! Right now!!" "And what are you gonna do if I don't?" asked Higuma...who got his answer when Luffy hocked a loogie and spat in his face. That did it. Higuma growled as he grabbed Luffy by the throat, causing him to cry out in surprise. "Luffy!!" Makino cried as Higuma threw him to the floor. "You little piece of shit!!" the bandit leader shouted as he pinned Luffy down. "Spit on my face, will you?!" He then punched the boy across the face...but to his surprise, his fist bounced right off him. "Huh?!" "Heh..." Luffy smirked, which made Higuma growl as he began to punch Luffy again, but still, they had no effect. "Dammit, what the hell is up with this kid?!" Higuma questioned as he kept trying to punch Luffy, but still, they had no effect on him. "My punches just keep bouncing off of him!!" "What'd you expect from a kid made of rubber?" asked Blizzard. "Stop it!!" Makino cried as she tried to help Luffy. "Leave him alone, he's just a child-OOF!!!" Higuma suddenly got up and punched her across the face, causing her to stumble back and fall to the floor, and it took everything Sanji had not to try and attack Higuma, knowing that it would be futile. "Stay outta this you bitch!!" Higuma barked as he grabbed Luffy. "All right, brat...how about I take you outside and teach you some manners?! Let's go, boys!" On that, the bandits filed outside, carrying Luffy with them, and then, Higuma threw the boy down to the ground. "Big Brother!!" Aika cried, only for Robin to grab her and cover her eyes. "Don't look, Aika," Robin answered. "Kumi, don't you look, either!" Blizzard added as he covered the pup's eyes with his paw. "I don't care much for impoliteness, runt," Higuma said. "However, if you apologize, I might just forgive you." "Not until you apologize first!!" Luffy shouted. "Apologize for what you said about Shanks!!" "Still running your mouth, are you?!" Higuma questioned as he kicked Luffy in the stomach, and the other bandits attempted to join in, but their kicks and stomps did nothing to Luffy's rubbery body. Still, the sight made the Straw Hats angry. "How could they just gang up on him like that?!" Nami questioned. "Disgraceful!" Brook added. "Thank goodness Luffy had his powers back then," Chopper said. "Otherwise, he would've suffered a lot of broken bones!" "I can hear, you know!" Aika cried. "Why isn't Luffy using any of his moves?!" Franky questioned. "He just got his Devil Fruit, genius!" Zoro replied. "He hasn't figured them out, yet!!" "Hmph!" Higuma scoffed as he picked Luffy up and stretched his cheek. "You've got a weird body, kid. Our punches or kicks don't work on you, at all." "Damn you!!" Luffy cursed. "Take back what you said!!" He then tried to punch Higuma in the face, but he simply moved his head out of the way. "You jerkface!!!" "I guess there really are some strange creatures in the world," said Higuma, "eh, rubber boy?!" He then threw Luffy to the ground, causing him to bounce along the ground like a rubber ball. "Rrrrgh...!" Luffy growled as he spat out a tooth. "Damn you!! You'll pay for what you said!!!" "Even though he can't really fight," Brook began, "he's still trying so hard. Even back then, he still had such spirit!" "Looks like I discovered a new form of life," Higuma joked. "I might just sell the kid to a circus and get a ton of cash for him." Despite her eyes being covered, Aika squeaked when she heard the word "circus", since Caesar himself had also said such things about her during her captivity on Punk Hazard. Luffy then grabbed a nearby stick and ran at Higuma, attempting to break his kneecaps with it, but the bandit only smirked as he raised his foot. "Stubborn little bastard!" he shouted as he stamped his foot against Luffy's face and pinned him to the ground. "Luffy!!" Nami cried in horror. "What did I ever do to you, huh?" Higuma asked. "I was only drinking and having a conversation with my men. I didn't do anything to offend you, did I?" "You liar!" Luffy barked. "You better apologize!!" The Straw Hats could see people hiding inside their houses, and yet, they did nothing to stop this senseless violence. "How can they just sit in their homes and let this happen?!" Usopp questioned. "Are they really that scared to do anything about it?!" "Sometimes, fear overcomes the need to help," Robin answered. "Get your foot off me, you stupid mountain ape!!" Luffy yelled as he tried to push Higuma's foot off his face. "Stop it!! Let the poor boy go!!" At that moment, Makino and Woop Slap finally arrived on the scene. "Please!" Woop Slap pleaded. "I don't know what the lad did to you all, and I have no intention of fighting any of you!" He then dropped down on his hands and knees. "But if it's money you're after, I'll gladly pay you! Just spare the poor boy's life! Please!!" "Mayor...!" Luffy said in surprise. "Well at least SOMEONE cares!" Nami exclaimed. "Nice try, pops," said Higuma. "I can tell you know the ways of the world...but I'm afraid it won't work here. The kid attacked me and called me names, and because of that, I can't forgive him. Unlike those pirates, I don't take shit from anyone, especially a little snot-nosed, rubber freak like this oen!" He then stomped on Luffy's skull multiple times. "You're the one who started it!!" Luffy shouted. "You damn mountain monkey!!! Take back what you said about Shanks!!!" "...That does it," Higuma hissed as he drew his saber. "Screw selling you...I'll just kill you, instead!" "No! Luffy!!" Makino cried. "No! Spare him, please!!" shouted Woop Slap, while the Straw Hats, though futile in their attempt, moved to save the boy...but then.... "What's going on here? Nobody came to the harbor to greet us." Everyone gasped as Shanks and his crew suddenly appeared. "Captain Shanks!!" Makino exclaimed. "Mister Shanks!" Aika cheered. "Big Brother's saved!" "Oh, thank god!" Usopp added. "Oh!" Shanks said. "It's you bandits again, is it?" He then noticed Luffy. "Hey, Luffy! I thought you said your punch was as powerful as a pistol!" "Sh-shut up!!" Luffy barked, now feeling a little embarrassed about his boasting, earlier. "Hmph!" Higuma scoffed. "You pirates are still around? Don't you have some cleaning to do? I don't know what the hell you idiots are doing here, but you better back off now, before you get hurt. Come any closer and we might just kill you cowards." Despite his warnings, Shanks just casually approached anyway, causing one of the bandits to stand next to him with a gun pointed at his head. "Didn't you hear him say don't move, asshole?" the bandit asked. "Oh, no!" Aika cried. "He's gonna shoot him!" "Ah-ah-ah-ah!" Zoro exclaimed. "Just watch, Aika." "But...but..." Aika stammered. "Trust me," Zoro reassured. "...Okay," Aika replied as she watched Shanks just stand there, stoically, before he grinned. "...Would you risk your life?" he asked. "Huh?" the bandit muttered. "Now that you've drawn your pistol," Shanks began, "are you willing to use it?" "What the hell are you talking about?!" the bandit asked, more confused than ever. "I'm saying guns aren't for threats," Shanks answered. "They're for actions." Before anyone could even blink, Lucky Roo suddenly appeared next to the bandit...and shot him point-blank in the skull, causing him to drop to the ground, dead as a doornail. "What the-?!" the bandits questioned while the Straw Hats also gaped in shock. "W-where the hell did he come from?!" Sanji questioned. "He wasn't even there a second ago!" "Even if he is fat," Zoro began, "he's not a member of the Red-Haired Pirates for nothing." "...Amazing...!" Aika whispered in awe. "My Observation Haki hardly sensed him!" "Such speed!" Brook added in disbelief. As for the bandits, they were visibly unnerved by what had just happened. "N-now you bastards have done it!!" shouted one of the bandits. "That was a cheap shot!!" added another. That's when the Red Haired Pirates glared up at them...like they were on a manhunt, and truth be told, the Straw Hats felt a bit unnerved at the sight. It was a deep contrast to the pirates who got drunk and partied all day. "Cheap shots, huh?" Yasopp asked in a tone that sent chills down Usopp's back. "Don't make us laugh." "What do you think we are, saints?" asked Benn in a cold tone. "We're pirates," Shanks answered, "and we don't play by the rules." "Sh-shut up!!" one bandit shouted, trying to mask his growing fear with anger. "This is none of your damn business!! We just want the boy, not you!!" "Listen up, bandits," Shanks said. "Whether I'm sprayed with alcohol or doused with food...hell, even if I'm spit on, most of the time, I'll just laugh it off and forget about it..." He then raised his head, revealing a furious glare in his eyes. "But when you hurt a friend of mine, you'll pay for it, regardless of your reason!" "...Shanks...!" Luffy whispered in disbelief. Even after he said about him, the pirate captain still considered him his friend...and it almost made him teary-eyed. "...So that's where Luffy got it from," Sanji smiled. "That Shanks is one hell of a guy," said Franky. Higuma, on the other hand, just laughed. "We're gonna pay, huh?!" he asked. "What a waste of time...men! Kill these so-called pirates!" Though they showed some hesitance, the bandits charged, drawing their weapons. "Stand back," Benn said as he stepped forward. "Let me handle this." He then took out his cigarette and shoved it in between the eyes of one bandit, causing him to scream at the burning sensation, but then, Benn grabbed his rifle and swung it like a baseball bat, striking them all down. In just 5 seconds flat, he had sent them all to the ground. "Holy crap!" Franky exclaimed. "You see that?!" "Like I said," Zoro began, "these are the Red-Haired Pirates." "Good lord!" Brook gaped. "They didn't stand a chance!" "I wouldn't underestimate us if I were you," said Benn as he put his foot on one of the bandits and pointed his rifle at Higuma. "Next time you wanna fight us, bring a battleship!" "Ha!" Zoro laughed. "I doubt even a battleship would help!" "That was amazing!!" Aika exclaimed. "What would you expect from one of the Four Emperors?" asked Blizzard with a grin. By now, it looked like Higuma was about to soil himself. It was at that moment he realized just how badly he underestimated Shanks and his crew. "N-now wait a minute!!" he cried. "The brat started it, not me!!!" "Typical," Usopp said. "All bark and no bite. Bandits really are cowards, huh?" "Doesn't matter," Shanks replied. "Which reminds me...didn't you say you had a price on your head?" Higuma gasped before he reached into his coat and pulled out a black ball, which he then threw to the ground, which caused it to explode in a puff of smoke! "GAH!!" Shanks cried. "SMOKE BOMB!!!" The Straw Hats instinctively covered their mouths, even though they knew the smoke wouldn't effect them. Just then, they heard some voices. "Hey, kid! Come here!!" "H-hey! Put me down!! SHANKS!!!" It was then that the Straw Hats realized that in the chaos, Higuma had grabbed Luffy and run off with him. The bandit leader rushed to the harbor, jumped onto a dinghy, and began to paddle away with an oar. Soon, the two were out in the middle of the ocean. "Put me down, you damn mountain monkey!!" Luffy cursed as he struggled to get away. "Hahahahaha!" Higuma laughed, triumphantly. "What a brilliant escape! Who would ever expect a mountain bandit to escape to the sea?!" He then looked down at Luffy, who glared up at him. "At first, I thought I could use you as a hostage...but I don't need you anymore. I've already killed 56 people who were foolish to cross me, kid...what's one more?" "That bastard!" Sanji cursed. "Why you!!" Luffy shouted as he tried to punch Higuma, who simply side-stepped out of the way. "Heheh," he smirked...before he kicked Luffy into the sea. "See ya, kid!" "AAAAAAHH!!!" Luffy screamed. 'DAMMIT!! I was so close to that jerk and I couldn't even get in one hit!!' he thought. SPLASH!! The helpless fell into the water, but to everyone's surprise, he was able to stay afloat, despite his Devil Fruit. "How is he managing to stay above the surface?!" Usopp questioned. "I think Luffy's so desperate to live," Zoro began, "he's actually trying his hardest to swim, despite his Devil Fruit powers." "GLAARRGH!! GLURRRBGH!!" Luffy cried out, his speech garbled by the water. However, while Higuma was laughing at his "victory"...something huge appeared behind him: a gigantic moray eel Sea King with piercing red eyes. "Oh, my god!" Nami cried, as if he could hear her, Higuma's eyes went wide as he looked back...and saw the beast, glowering down at him. "W-what the-?!" Higuma questioned...as the monster opened its jaws. "No!! NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!" CHOMP!!! In one bite, the Sea King crushed Higuma's boat and swallowed the bandit up in a single gulp. However...it was still hungry. That's when the monster spotted Luffy, who gasped in horror. "Oh, no!!" Aika cried. "Run, Big Brother, run!! I mean, swim!! Whatever, just get away!!!" "He can't hear you, Aika!!" Kumi cried. "Besides, he won't be able to get away fast enough!!!" Soon, the Sea King began to dart towards Luffy, who screamed as he struggled to escape...but alas, his body could no longer move. "HELP!!" he cried. "SOMEBODY, PLEASE HELP ME!!!" That's when the Sea King opened its humongous jaws once more, and Luffy held out another shriek, while the Straw Hats shielded their eyes, fearing the worst. Then, they heard the sound of the beast's jaws snapping loudly, and as they opened their eyes, they saw blood spraying into the air. "...D-don't tell me...!" Brook whispered. "Was he...?!" "No, wait!" Usopp exclaimed. "Look! Over there!" Everyone looked up to see Luffy...who was being held by Shanks. "Mister Shanks!!" Aika exclaimed, happily. "Shanks!" Luffy cried. The Sea King turned and glared at the two...but then, it seemed to gasp as Shanks glared right back at it...and the very sight made all the color vanish from its face. "Get lost," Shanks hissed, and just like that, the Sea King turned and fled. "Was that...Conqueror's Haki...?!" Blizzard questioned. "Whoa...!" Chopper whispered in awe. "He scared it away...with just one look!" "...Shanks was amazing...!" Nami gasped. As soon as the beast was gone, Shanks smiled as he looked down at Luffy, who, for some reason, was in tears. "I'm in your debt, Luffy," Shanks said. "Makino told me about what happened. Thank you...for standing up for me and my crew." Luffy only sniffled in response, clutching the man's shirt. "Hey, don't cry," Shanks said. "You're a man, right?" "But...but Shanks, your arm!" Luffy cried. "YOUR AAAAAAAAARM!!!" At that moment, the Straw Hats saw the damage that had been done: Shanks' left arm...had been torn right off. "...My god...!" Sanji gasped. Once again, Robin and Blizzard were forced to cover Aika's and Kumi's eyes at the sight. "Luffy, it's just an arm," said Shanks. "I'm just glad you're all right." Despite his attempt to reassure him, Luffy just kept crying while the Straw Hats gaped in complete awe. "...Now THAT is a real man," Franky said. "You said it," Zoro agreed. "It's like...it's like he doesn't even bother him," Chopper added. "...No wonder he's one of the Four Emperors," Usopp said. "This guy's just plain badass!" "And to think," Nami began, "he was once on Gold Roger's crew. Imagine how strong he must've been back then compared to now." "...I'm almost afraid to know," Sanji replied. At that, the memory shifted once more, and the Straw Hats found themselves back on dry land. This time, they were at the harbor, where Luffy and Makino were seen, watching Shanks and his men load some cargo onto their ship. "So you're leaving for good this time?" asked Luffy. "Yep," Shanks answered. "We've been here long enough, Luffy. It's time for us to sail with the tide." He then looked at the boy in concern. "You're...not sad, are you?" "Well, a little," Luffy admitted, "but I'm not gonna ask you to take me along anymore. I decided I'm gonna be a pirate on my own!" "Bleh!" Shanks stuck his tongue out at Luffy, teasingly. "Yeah, right! I wouldn't bring you along, even if you begged me! There's no way you're cut out to be a pirate." "Ugh," Nami groaned. "Of course he'd try and tease him before he left. Why am I not surprised?" "Yes I am!!" Luffy shouted. "One day, I'm gonna start my own pirate crew, and it'll better than yours! And then I'm gonna find the greatest treasure in the world! I'll become the King of the Pirates!! Just you wait!!" Upon hearing that, the Straw Hats all blinked slightly in surprise before they smiled. "Oh?" Shanks asked. "You think you'll surpass us?" Luffy only stared up at him, but it looked like he was trying to fight back tears. "...In that case," Shanks started as he took off his hat...and set it upon Luffy's crown, "I'll leave this hat with you. It means more to me than anything in the world, so you better take good care of it, you hear me?" Luffy sniffled as tears fell from his eyes while the Straw Hats gaped. "I want you to bring this hat back to me," Shanks said, "in good condition...and only after you've become a great pirate. That's our promise, Luffy." "...Okay...!" Luffy nodded his head. Shanks chuckled before he turned and walked up the gangplank. "Raise the anchor, men!" he called out. "Set the sails!" "Aye-aye, Captain!!" the Red Haired Pirates exclaimed as the Red Force began to drift off with the tide. All the while, Luffy, Makino, and the Straw Hats watched as they sailed away, and Luffy never left the spot...still holding the precious hat in his arms.TO BE CONTINUED..._________________________________________________________Next time on One Piece: The Fire Within!Garp: From now on, Luffy, you're living here!Dadan: What?! You're leaving with me with another brat?! It's already bad enough you dumped Ace on me, and he's about 10 years old!!Ace: *glares down at Luffy, coldly*Garp: That's your new big brother, Luffy. You two had better get along!Sabo: Is this that Luffy guy you were talking about?Porchemy: Where's the treasure? Talk, boy!Luffy: Never! I'll never tell!!Next time: Enter Ace and Sabo |
It started like anything else: Mount Lady came to give a guest lecture on the importance of social media to the burgeoning heroes of class 3-A. Not ones to fail to rise to new challenges, or maybe because this was one of the few entertaining things to come up in their third year, they all jumped at the chance to create their online presences.
They set up Instagrams, Twitters, and even official Facebook pages with their hero names and hero portraits adorning each. One platform, though, quickly became where the students spent most of their time and energy: Tik Tok. Some took it more seriously than others. Katsuki set up his as a sort of fitness update account. He showed the progress of his explosions, as well as giving teasers to his special moves without revealing too much. Tenya and Eijiro fell into this same category, both of them either showing their quirk exercises or spars with the rest of the class.
Then there were those that took it less seriously. Denki made it a habit to stitch his videos with every hot guy or girl on the app, adding nothing more than his gaze into the camera to the videos. His classmates would be found in the comments calling him out for being a creepy weirdo to which he’d almost always reply that he was “appreciating the human physique.” Minoru would agree under him and the girls would try their hardest to get his comments removed by moderators, which they did successfully every time.
The girls were a mixed bag. Ochako preferred to show off her ass-kicking skills, especially against the guys of her class. She put up a video of her beating Katsuki which ended up being her most viral video. Kyouka and Mina, of course, chose to showcase their song and dance talent, both amassing fans who appreciated the multi-talented almost-heroes.
None of them, though, amassed quite as many followers as Izuku. From his first day on the app, he gained thousands of followers and likes. His videos were fairly simple, much in the same vein of the “serious” Tik Tokers. Although, there was something different with his videos. Could it have been that every video was “accidentally” a thirst trap? Most definitely. Whether accidentally or on purpose, Izuku’s Tik Tok garnered the attention of female and male fans alike who couldn’t get enough of him or his body.
Seemingly innocent videos of him punching a bag turned into viral sensations noting how sweat glistened against his abs or focusing on how his shorts slung low enough to reveal his v-lines. He had grown in his time at UA. No longer was Izuku a shrimpy, short, and lean teenager. He had come to an even six foot two, weighed well over two hundred pounds, and was cut like marble. Not to mention, he’d cut his hair, taming it into a fashionable undercut, and decided to pierce his ears. The result left him looking less cute and more dangerous and intimidating. Gone too was his meek attitude as he now settled in as a confident young adult. Izuku was more self-assured, he questioned himself less and didn’t let anyone else question him either. One thing remained though, and that was his cheery disposition. He was equally liable to make a cocky remark to someone now as he was to say something flowery and nice. His fans absolutely ate all this up and this popularity slowly sept into UA.
—————
“Did you see his fucking post on Sunday? Like Jesus, I never thought I’d want to lick sweat off of someone,” Mina sighed and rested her chin on her hand, a wistful look marking her face. Giggles surrounded her along with murmured “mhms.”
“Right. I’m pretty sure I would do some very bad things to even get half a chance with him,” Ochako joined Mina in her wistful gaze, the rest of the girls nodding their heads along. Their trance-like, Izuku-centric state was quickly broken, however, when the man himself dropped down into the empty seat at their lunch table.
“Hey ladies, what are we talking about?” He shot them a charming smile, his eyes trailing over all of them there. Tooru choked on her spit, Kyouka leaning over to aggressively pat her on the back. He tilted his head slightly at her in concern and her gloved had waved him off. If she was visible, he’d surely see the bright blush donning her cheeks.
“Hi Zuzu, we were just talking about how we wanted to have a slumber party this weekend, and well, we were wondering if you wanted to join us?” Mina batted her eyelashes while Ochako reached underneath the table to give her a slight pinch. Truthfully, it wasn’t odd for him to join the girls. He tended to hang out with them over the guys for one reason or another and so he felt comfortable saying yes but he did like to tease them here and there.
“Hmmm what’s in it for me though, Mina? Before you say anything, ‘mani-pedi’ is not a good answer,” he held her gaze and quirked an eyebrow at her. She nervously looked at Ochako, begging her friend to help her. Ochako pretended not to see the plea for help, a smirk pushing up her cheek.
Mina was saved by Momo who spoke up from her spot next to Tooru, “Well Izuku, didn’t you say you wanted to add some more fun content to your Tik Tok? Why don’t we help you with that?” His grin grew into his classic smile, the one that lit up his eyes and dazzled his followers, the girls sitting with him included.
“That’s great, Momo! Count me in! I’m not really sure what direction I want to go in yet, but I think my followers are getting bored of the workouts and spars,” the girls around him fixed him with unbelieving looks, “What?!”
“Nothing, you’re just dumb. I’m almost certain that if you only posted the stuff you currently do until the end of time, your followers would die completely happy,” Ochako stated, rolling her eyes at him. A slight blush marked his cheeks and he whipped out his phone to check on his account.
“I mean, I guess. They were pretty lively with the last video I posted. I kinda wanna take it down because I guess they think they can see some sort of bulge?” His cheeks grew redder as the girls around him shouted “NO” causing other tables around theirs to look at them weirdly.
“Hey fucking nerd! Tell your beehive to shut the fuck up. I’m trying to eat,” Izuku rolled his eyes at Katsuki seated at a table a few feet from theirs and stuck his middle finger out.
“How about you mind your damn business, asshole,” Izuku yelled back, but no one could miss the twin grins on their faces.
“Damn, those followers must be going to your head because I know you aren’t talking to me!” With that Katsuki flung a mini AP Shot at Izuku’s face. Izuku countered this with a mini version of his air canon, laughing happily when it blew back up in Katsuki’s face. Everyone expected the blonde to jump up and start an all-out brawl with Izuku, but instead, he stayed in his seat and wiped at the black soot coating his face. After he was clean, he came up behind Izuku and whispered something in his ear, and booked it out of the cafeteria, leaving Izuku to sigh, say a polite goodbye to the girls, and follow him out.
The girls gave each other confused looks but shrugged their shoulders figuring this was normal behavior for the wonder duo.
“We need to figure out what kind of video we want to make. There’s so many options…” Mina trailed off, her chin once again coming to rest on her hand as she looked off into space.
“Oh, I know exactly what sort of video we will be making, ladies,” Ochako grinned as she quickly began to divulge her plan.
—————
Izuku wasn’t an idiot, he very well knew the effect his videos were having on people. He also wasn’t stupid enough to not play into it. He would be lying if he didn’t enjoy a small amount of attention. After years of being the “plain” one who no one would spare a second glance at, it felt good ok? So if he purposely set up his phone to show him working out his back muscles and if he also maybe pulled down his shorts a little to show off his Venus dimples, then that was his business.
But what the girls wanted that night at their sleepover, he wasn’t all too sure of. It would take his page from oblivious, innocent, thirst trapping, to completely intentional and almost downright lewd. He almost forgot to care about all that when they explained it though.
“So we were thinking. You can completely say no because it might be weird or something or I don't know, maybe uncomfortable and” Ochako’s voice became muffled as Tooru slapped a hand over her mouth.
“God, what Ocha is trying to say is that we should make a video of you lip-synching…only the song is dumb sexy and definitely a change from the aggressive rap you currently use in your videos,” Tooru’s voice rang out while Ochako freed herself from the invisible grasp.
“Not to mention, we will all be in the video. I think a few hot women would skyrocket your views. Not that you need help as it is but, still.” He looked at Mina contemplatively and smirked.
“Ah so this is an attempt to ride my coattails huh?” Laughing, he moved to sit down on the couch, moving Mina’s ankles to sit under them.
“Yeah, not the only thing I’m trying to ride,” Ochako muttered under her breath, feeling Tooru pinch her side and giggle, breathing out a “same.”
“What was that Ocha?” Izuku quirked an eyebrow at her. He totally heard her but he thought it’d be funny to see her squirm.
“Ah! Nothing! Anyway, no we don’t want to ride your coattails, Izu. You just never post any of your friends. I’m actually a little offended. You should show us off! Everyone will be jealous of you!” She moved to sit next to him, resting her arm on his shoulder and pouting her lips slightly. He laughed and shook his head.
“Okay, you make a compelling argument, Ocha. What’s the song though?” At this Kyouka shot up from her position tangled with Momo on Mina’s bed.
“Slumber Party by Ashnikko! It’s popular right now!” Izuku laughed loudly having heard the song several times.
“Huh. That’s very fitting for tonight isn’t it? I can’t help but feel this was planned,” all the girls blushed aggressively, “I know the words though, so I guess it’s fine.”
Mina squealed and sat up, bouncing in her seat, “OKAY! We need to get ready! Zuzu babe you need to go get dressed because I refuse to allow you to look like a thumb while the rest of us look hot. I’m gonna send you a picture of what I want you to wear and you go put it on! Okay?!” She got up and pulled him to his feet, not waiting for his reply, detaching Ochako from his arm who let out a noisy complaint. He nodded his head and left the room. Not even a minute later, Mina sent him an older picture of himself. Slacks, a button-down, and a chain? What’s that gotta do with a slumber party?
He shrugged and proceeded to his room, but was stopped by a tight grip on his wrist. He swung around, his eyes meeting crimson.
“Yo, nerd. Are you busy right now?”
“Kacchan when has me being busy literally ever stopped you from bothering me?” He watched as the blonde’s face fell and felt a pang in his chest at the sight. “No, no, wait, not bother. You don’t bother me, Kacchan. What’s up? You wanna hang or something?” Izuku tried for a kind smile, his hand reaching to gently grab the wrist that was still grasping his own. Katsuki looked up at him (the fact that Katsuki had to look up to him at all made Izuku just a little bit giddy).
“Yeah, I wanted to hang out. There’s that All Might movie that's just like all of his best fights rolled into one film and my parents kinda got me an advanced copy…” Izuku’s face would’ve morphed into mild disappointment, he would’ve called the girls and canceled on their night, would’ve told him “absolutely Kacchan!” had he not made a promise to himself.
His and Katsuki’s friendship had grown, they’d made it back to where they were before everything and they were both enjoying themselves. But in forgiving Katsuki, in letting him back in, he made himself promise that he’d put himself first. He swore to let Katsuki chase him since the last ten years had been Izuku running after him. Izuku didn’t cancel plans for him anymore, he wouldn’t set aside time simply because the blonde demanded it. He executed balance in his own life and he was satisfied with it.
Because of this, he met Katsuki’s gaze with a slight frown playing on his lips.
“I’m sorry, Kacchan. I promised the girls I’d hang out with them tonight! We’re making videos for my Tik Tok! Remember I told you I thought people were getting bored?”
“You’re a fucking dumbass if you think your followers are getting bored of watching your hot ass work out,” Katsuki rolled his eyes, letting go of Izuku’s wrist, crossing his arms, and huffing a little bit.
“Eh? You think I’m hot huh?” He let a smirk climb on his face as Katsuki’s ears grew red.
“That’s not- No. God. Just fucking go!” Izuku laughed, watching Katsuki continue to pout, his face growing redder. He leaned over to poke at his cheeks.
“C’mon Katchaaaan you can admit it. I’ve grown! I’m not ugly anymore! And stop pouting, huh? We can hang out another day!”
“I’m not fucking pouting, asshole! Just go film your fucking videos with the airheads and we’ll hang out later or something.” He watched as the blonde stormed away, knowing he purposely made his steps as loud as possible.
He sighed and rolled his eyes. What a fucking brat.
—————
After getting dressed, he returned to Mina’s dorm, finding Mina and Ochako looking like they were about to go out rather than just film a few Tik Toks with him. They were in mini skirts, knee socks, and matching green knotted t-shirts with his bunny mask and “Izuku” stretching across their chests.
“Are those fucking Deku t-shirts?” He almost choked as they all began laughing, Mina bounding over to him, doing a little twirl.
“Do you like it, Zuzu? Momo made them!” He fixed Momo with a look.
“What happened to the economy, Mo?”
“This is for a good cause, Izuku. I think the economy will be fine with a few t-shirts,” she winked at him and created him one, throwing it at his face, “I thought it’d be funny if you gave one to Katsuki too, it’d be funny if he saw your hero merch before his.” Mischief lit Izuku’s face and he shot her a thumbs up.
“Oh he’s gonna be absolutely pissed, thank you, Momo,” he tossed it on Mina’s desk, moving to sit on the center cushion of the couch. He was then joined by Mina and Ochako on either side.
“What happened to Tooru?” He asked, though, really, she could actually be there and he would be none the wiser.
“Her parents came to get her, it was something with her mom I think,” Mina supplied.
“Ah, I’ll have to check on her later then!” He turned his head as Ochako swatted at him.
“Ew what the fuck Izu, why would you button all of these buttons?” Izuku felt her fingers roughly tug open the first four buttons of his shirt leaving a lot of his chest and chain on display. He flicked her fingers away.
“Is this a damn porno? Jeez.” Mina’s eyebrow quirked and she let a sultry smile curve its way onto her lips while her hand pet his chest.
“Do you want it to be?” He coughed loudly, his own cheeks growing red as he did his best strawberry impression. He was confident, not superhuman, ok? He quickly recovered after clearing his throat.
“Not to sound like Iida but that’d put a damper on our Pro-Hero careers, don’t you think? Or maybe not. I know Denki said Midnight has some…adult…films out there and she teaches us so,” Ochako clamped a hand on his mouth.
“You’re way hotter when you don’t mumble. Now, anyway, all you need to do here, Izu, is sing the lyrics while we make you look good, got it?” His curls bounced as he nodded his head, she released his mouth and he felt them get impossibly closer to him, their hands trailing his chest. Certainly feels like a damn porno.
“Okay, okay, I’m gonna start the music and Momo is going to hold up cards for you to read so you know you’re in sync with it since it’s not very loud.” Kyouka settled on the little stool that was low enough that the camera would be looking up at Izuku but high enough that it’d catch his body and the girl’s movements. He nodded his head and smiled at her. Momo sat beside her, the cards resting on her knees as the music began.
Me and your girlfriend playing dress up at your house
I gave your girl-
The music cut as Kyouka took in Izuku’s uncomfortable body language. Mina and Ochako had taken to crawling on him and pawing at his chest and he was getting flustered, not really knowing what to do with his hands.
“Just, like, do whatever, Izuku, I promise they don’t care. Plus you look like you’re about to shit yourself. Maybe don’t act like such a virgin,” Kyouka snickered while Izuku’s face darkened a little bit.
“Fuck it,” he hauled Mina half onto his left thigh so one of her legs was draped in between his, his hand supporting her waist, and then he moved Ochako to mirror her position. “Restart the music, please” his voice was dead calm, belying how embarrassed he proposed he was about to feel in about a minute.
Me and your girlfriend playing dress up at my house his hands moved down their waists to trail down the outside of their thighs, flicking the ends of their skirts while their hands played with the edges of his open shirt. His face dropped to Mina’s neck and he looked dead at the camera for the next line.
I gave your girlfriend cunnilingus on the couch
He let his nose run up Mina’s neck, her head lolling back a little while his hands roved back up her and Ochako’s bodies to knot in their shirts under their busts.
She’s cute, kawaii, hentai boobies that excite me
He let his thumbs caress their sides and switched his attention to Ochako as he sang the last words, his nose trailing her cheek before his lips hovered over hers.
I think she really likes me, asked politely can I- woah oh oh
He smiled and pulled back when the sound ended, letting go of the girls, their faces blank and cheeks warm. His gaze slid to Momo and Kyouka who looked similarly gobsmacked. He felt nervous energy start to build in his chest
Momo broke first, “I think what we just shot might count as pornography…” Izuku broke out in a laugh and got up to look at Kyouka’s phone. He was surprised, but had to agree with Momo, he just shrugged his shoulders, though.
“Ah it looks good. Thanks, ladies! Kyouka can you send that to me? We should do this again! It’s so fun!” Kyouka nodded her head, still a little dazed. Ochako and Mina were still in their positions on the couch. He swept back over and ruffled their hair lightly.
“Aw c’mon. Snap out of it! Kyouka practically dared me and I didn’t want to half-ass it! It looks really great! But anyway, I’m gonna head out because Aizawa will definitely kick my ass if he catches me here. Bye babes!” Izuku made sure to grab Momo’s shirt for Katsuki and sped out the door, his heart racing.
Ochako bolted out off the couch, almost tripping on her own feet, “What the FUCK just happened??” She practically yelled, making Kyouka wince.
“I really don’t know but I’m fucking glad it did. I think I’m gonna need a private moment cause whew!” Mina began fanning herself and for good measure fanned her skirt too.
“It was quite interesting to watch. I think if I weren’t a lesbian and devoted to Kyouka, he could’ve turned me just now,” Momo looked at Kyouka apologetically but she waved her off and laughed.
“No, same. I didn’t even mean to challenge him like that. I actually can’t wait to see what happens when he posts this. I’m gonna send it to him.” She pressed a few buttons on her screen and a “whoosh” was heard throughout the room as it sent.
—————
Izuku smiled as his phone dinged when he got settled in his bed. He made it to the app and went to upload it with the caption “Slumber Party x @MinaBabe @FloatyGirl @Yaomomo @Headphonez” He locked his phone and closed his eyes to sleep.
—————
Bzz bzz bzz bzz
Izuku’s eyes popped open in annoyance. He groped for his phone on the nightstand and pulled up his message app. [50 unread texts] He felt anxiety as he clicked into the class group chat, worried that something had happened while he was asleep.
[Aizawa’s Darlings]
Pikachu: IZUKU! MAN WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?????? [attachment]
HardBoi: WOAH! @IZUKU???????
Invisi: Man :/ I’m still pissed I had to go home! I would have loved to be there :(
Pikachu: you knew about this???
Invisi: uh yeah, obviously, Izu’s a snack and the girls wanted to do a video with him
Yaomomo: It was very fun, indeed! Kyouka did a good job filming!
Earphones: Thanks, babe. It was all Izu tho, he really didn’t like me calling him a virgin ig lol
Hardboi: no way is he a virgin when he did all that! Do you have eyes?
FloatsMaGoats: I might have to agree with Kiri lmao
Pinky: Yo me too, I’m still feelin’ a lil hot and bothered…
Deku: Hmm, 8:00 AM and y’all are discussing my alleged virginity huh? Your asses are mine next training.
Pinky: who’s gonna tell him my ass is already his if he wants it…
FloatsMaGoats: ^^^^^^^^^^^ x100
Pikachu: Kacchan is gonna lose his shit, I’m not ready.
Hardboi: Denki man, stfu!
Pikachu: [unsends]
Deku: Why would Kacchan care? Its just a video and I definitely told him I had plans.
[Katsuki has left the group]
Deku: ughhhhhhhh.
Hardboi: oof.
Denki: no forreal though Izuku you didn’t have to steal all the girls man. Not cool.
Hardboi: Denki man, so not manly you perv.
Deku: I’m literally gay????
FloatsMaGoats: HUH??????????
Denki: WHAT- YOU FELT UP ON THE GIRLS AND YOURE GAY???? A FUCKING WASTE.
Hardboi: I’m very sorry for him, he gets dumber every time he uses his quirk, please forgive him
Deku: you all are joking right?
Pinky: *pounds on the floor in agony*
Invisi: I’m actually sobbing. What do you mean youre GAY?
Deku: like, Im gay? Into guys? Gay as fuck? Do you need a dictionary definition?
Pinky: *SCREAMS* THE GIRLS TOOK AN L! HAVENT MEN TAKEN ENOUGH FROM US?????
Yaomomo: I’ll be honest, Izuku, as a gay woman, I’m shocked myself.
Earphones: Our gaydars are broken apparently. In any case, welcome to the gay side, to your right is all the iced coffee and cuffed jeans you could ever want.
FloatsMaGoats: This is so embarrassing I think I might float myself into the sun.
Pinky: Take me with you, I cant live in a world where Zuzu doesn’t like women even a little :/
Invisi: lmaooo
Denki: Dont worry, ladies, you still have me! ;)
Hardboi: bro…
Pinky: *crying in agony* THATS THE PROBLEM!
Deku: Listen, I just thought it was fun to play along with the girls. Their comments also never bothered me. I kinda also thought they were just fucking with me…
FloatsMaGoats: ha ha…yeah…totally just playing around…
Invisi: 😅
Pinky: *crying*
Deku: you guys are very weird. I’m gonna go find Kacchan while you settle…whatever this is…
—————
Izuku grumbled as he got out of his bed and pulled on his sweatpants, not bothering to look for a shirt in the pile on his floor. He didn’t know what Denki was talking about, and despite his own promise to himself, he felt the need to make sure Katsuki was ok. He took the stairs to the blonde’s room, passing Fumikage on the way and nodding his head in greeting. Once outside Katsuki’s room, he knocked hard, a little annoyed that he hadn’t gotten to sleep in.
“I already fucking told you, shitty hair, leave me the fuck alone!” The door opened roughly and Katsuki stopped in his tracks and quickly trailed his eyes over Izuku’s form and then made to close the door but the greenette stopped him, pushing the door open to look at Katsuki’s face. He considered himself an expert on all things regarding his childhood friend. He could look at him and know exactly what he was thinking or what emotion he was feeling. But this, Izuku had never really seen something like this, at least not recently. It reminded him of the time Katsuki’s favorite All Might doll got crushed when they sent it flying into the street. He looked sad, borderline devastated.
“Hey…Are you okay? Whats wrong?” Izuku didn’t miss how Katsuki’s shoulders fell and his eyes slipped to the floor. He stepped in further, wrapping a hand around where his neck and shoulder met, his thumb beginning to rub circles on the skin there.
“You can tell me! It’s okay. I’ll listen.” Katsuki shrugged off his hand and turned around, exhaling loudly and dropping face down on his bed. Izuku swore he heard mumbled words. He rolled his eyes, moving into the room, closing the door and placing himself on the bed next to the blonde’s waist. He poked hard at Katsuki’s stomach which got him to turn on his side and whip out his phone, shoving it in Izuku’s face.
It was opened on the video from last night and holy fuck it had thousands of shares, comments, and a million likes. Did these people not sleep?! But still, this didn’t explain his friend’s reaction. Maybe he was jealous that the video was doing well?
“So, what’s the big deal? Do you want to collab with me next or something? You after some free clout, Kacchan?” He joked but the blonde’s face grew sour and he pushed Izuku off his bed.
“No, you fucking idiot. I don’t need your dumbass clout. I’m just. I’m just fucking bummed okay? It’s nothing.” Izuku’s face pinched in confusion as he looked up from the floor, Katsuki’s cheeks blazing red.
“Well, am I gonna have to play 20 questions with you to understand why you’re bummed or are you going to be a big boy and tell me?” Yeah, maybe he was being an asshole but he was tired!
“Fuck. C’mon Deku, don’t make me, okay? I don’t want to ruin shit. Can’t we just watch the All Might movie and be done with it? That’ll make me feel better.” He clicked on his TV, the movie queued up on the screen. Izuku was tempted, but part of his promise meant that he couldn’t let Katsuki brush things off anymore. They needed to communicate.
“Kacchan, I’ve been super honest with you about a lot of things. I know you know that I’m not accepting non-answers anymore. I need you to tell me what’s going on so we can work on it together,” Izuku surprised himself at his serious tone but made no move to lighten his words. He saw Katsuki wince and huff.
“Fuck, okay. But look this doesn’t have to change anything and I don’t know what it means or what I want but I was just fucking jealous, alright? It’s not just with this shitty video or like you not hanging with me last night, it’s just all the time. Whenever you hang out with someone and its not me, I wish it was. Or someone flirts with you I can’t help but get super mad and your whole fucking Tik Tok pisses me off ‘cause all these thirsty ass bitches don’t even know you like I do” Izuku cut him off by placing a thumb over his lips, his hand grasping his jaw.
“You’re rambling, which, that’s my job, by the way. I’m just gonna ask you a question and you just nod or shake your head, ok?” The blonde nodded that he understood.
“Do you have feelings for me, Kacchan?” Katsuki’s eyes grew wide, his face flashing in fear, but closing his eyes, he nodded his head. Izuku smiled, his eyes shining, fucking finally. He moved his thumb and placed his lips against Katsuki’s. For a moment, he seemed shocked, allowing Izuku to move his lips against his still ones. He quickly caught up, though, wrapping his arms around Izuku’s neck and moving their lips together.
Izuku chuckled and moved away slightly, “I didn’t think I needed to tell you that I’m a flaming homo, but here I am. I also didn’t think I needed to tell you that I have feelings for you too. I don’t know what me chasing after you for ten years when you were such a dick to me translated to in your head but…” Katsuki’s brow furrowed and he began to pout a little bit.
“Then what the fuck is this fucking video and actually! All of your videos! I know you do that shit on purpose you asshole!” Izuku laughed and kissed Katsuki on the cheek.
“Man you really are jealous huh? I call all that fan service. But I was hoping that you were watching them.” Katsuki huffed and took his phone into his hand tapping a folder that was labeled “spank bank” (courtesy of Eijiro). Inside it, Izuku could see a bunch of his videos saved. He smirked at Katsuki and trailed his hands down to squeeze his sides.
“Man and to think if you’d have nutted up a little sooner, you coulda been the one in the video with me last night!”
“Like hell! I’m not a piece of arm candy for you to show off to the whole fucking world, jackass!”
Izuku trailed his lips up the side of Katsuki’s neck and whispered lowly in his ear, “Oh yeah? Well then how about you and I make a private video of our own right now?” The blonde pushed lightly at Izuku’s chest but accepted his lips anyway.
—————
A few days later, Katsuki’s Tik Tok was flooded with comments (mostly Mina wailing dramatically) and likes, his following list growing exponentially due to a post of him and Izuku with the caption “I think he really likes me, asked politely can I- woah oh oh.”
But all Izuku could think was God bless Mount Lady. |
Something told him not to go, but it was cold, record-breaking lows that hadn't been seen in the past thirty years, and damn if he wasn't worried about Red. His Charizard could only do so much when it was twenty below zero and he refused to wear more than a sleeveless vest and a t-shirt.
Red has been up there for years, the little voice inside him said, but the weatherman said it was going to snow in the city, and if it was snowing down here then God only knows what it was like up there. And Green had never been able to leave Red alone anyway, not since the first moment he'd laid eyes on him, loping beside his grandfather and into his life.
So he gathered up the supplies he always brought and scribbled a note to tack on the door of his gym. Leaf called as he dotted the i in Silver.
"You're not going over there, are you?"
"Of course I am," he snapped, trying to find the map he always misplaced.
"He'll be fine."
"Have you seen the weather report?"
"He'll be fine," she repeated.
"He would be fine if he wasn't so stubborn," he growled, "And stopped living on that mountain and just came back down here—"
"You know he can't," she replied, and he didn't say anything, running a hand through his hair with an angry sigh. The truth was, no, he didn't understand it, he never had.
"I've gotta go if I want to beat this storm," he said, finding the map under a pile of gym leader documentation. When he yanked it out, white flew everywhere, a paper blizzard in his bedroom. "Damnit!"
"Green—"
"Did he ask you to do this?" he demanded. The silence on the other end of the line told him the answer. "Look, I'm going. Just tell him that."
She was silent, and he almost hung up on her. "...Be careful," she said quietly, and ended the call with a soft click.
Eevee sat curiously on the table and watched as he plucked six Poké Balls from the large pile. When he stood, not gesturing for his favorite to follow, the Pokémon leapt forward to bite down on his jacket sleeve.
"You're not coming."
"Vui," it grumbled through a mouthful of cloth, its tail lashing.
"It's too dangerous. You're staying here."
The Eevee scrabbled up his arm—"Ow!"—until it wrapped itself around his neck.
"No, damnit, I am not taking you with me!" He tried to pull the Pokémon off but it refused, clinging to his collar and squeezing tight with all the strength it could muster. Ten minutes later, Eevee was still stuck fast (and had even managed to knock the Exeggutor off his belt), and Green was panting. He was wearing way too many layers for this.
"All right, you win," he growled. "But don't you dare move from there, you understand?"
"Vui," it replied meekly.
"I'm still mad at you," he told it.
"Vui."
"You might get hurt."
"Vui." You too.
"Not again," he groaned. "Whatever—let's just get going." He slammed out the door and got five whole steps in before he had to turn around, cursing, remembering that he had to get the sign he'd made.
Ten minutes and one new sign later, his Pidgeot soared out of the city with the two of them in tow. They landed on the foothills of Mt. Silver when the winds became too strong to fly through, and then it was just Green, Eevee, and the mountain looming above.
"I'm coming, you bastard," he muttered under his breath, and began to climb.
One of the things he hated about Red was that he always managed to bring him down to his level. Red, obviously, was an idiot; he had known that since they were ten. He'd never been quite sure how he managed to survive without speaking, eating, or caring for himself, much less train the best Pokémon team in the world, but one thing was certain—whenever Red was involved, Green was inevitably reduced to filling in the gaps: shouting for his silence, traveling around the world to match his indomitable stillness, being—as corny as it was—the fire to his ice.
And he really wished he had some fire right now as his gloved fingers slipped on the frozen rocks. Eevee made a worried noise, but he shook his head. "I'm fine," he said, "don't you dare move, all right?" The Eevee shivered a little and tucked its tail more closely over Green's throat, its large eyes blinking warily.
His breath was visible in the air, and snow was getting in his eyes, and maybe, he thought, this was why Red was even more taciturn these days; in air this frigid, it hurt to breathe, much less speak. Getting inside the first cave cut the wind, but it was still freezing—beyond freezing—and he could feel Eevee trembling. Green was shaking pretty hard himself, actually; he was forty-five minutes in and his progress was laughable, his joints protesting from the extreme cold. The chill was sucking the strength right out of him, and by the time they had fought their way through the cave and out into the blizzard again, he was seriously starting to regret this.
Simultaneously, he was really starting to worry about Red.
"Do you want to go back in your ball?" Green offered. "It'll be warmer in there." The Pokémon shook its head furiously and he shrugged. "Suit yourself," he said, but he was glad for the company, and the two pressed on, stepping into the next cave.
They didn't see the Golbat hanging right inside the cave's mouth, and it blasted them both with a Supersonic before Green could react. He cried out as he fell to his knees, but Eevee was less affected, leaping from its trainer's shoulders to tackle the bat to the ground. His world splintered into chaos, and he thought he was still shouting, though he couldn't be sure—but he could definitely hear Eevee's screams mingling with the Golbat's and he had to hurry, he had to get up, he had—
He lurched to his feet and staggered a few steps back; everything was spinning so hard. Eevee sounded so distant now, and—where was he, anyway? He tried to lean forward but it didn't seem to work right, and he fell to his knees again. Wind was whipping by his face and there was a rumbling noise and that was weird, because wasn't he inside the cave?
Then he heard a crack, and the ground beneath him moved, and the blood drained from his face all at once.
"VUI!" his Pokémon shrieked, racing out of the cave. As the snowbank below him gave out, it sank its teeth into his outstretched hand and yanked back, but it wasn't strong enough. They were both skidding fast on the slick ice and the spinning was fading just in time for Green to see how far up they really were now, and oh God—
He scrambled for the Pidgeot on his belt, his numb fingers refusing to work, and just as they both fell completely over the edge, he clutched the Poké Ball firmly in his hand—
And then his fingers slipped—
And they fell off the cliff, Green's shout mixing with Eevee's high cry, the Poké Ball flying out of his fingers, and they were falling and the Poké Ball was just inches away and he could practically see the Pokémon inside of it but it was just out of reach, just too far—
A roar shook the air, and they collided hard with the orange blur that caught them; Eevee bounced in one direction, the Pidgeot in the other. Green lunged for his favorite Pokémon, nearly falling again, and Red calmly snagged the Poké Ball out of the air with one hand and grabbed him with the other, handily keeping all three of them in place.
As always, Red, cool, collected, stupid Red, had come to save the day and take all the glory, and as his blood thundered in his ears, Green couldn't think of anything he wanted to do more than punch his oldest friend in the face. He would have, too, if only his entire body hadn't been shaking uncontrollably from fear and cold and exhaustion, he would have, but instead he just collapsed against Red, allowing the other man to pull him to his chest as Charizard deftly navigated the swirling air currents.
They soon reached the top of the mountain, the dragon landing more smoothly than he would have believed possible. Red tried to carry him, but Green was having none of it. He pushed him away with a growl, but when he started to fall the Champion caught him—again—and they ended up compromising, Green throwing an arm over Red's shoulder as he staggered inside. It was shockingly warm in here, and the gym leader swallowed the feeling of frustration that rose in his throat.
Leaf had been right. Red, as always, was fine.
He dropped down next to the roaring fire in the middle of the cave. Eevee's eyes were still huge with terror, and the second its trainer was settled it crept into his coat, poking its head out of his collar to nuzzle his face.
"You shouldn't have come," the Champion said softly, and at that he lurched up into a half-sitting position and took a wild swing at Red's jaw. The other man caught his fist, and Green's chest heaved with rage.
"You ass," he spat, "I came here—you think I came here for fun? I came for you! I nearly died out there! I nearly—" and the enormity of it caught up with him all at once. His jaw went slack as his hand slid from Red's grip, but the other man seized it again at the wrist, squeezing hard enough to make Green wince despite the numbness of his skin.
"I know that," Red whispered. "I know."
The fire popped. Green stared at his old friend, but couldn't interpret his expression beyond wide eyes and trembling fingers; he couldn't even begin to imagine what his own face looked like. He turned away and tried not to hyperventilate, stifling the bubble of hysterical laughter that rose in his throat. "Well, shit," he muttered, and pressed his free hand to his mouth. His lips were rough against his fingers, cracked from the altitude and the cold.
Red was still holding his wrist, practically crushing it, and finally Green looked back, and their gazes met, and held. Eventually, they both stopped shaking and Green's breathing evened out, and the two of them watched each other in the newfound stillness.
"Come down," he said, his voice raw from the cold—just the cold. "Come down and live with me. I've got space, I've got two bedrooms I don't use—"
He stopped, because Red was getting to his feet.
The Champion left briefly and returned with a potion spray and some gauze. He picked up Green's injured hand and began to tend to it, his hands moving with a surety that said he'd done these exact repairs on himself hundreds of times before.
"I can't," he said, and his soft voice sounded so resigned.
"Why not?" Green asked, finally. "Why?"
"I just—" Red's eyes roved the walls and settled on his Pokémon, who sat quietly on the other side of the fire, watching them both. "—can't," he mumbled, letting go of him.
Green fell back onto the stone floor, covering his face with his hands; the bandage scraped against his frostbitten cheeks. "This is nuts," he groaned. "You're going to break your leg or get caught in an avalanche or—worse, up here. What's up here that you can't have down there?"
There was a heavy silence, and he heard the other man move. He pulled his hands away from his face to see Red leaning over him, expressionless. "You," he said, and Green just stared for a minute.
"That doesn't make any sense," he said.
"You're a Gym Leader," he said. "I'm the Champion. What would it be like if I lived down there?"
Green did not use this opportune moment to tell Red how often he fantasized about that very notion.
"Battling," he said wearily. "Day and night. Battling. It's bad enough here. Mt. Silver is dangerous, it keeps the children away. But in Viridian?"
"So you're saying," Green said slowly, "That you would rather sit up here and freeze your ass off—all by yourself—and make me climb up here all the time rather than live with me in the city, because..."
Red just looked at him, and Green knew he wasn't going to say it. Red, as everyone knew, never said anything.
"You're gonna die of hypothermia," he muttered. "If I don't kill you first." Red didn't smile, and Green sighed; as he sat up, the other man leaned back, looking away and tugging his hat back down into place.
Green yelped as the melting snow cut a painfully cold trail down his back. When he shook his head, ice water went flying everywhere, and Eevee gave a little squeak of protest. "Hey," he said, catching Red's attention. "I brought food." He dug through his pack and tossed a rice ball at Red, and without looking the other man caught it, peeled the plastic wrap off, and practically swallowed it whole. When it was gone, Green suspiciously threw him another one, which vanished just as quickly.
"You really weren't doing all right, were you?" the gym leader demanded. Red glanced at him as he chewed, a few stray grains of rice on his cheeks. "You jerk!" Green said, torn between laughter and irritation, and he chucked another rice ball at him, but Red just caught it and started in on that one, too, and Green threw up his hands. "Oh, God, how are you still alive?"
Red swallowed. "You," he said before taking another bite, and the simplicity of it took Green's breath away for a moment. When he'd finished swallowing the last bite, the Champion looked at him again; Green was smirking.
"I'm just your big damn hero, aren't I?" he said, giving the other man a knowing grin, and Red just rolled his eyes, pulling another rice ball out of Green's pack. The gym leader lay back on the floor, chuckling as he put his arms behind his head. "Oh yeah." |
Loki lay glaring up at the ceiling as if it was to blame for his inability to sleep. It was imperative he rest, as he could not afford any disadvantage, however small. But too much had happened today. Thor, who had seemed an integral part of the universe, was gone, and it felt so wrong that he kept forgetting that he was no more, his mind unable to accept such a radical alteration of reality. And because of that, he was suddenly the Nine Realms’ best hope. Loki, who should know his place. Loki who was cast out, defeated. Loki, who lacked conviction. Loki, whose birthright was to die. Loki, who had never received much in the way of gratitude, and likely wouldn’t this time, especially given the realm he would be fighting on; if he survived the mortals would likely seize the opportunity for revenge while he was weakened in the aftermath. He should leave the Realms to their fate, depart for other worlds beyond Yggdrasil. There was no reason to care, no incentive for him beyond a vengeance that would do nothing to reclaim what had been lost. He should go. Now. Leave this mortal hovel and not look back.
Yet somehow he could not bring himself to do so. His mother’s face drifted into his mind, with that sad smile she had worn when he had denied her, not realising that it would be the last thing he would say to her. Out of all the people in his life, she had never given up on him, even defying Odin to visit him and sending him things to make his imprisonment more comfortable. Foolish, pathetic sentiment!
He tried to push all thoughts of her away, overwhelmed by the wave of grief that swamped him, and somehow his mind caught on Jane. Mortal, insignificant Jane. A little mouse, but one that snarled defiance at predators. His hand twitched at the memory of her hand in his. Had she really sat by him as he had healed? Hearing movement, he opened his eyes to see the object of his thoughts heading to the small kitchen area. She was attempting to be quiet, but he had sharp senses and even if he had been sleeping she would have awoken him. He watched her quietly moving about, focused on preparing whatever it was she had come in search of. She was dressed for sleep, in simple shirt and trousers decorated with stars and planets. He could hardly critique her choice of attire - not having any actual sleepwear himself (and not feeling like dealing with the state of his armour until after a good night’s sleep), he had retrieved his prison clothing from storage and donned that instead.
She seemed to notice she was being watched, and spun around to look at him, seeming guilty.
“Oh shit, did I wake you? I’m sorry. This kettle is pretty loud.”
“You did not wake me. Sleep does not seem to want to come to me easily tonight.”
“Same for me. I was hoping some tea would help. Do you want some? There’s enough water boiled.”
“I will, thank you.” Perhaps it would help him find sleep. And in the meantime some company would hopefully serve to banish the thoughts that haunted him. Some small part of him sneered that such company was beneath him, but he ignored it. A mere day before he had been in Asgard’s dungeons amongst the scum of the Nine Realms. This was a considerable improvement. And who knows where he could end up tomorrow. Mortals hoping to take advantage of post-battle exhaustion could be the least of his worries if Asgard seized the opportunity to recapture him and put him right back in that cell, this time without the comforts that Frigga had been able to provide.
He was startled out of his thoughts by Jane. “You want milk or sugar?” She received a blank look in return. “Never mind. I’ll put a bit of both in.” She turned back to the counter and busied herself with the drinks a few moments, before bringing them over and setting them in front of him. He sat up, allowing her space on the couch. She threw herself down beside him and picked up one of the cups, but didn’t drink anything, instead staring into the contents like she was looking for answers.
“Do you think Asgard knows?”
“Knows what?”
“About what happened. About…” she waves her hand as if the movement could somehow dislodge the words she wanted to say. He knew what she meant.
“Normally I would say yes, as Heimdall would have seen and reported what had occurred. But Thor said he had Heimdall’s support in our escape, so he is almost certainly under arrest for treason and his counsel considered suspect. Of course, Odin would be a fool to lock him away with the realms in chaos, but…”
“…But it’s his answer to everything.”
He snorted with derision. “Indeed. He likely sent scouting parties after us, who would have tracked our boat using its locator beacon, found Mjolnir abandoned and realised that Thor must be no more. But that storm would have hindered their progress, if it did not render the search impossible, so there’s no guarantee of that.”
“I totally forgot about the hammer. Should we have brought that with us?”
“We could not have. Only Thor can lift and wield it.”
“Oh. Well then. I suppose it makes a good memorial, and it means they would know what happened.”
“Would they, though?”
“What do you mean? You said yourself that they’d know it meant he was dead.”
“They would know he was dead, it’s true. But there’s nothing to point to how. Thor left Asgard in my company, and no less than three people made it clear that they fully expected me to betray him. I have no doubt that Heimdall and Fandral had similar reservations about my involvement, but did not share them with me. I am quite certain that I will be considered the prime suspect.” Remembering the drink in front of him, he picked up the cup and took an experimental sip. It was pleasant enough, with a slight floral taste that reminded him of the drinks his mother had prepared from flowers gathered in her gardens. He forced down the grief that again threatened to take hold of him and resumed speaking. “People will always be determined to assume the worst of me.”
“Well you haven’t really gone out of your way to prove them wrong.”
“You know nothing!” he snapped.
“…Jon Snow.”
“What?”
“Uh sorry. It’s from a book. And a TV show. You’d probably like it. Lots of political intrigue and fighting over who gets to sit on a throne. Never mind. But you killed Thor with that giant robot thing. I saw it. And you can’t tell me the Chitauri invasion was some kind of misunderstanding.”
“I did not intend to kill Thor. I simply wanted to ensure he did not return to Asgard until I had had the chance to demonstrate that I was just as worthy of the throne as him, whether or not I even wanted the cursed thing. I had convinced him that he was forbidden to return and that should have been it, but of course Lady Sif and the idiots three had to go running straight to him because they’re unable to do anything without him. So I sent the Destroyer to keep them occupied. I won’t lie and say that I cared what happened to that band of fools, but I just wanted Thor to stay where he was. And then he had the nerve to spout that empty apology without even knowing what it was he should apologise for, and I just wanted to hurt him. I forgot that he was mortal or how damned fragile you people are.”
He played with a loose thread on his shirt. “As for the invasion, suffice to say there is more to that than anyone knows about.”
“Really? You’re not even going to try to defend that?”
“Would you accept any explanation offered?”
“How would I know unless I heard it?”
“Whether or not you would is irrelevant. I do not wish to talk about it.”
“Fine. Whatever. Don’t you want to prove them wrong though? You’re a trickster; shouldn’t you be all about defying expectations?”
“I’m sure battling Malekith will confuse them sufficiently.”
“Probably. That’s not really why you’re doing it though, is it?”
He stiffened. “Malekith means to destroy the universe and turn it into a nightmare that would be inhospitable to anything not a Dark Elf or other creature of darkness. I am acting to save my own skin, and the fact that my goals coincide with yours is coincidental.”
“Oh come on. I saw what Malekith intends to do with the Aether, and I had a chance to look around the library while I was in Asgard. There are other worlds out there, other galaxies, and I bet you could get to them easily if you wanted to. If you were really in it for yourself you’d leave, but you haven’t.”
He stared into his tea, studiously ignoring her.
“I don’t think you’re as aloof and uncaring as you’d like people to think you are.”
“You dare to presume you know me?”
“Yes I dare!” She glared at him, and once again he had to admire her spirit. Sighing, she moved closer to him, as if proximity would underline her point. “You don’t have to be a monster, you know.”
“But I am a monster. It is in my nature.”
“Now you’re just being melodramatic.”
“Oh, really?” Enraged that she spouted the same cheap platitudes his not-family had in their dismissals of his justified anger at their lies, he tore away at the illusion that concealed his true, monstrous face. Let her speak her empty words now. Indeed, her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open, and almost imperceptibly, she drew back. “Did I not say as much to Malekith? I am Loki of Jotunheim. I do not belong in the shining majesty of Asgard.”
“Well apparently neither do I, so that makes two of us.” She leaned back in, even closer than she had been before. “So, this is what you really look like? Huh, nice.” Then to his shock, she reached out and touched his cheek, tracing one of the lines there. “These look- Oh wow, you’re cold!”
“Well of course. I am a Jotun – a Frost Giant.”
“Giant? OK you’re pretty tall but I wouldn’t say giant.”
“Well yes, that is likely why I was abandoned at birth,” he snarled, causing her to flinch.
“Oh god, I’m sorry! Shit, that was pretty rude of me to assume like that.” She looked at him sadly. “They really just abandoned you? That’s horrible.”
“Yes. I was then taken in by Odin. Not out of the goodness of his heart, but because he could see that I was the son of their king, and would be a useful tool. But instead of doing what he usually does with his collection of stolen relics, he instead locked me in a prison of lies, raising me to believe that I was his son, and giving me the illusion that I was something more than a game piece, when it seems like that is all I am doomed to be. A monster led to believe that it is an actual person.”
“You are an actual person.”
“Look at me! Look at me and tell me that I am not a monster!”
She looked him firmly in the eye and replied, “You are not a monster.” He could detect no falsity.
“How can you look upon me and say that I am not?”
“How can you say that you are?”
The words burst out of him. “I told him where to go!” he snapped, remembering only just in time to keep his voice low enough not to wake people. “I told him the best way out of the dungeons! And because of that he avoided most of the guards or warriors who might have at least impeded his progress! It is my fault she is dead! And the last thing I told her was she was that not my mother!” He clawed at himself, grabbing clumps of hair in his hands and tearing at them. Jane grabbed his wrists, and though she was no match for his strength, he allowed her to hold him in place. “What else am I but a monster? Spurning what I took for granted would always be there, and putting it in danger without a thought.”
She put her arms around him, and unable to hold it in any more, he wept into her hair, past the point of caring about dignity.
“Hey, stop it. There’s no way you could have known. It looked just like a prison riot until the Dark Elf ships showed up. You had every reason to believe he was just a really tough prisoner who’d cause a bit of damage before getting taken down. You can’t blame yourself for this. I won’t say it’s not a dick move, but I’d hardly call it monstrous.”
He relaxed slightly, but kept his face buried in her hair, embarrassed at losing his composure, and in front of a mortal at that.
“For what it’s worth, I think she still cared for you. I only got to spend a little time with her and we didn’t have much chance to talk, but she seemed really nice, and she mentioned wanting to see her sons happy, so unless Thor has another brother somewhere that he forgot to mention, she still loved you. She certainly didn’t care what species you are.”
She twisted slightly so she could see part of his face, refusing to let him hide as he childishly wanted to, like he had once hidden from Frost Giants by hiding his head under the blankets.
“Look, even if you’re a monster, that doesn’t necessarily make you a bad person.”
“That makes no sense.”
She extricated herself from his embrace and walked over to the large screen in front of where they were sitting. “Since I still don’t feel like sleeping right now and I guess you don’t either, I’m gonna take the opportunity to introduce you to some Midgardian culture on the subject of monsters.”
She grabbed a box from a pile nearby and extracted a disc which she inserted into a slot in a box, before busying herself with the equipment in front of her. He reached out and picked the forgotten cup off the table, and was startled to realise his skin was still blue. The tea was cold, of course, but the temperature – perhaps understandably – did not bother him much, and he drank the remainder of the cup’s contents. Refusing to wear this form any longer, he pulled the comforting illusion of his Aesir form back over him once more. Jane rose from her crouch and turned round, looking surprised to see the change.
“Oh, you’re not blue anymore.”
“Of course not. What sane person would happily wear the form of a monster?”
“Maybe you’ll feel differently once you’ve seen this movie all about monsters,” she said, resuming her seat beside him. She picked up a device from the table and pointed it towards the screen, then leaned against him with no sign of fear. He should have been outraged at her presumptuousness, but he had sought contact from her first; he could hardly balk now.
The ‘movie’ was indeed all about monsters, but it was utter ridiculousness about monsters collecting screams to power their world, and two monsters saving a little girl rather than eating her, as any true monster would surely do.
Afterwards she turned to him and raised an eyebrow questioningly. Refusing to admit he had been entertained, he sniffed haughtily. “That was nonsense.”
“It probably bears more relation to reality than whatever Asgard filled your head with.”
“Oh, you think yourself better than them?”
“Yup!” she said with a grin, and he laughed despite himself.
During the course of the movie she had leaned against him even more, almost sprawled over him, with her head on his shoulder, instead of just resting against him as she had started out doing. After a few minutes of companionable silence, Jane shifted against him.
“They’re going to be devastated aren’t they – Asgard – when they find out about Thor? Earth too, probably; a lot of people here loved him.”
He peered down at her. “You speculate about how others will feel about his death, but you do not mention your own feelings. Do you not mourn? You are his-”
“Don’t!”
“But you of all people must-”
“That’s just it – I don’t! Not in the way I should anyway.” He felt a wave of anger at her heartless dismissal, and it must have shown on his face, for she hastily added, “I don’t mean I don’t care at all! It’s just that…” she trailed off, seemingly struggling to convey her thoughts. “When my dad died, I felt like part of me died with him. There was this void inside me, and it seemed to be trying to pull the rest of me into its orbit, like when a star implodes and sucks in the surrounding matter. It’s still there really; I’ve just become used to it.”
His right arm was draped across her body, with his hand resting on her thigh, and without really thinking about it he brought it up to embrace her.
“With Thor, I feel terrible. I feel like it’s my fault somehow. I feel like some fundamental law of the universe has been broken. I feel empathy for those who looked up to him as a hero, and for his close friends and family. But I don’t feel that sense of loss.”
He attempted to formulate a response that didn’t sound trite, but nothing came. He knew himself that there was little that could soothe the loss of a beloved parent, and he could not bring himself to lecture her on her lack of grief for Thor when he was struggling with his own emotions on the matter. However it seemed a response was not expected, as she continued on with her speech.
“Wanna know the worst thing? I’m not even sure if I liked him that much, deep down. I mean, he seemed sweet and earnest, and wow those muscles... He sort of swept me off my feet – literally! And then he went away, and I started wondering if there was anything real between us. And then he comes back, and everything is amazing and I’m just overwhelmed, but... But when I try to analyse my feelings, I can’t put my finger on why. I don’t even know anything about him. Other than what I read in the myths, and it’s pretty safe to say that they’re not a useful source. Probably if I’d gotten to know him I’d have grown to love him as he seemed to love me, but I’ll never know.”
He frowned in confusion. “Surely you must have spent enough time together? The Bifrost was repaired months ago.”
“Huh? No. He was gone for 2 years! And in all that time he didn’t even send me a message, even when he was in New York! I wasn’t even sure he was still interested. I get that he was kinda busy fighting mighty battles or whatever, but he seriously couldn’t spare five minutes to drop by and say, ‘Hey, sorry I’ve not been able to see you, but I haven’t forgotten about you!’ Just... something! He just leaves me and then shows up out of the blue one day as if nothing has happened because this Heimdall guy-”
Her eyes widened and she sat upright, insofar as she could with his arm wrapped around her shoulders.
“Oh my god! Was he watching me? Like, I know he’s supposed to watch everything - I did some reading after Thor left - but, was he watching me specially?!”
Loki shrugged. “Probably.”
“So he could’ve been watching me in the shower or something? That is really really creepy!”
His mind conjured up an image of her bathing and he hurriedly banished it. What in the Nine Realms was wrong with him?! Obviously he needed sleep.
“It is Heimdall. He is so used to watching over everything that I doubt it affects him at all. He may as well be observing insects scuttling about.”
“It’s still creepy as fuck,” she muttered, leaning back against him with the lack of fear that he was growing accustomed to. He considered her words about Thor. Had his brother really not paid so much as a brief visit? Even in the midst of chaos enveloping the Realms there would have been chances, and while in his cell he’d assumed Thor was doing just that, while he chafed at his confinement.
His late brother really was a fool, to take something for granted, to dismiss someone believing there would be chances later to- His thoughts came to a sudden halt, and he desperately fought back the pain that threatened to overwhelm him. He would almost rather be back in the hands of Thanos and the Other than this.
Surprised that Jane had not reacted to his distress, he looked down at he to see that she had fallen asleep. The blanket she had given him earlier in the night was bundled at one end of the couch. Carefully, trying not to jostle her, he reached down and pulled it over them both, lying back so she lay on top of him. He would lie here a while like this, before carrying her back to her bed. Just a little while… |
Bucky makes a habit out of it without even meaning to.
He’s been back in New York for months now, living in a small but cozy apartment that Steve insisted in buying so they could be home, in the good old Brooklyn neighborhood they originally grew up. Life is as good as it can be for someone like him–someone volatile and dangerous and untrustworthy. But he’s got a secure roof over his head and food and his best-friend back so all he can do is assume this is good enough.
(Even though Steve confuses and annoys him sometimes.)
(But then again, something tells him that these feelings are familiar, specially towards the scrawny blond kid he occasionally dreams about.)
The only life Bucky knew was receiving orders, kill without questioning, receiving medical treatment, then back to cryo. He doesn’t remember his previous life–just tiny glimpses of it–so this is all new to him. It’s strange to think like that and Bucky often feels stupid for it because he used to be smart, he knows that, but now he finds himself in the middle of simple and mundane things and it’s like he’s discovering the entire world.
Which he is, Sam says, but it still doesn’t make him less annoyed.
What isn’t new to him, is the life he’s been trying to left behind but can’t seem to get rid of no matter how hard he tries. Cold temperatures, weapons, blood, punishment, emptiness.
Things which were normal to him but now feels like a ranging inferno in the back of his brain all of the goddamn time. The nightmares makes him feel everything all over again except this time he isn’t the soldier and he’s got his feelings back and that fact makes the whole situation even worse.
So when he wakes up in the middle of the night, tear stained cheeks, heavy chest and frantic heartbeats, Bucky goes out.
He goes out because he can, because it’s the only way he can see there’s much more to the world than what’s in his head, because somehow, walking through the empty streets of New York makes his head lighter.
Steve isn’t at the apartment in that night because of a mission so Bucky doesn’t have to bother in coming back before 6AM, when Steve wakes up for a jog and makes him tag along.
Night walks are Bucky’s thing. A habit. He’s done it more times than he can count by now.
And that’s usually the only thing that he does–walk.
He’s walked enough to get lost, enough to arrive in another borough, enough to almost miss the time of coming home.
But today–
Today he feels like doing something else.
The bar stays a few blocks away from his building, squished and hidden between an italian and chinese restaurants and Bucky finds it accidentally. Still, he can’t shake the feeling of familiarity once he enters the place and is welcomed with a cozy, warm atmosphere. Very different from what he remembers – large and illuminated rooms, crowded with dancing couples and loud music.
And his heart skips a beat at the remembrance, but Bucky thinks that now, he prefers this one better.
It’s not a much big of a place but there’s lounge music softly playing and it’s not crowded, thing which he fucking relishes while going somewhere. Soon enough, his feet are subconsciously leading him to the bar’s counter and he’s sitting on a stool by the right corner, letting his eyes finally roam through the dim lit space.
Young couples, stressed business men, college boys, fashionable girls and…you.
You as in the girl wearing a black dress and apron, a small notebook and pen in hands. You as in the girl smiling politely to the clients even if he can see the tiredness behind your eyes simply because he’s seen this on himself.
You as in the girl who suddenly looks up at him from behind the counter and gives a tiny smile that makes him feel like a deer caught in the headlights.
You as in the girl he doesn’t know the name or anything for that matter, but feels strangely infatuated to and can’t stop staring at.
And it’s past one in the morning when he sees your hand slide a bottle of beer to his front, nails painted in a bright royal blue and wrist wrapped with a silver bracelet that makes small noises when you move.
Bucky can’t help but frown.
Because when he looks up at your face, you’re smiling at him like he’s the sweetest person on the planet. And also because he didn’t order a beer.
“I didn’t order this,” Bucky murmurs quietly, so low with his hoarse voice that he almost thinks you didn’t hear him. Until you look up from your current task, eyes meeting his as you smile again and Bucky feels his chest warm up like a bonfire.
“I know.” You chuckle lightly, a tinge of amusement lacing your voice that he can’t help but think it’s fucking melodious and soothing to all the noise that constantly rings in his ears. “It’s from the girls. Courtesy.”
You nod curtly and almost imperceptibly to the fashionable girls table, where they’re drowning themselves in small shots of tequila, oblivious from your head shake and his sudden uneasiness at their courtesy. Bucky is quite rusty when it comes to this–flirting. He knows what the courtesy means and somehow he knows what he’s supposed to do but he just can't bring himself to do it.
Not with them, anyway.
“You can drink it,” you talk him out of his trance and he glances you up, now lazily leaning against the bar’s countertop as there’s no customer in sight, a tiny grin on your lips as you shrug. “I’m telling you, they’ll be too drunk in the end of the night to even remember they delivered you this in the first place. I’ve seen them do this plenty of times.”
He hears you laugh when there’s a tiny shriek coming from their table until you turn to him again, nodding towards the beer assuringly as you hand him the bottle opener.
His hand brushes yours accidentally and it’s warm and soft and Bucky ends up using the bottle opener even though he doesn’t exactly need to. He also ends up gulping most of the bottle in one go with you chuckling incredulously in the background.
“Rough night?” you ask affectively and Bucky places the almost empty bottle down to the counter again, pushing it towards the trashcan with his fingertips as a tiny sigh escapes from his lips.
“I guess,” he replies simply and shrugs, a small pained smile that isn’t even near reaching his eyes curving his lips as you smile back, not looking too distinct from him.
Then he watches your lips part open one–two… three times as if you’re about to say something and then close them tightly when two customers stop by the counter, bragging something about old whiskey. It’s just when you quickly lean over him, bottle of whiskey in hands that he feels your warm breath against his mouth and hears the fast hushed whisper coming from you.
“Hope I made it better somehow.”
Bucky finds himself coming back to the small bar two days later and surprisingly not because he’s been having another sleepless night, simply because he wants to just hear her voice for a few hours worth.
It’s a fucking dilemma, his nights.
When he doesn’t sleeps, he feels like his mind is screaming at him and everything seems overwhelming. When he does sleep though, it feels like he has his own little personal hell ready to open up. And in that day, he slept like a goddamn baby. It was nearly three in the morning when he came home and he most definitely didn’t have any more alcohol in his metabolism and yet, he slept like a baby.
A baby whose lullaby was a laugh and 'Hope I made it better somehow’.
So he comes back in a Wednesday night and finds you outside, sitting on the street’s curb, wearing a heavy denim jacket with your hair in a up high ponytail and phone in hands. And he almost dares to think you look sad but once you look up and notice him standing awkwardly by your side–
Your entire face lightens up like a fucking firework and there’s the brightest smile he's ever seen curving your lips as you pat down a seat, quietly inviting him to join you like he’s worth it.
Which Bucky knows he isn’t but sits anyway because he’s allowed to be a selfish bastard every once in a while.
“Didn’t think I’d see you again.” You bump your arm against his and chuckle lightly, a soft look lingering in your eyes that makes his heart swells with a feeling he still can’t quite pinpoint. “Another rough night?”
He almost wants to say no. He almost wants to say that no, he’s there just to see you. He’s there because he needed to see you. But he guesses the whole thing sounds better in his head than actually saying it out loud. So he goes simple, mostly out of fear of your reaction even if you don’t seem the type to shut people off.
“Can’t sleep,” Bucky replies in a usual murmur and watches you nod, fiddling with your phone as a tiny smile curves your lips and curiosity takes over him. “No work today?”
“Got the earlier shift. I’m heading home now.” You nod towards the street and all Bucky can do is nod dumbly and purse his lips in a thin line, trying to ignore the growing disappointment in his chest in knowing it’s going to be a wasted night.
It’s just a minute later when your cab arrives and he’s expecting for you to hop into it and leave without even thinking twice because you don’t know him and his problems are not yours and even if you did know, you’d probably be disgusted by it. By him. But then again, there must be something wrong in his expression or even in your goddamn head because you pass the cab out to a couple standing a few feet away from you and stand up from the curb, extending a hand in his direction.
All while with an easygoing grin on your lips.
And he can’t say he is expecting what comes up next.
“Join me for some drinks?”
The bar feels as cozy and familiar as Bucky remembers.
It’s a little more crowded than the last time but surprisingly, Bucky’s eyes doesn’t roam through the place to analyze the surroundings and exits as the soldier would do. There’s music playing, a nice beat that he isn’t too used to but likes it anyway and the booth you choose it’s the farthest away from the bar’s buzz, which he’s silently grateful for.
It’s an atmosphere that he awkwardly feels safe and welcomed in, despite all the things that can’t go wrong.
And as he watches you grab a bottle of vodka from behind the counter, a playful smirk on your lips as you joke with a co-worker, Bucky thinks that maybe you have your part in the easiness he’s feeling.
And he’s partially terrified and amazed by the fact you look just as comfortable as he is, placing the bottle and two glasses on the table with a smirk curving your lips as you sit down on the other side of the booth.
“So, I never really said my name, right?” you start first, pouring the vodka into the cups and quickly sliding one towards him, a sheepish smile on your lips despite the amused glint on your eyes. “I’m (Y/N). Part time college student, part time waitress in this humble bar.”
“It’s…nice to meet you,” Bucky nods curtly and looks up at you through his hair locks, metal fingers tinkling on the glass as you glance expectantly at him. “I… I’m…”
Bucky hesitates for a moment.
He has a lot of identities. He’s Bucky Barnes, the young careless man who used to kiss his mother’s cheek before leaving. He’s the Sergeant who helped Steve out of alleys. He’s a war experiment. An asset, a soldier. A murderer and a monster to some and sometimes to himself. He’s a recovering amnesiac. He’s a lot of things.
But none of these seem to sum what he’s right in that moment – just a guy trying to get through the night in a bar.
So he hesitates. And you sigh softly, looking at him carefully but still affectively, your closed lips in a small smile.
“James, right?” you burst suddenly and despite your soft tone of voice, Bucky feels his body freeze until you’re raising your hands up, looking at him carefully. “It’s okay, I’m not evil or anything. It’s just hard not knowing who you are after the whole… accord sort of thingy.”
He doesn’t know wether to feel relieved or worried about that. There’s more under his name than just the accord. Blood, destruction and everything in between. So he can’t help but ask if–
“That’s all you know about me?” Bucky voices after a sip of vodka, glass still between his fingers as he watches your lips curve gradually.
“Well, no.” You chuckle, the glass still between your lips as you shrug nonchalantly and he can’t help but raise his eyebrows suspiciously. “But it’s all that I personally care about.”
He also can’t help but ask if you have any idea on what you’re getting into. Because this–you and the way you treat him, is beyond his understanding and everything he believes in.
“Not very smart of you,” Bucky mumbles, an almost imperceptible grin curving his lips that makes you grin back widely and makes his heart speed up.
“Not very smart of you agreeing to drink with me,” you joke back, pouring more of the drink into the cups and look up at him, your tongue caught between your teeth playfully. "But you’re here anyway, aren’t you?“
He is.
And there’s no other place he’d rather be in the moment.
Bucky comes home in that day feeling his head buzzing slightly for the first time in years and takes it as good thing.
He felt normal and ordinary for the first time since escaping HYDRA after all. When he lies down on his bed, all he can think of is your lighthearted features, so relaxed and at ease with his company that makes him think that he can get through this and have a new life – or rather a chance at it.
Steve arrives from his mission early in the next morning and Bucky’s sure there’s a tinge of amusement in the Captain’s eyes as he watched his best friend’s hungover.
Going to the bar in nights he can’t sleep become his routine.
Sometimes he goes too early and leaves too late. Sometimes he loses the track of time. Sometimes you aren’t even there. Sometimes he goes just because he wants to.
And in the middle of all that, a relationship–or whatever the both of you have–grows. He can’t quite label what it is, but it grows. Quickly but yet so strong and without expectations.
("What?” Bucky asks, looking up at you suspiciously as you poured whiskey into his cup, your co-worker watching attentively from the counter.
“Nothing,” you reply dismissively and watches him raise his eyebrows challengingly. “It’s nothing!”
“You’re up to something,” he teases quietly and you roll your eyes, shoving his shoulder lightly.
“Am not!” you protest, your feet slamming against the floor until he frowns. “It’s just–she asked who you were. I said you’re my friend.”
“Friend?” Bucky murmurs after a moment and you nod sheepishly with a shrug.
“Yes?” You smile slightly, his surprised features making your cheeks flush in a bright red. “Does it bother you?”
“No.”)
(“What are you doing?” you ask with a frown at Bucky’s extended hand, a song playing faintly on the background of the already empty bar.
“Asking you for a dance…I guess,” he replies hesitantly and you smirk right away.
“You know how to dance,” you state between a chuckle and he nods slightly with a shrug.
“I think.” Bucky grins, ever so slightly that you can’t help but grin back.
And take his hand.
“Let’s do this!”)
(“Taste this!” You place the cup filled with a red liquid and Bucky frowns, looking at it suspiciously. “Drink it, Barnes.”
“What’s this?” he asks finally, the cup between his fingers as he seem to analyze the drink.
“A new drink I came up with,” you reply excitedly and watch him take a hesitant sip from the glass, lips pursuing rightly after. “Good or nah?”
“Too sweet,” Bucky deadpans, sliding the glass back to you as you roll your eyes playfully.
“Oh, there comes Mr. Bitter.”)
(“You okay?” you ask worriedly, your hand palming Bucky’s cheek softly as he looks up at you tiredly, his back slumped against the couched booth.
“Yeah,” he mumbles in response and you sigh, taking a seat next to him.
“You’re lying,” you protest in a whisper and lets your head rest on his shoulder. “Tell me.”
“Just…nightmares.”
“You know you can count on me, right?” You tilt your head up slightly and he looks down at you and–
Bucky’s lips are just mere inches away from yours when he finally replies.
“I know.”)
Going to the bar in nights he can’t sleep become his routine and by now he’s used to the atmosphere. He knows most of the workers and even a few loyal customers.
Except today the place is unusually crowded with people he doesn’t know nor even saw there before.
And Bucky can’t help himself but be slightly alarmed as he takes his usual spot by the counter’s corner. Until you show up. And he feels his heart hammering like everytime as you smile up at him like it’s been weeks since your last meeting.
The night is clearly busy for the bar and you only find time to properly greet him 15 minutes later, your arms embracing his shoulders as you press a big kiss to his cheek and Bucky finally feels like he can relax for a bit. So the next hours pass as normally as it can be – drinks delivered to him by you, quick pauses so you can talk to him, lingering looks from across the room. Everything he’s used to except–
The few guys sitting in his booth with way too flirty smiles and mischievous eyes as you frown, your grip around your little notebook noticeably tightening as they keep talking and laughing as your expression just keeps hardening.
Bucky clenches his fist subconsciously because he knows what they’re doing and he knows if he steps up you’ll scold him. He’s done it before and it ended with you madly saying you could take care of yourself.
He trusts you and your judgement but he doesn’t trust everybody else.
But he tries to keep it to himself anyway.
And Bucky almost thinks he’s doing a good job until two of the guys start following you, one of them grabbing your arm and sliding his lips through your cheek as the other grips onto your waist so firmly that his blood boils.
From there, everything’s as blurry as his mind is.
It takes just a few steps until his fist is meeting one of the guy’s mouth and his metal hand is crushing the other one’s wrist. He doesn’t even feel when a third one comes up and punches his face, the familiar metallic taste of blood taking his mouth as you try to pull him out miserably. It’s just when two hands tug him back abruptly and harshly that he really sees it.
He doesn’t care about the guy’s bloody face or his dirty knuckles or the annoying pain in his nose or the white noise going around him.
When he really sees it, there’s tears in the corners of your eyes and a split on your lower lip that he’s sure it isn’t from your constant biting and a look on your face that he knows what it means even if he tries to ignore.
His blood freezes instantly.
Bucky doesn’t see you for a two weeks as he doesn’t dare to go to the bar again.
After the fight, all he can seem to do is run away because you’re hurt and you’ve seen him doing what he does best, the real him, the one who’d hurt someone pretty and young and nice like you.
You’re hurt and there’s just that look on your eyes that tells him everything that he needs in that moment.
To stay away.
And he knows he didn’t hurt you but he can’t help but keep thinking about it. So he spends these nights awake with too much thoughts in his head or too much terrors when he tries to sleep even if for miserable thirty minutes. Steve is wondering what’s wrong and he knows it–it’s been some good weeks since the last night where he woke up his best friend with his screams and cries.
Then again, the Captain keeps his questions to himself and makes sure he’s enough of a support for the moment. Bucky thinks about it nonetheless.
With you, he finds a beacon of hope that he isn’t expecting and doesn’t even know he needs. He finds solace and comfortableness and affection from someone who that doesn’t even know him, who doesn’t judge him and look at him like he’s just an ordinary guy. Someone who stays with him just because, unlike Steve, bonded with him because of an old friendship and Sam, who’s just along to help Steve.
And then Bucky sees all of it crumble.
You’re the only part of him that is normal, that he hasn’t corrupted and hurt until just like that. You’re not anymore.
So he does exactly his speciality–he disappears. He doesn’t come back to the bar nor thinks about it, even though the last part is a little harder to because it’s almost subconsciously by this point.
To say he’s surprised when you suddenly show up at his apartment is an understatement.
Still, there you are–healed lip even though you’re biting it again, loose hair and shirt tucked into your jeans and a tiny sheepish smile curving your lips that makes him think that maybe he’s seeing things and none of that is real.
“Can I come in?” you ask sheepishly and Bucky snaps out of himself, stepping aside quietly and letting you into his… home.
You walk into the place shyly but with eyes roaming through every single little thing and Bucky doesn’t miss the tender smile you give once your eyes land on his picture with Steve.
He can’t exactly decide if that’s a good or a bad thing. He can’t also decide if it’s a good thing your insistence to sit close to him on the couch despite his tries to stay away.
“Are you okay?” you question hesitantly as your hand reach out to his face and touch the side of his nose softly, your thumb brushing his skin lightly. “It’s healed already.”
Bucky nods quietly as he doesn’t know exactly what to say in that moment.
He notices the fear and the worry in your eyes and he tries to convince himself it’s fear and worry for your life. You can’t possibly care for him, be worried and fear for him.
(But that's exactly what you’re doing).
“How’d find me?” he grumbles a little harsher than he intends to but you grin anyway, slumping your back against the couch so your shoulders are touching and you’re falling into an easiness you’re not supposed to.
“Steve,” you reply in amusement with shrug and then laugh, probably noticing the flabbergasted look on his face. “Don’t ask me how but Captain America actually knew my existence.”
Bucky makes a mental note to scold Steve once he’s back home as much he’s secretly enjoying seeing you again after hellish weeks.
“Are you–” he stops abruptly when you nod right away.
“Ethan kicked all of them out after you left,” you explain nonchalantly, a tiny sigh escaping your lips as he sees you look up to the ceiling by the corner of his eyes. “Why?”
It doesn’t need much for him to know what you mean. Because to be honest, he asks himself the same question quite often.
Why’d he run away? Why’d he leave you alone?
In the end, Bucky can come up with a million answers or excuses or justifications. But the thing is–
He knows you don’t care about any of them.
But he tries to, anyway.
“Not safe,” Bucky snarls in response, his fists clenching subconsciously upon his lap because it’s true and you really can’t seem to care a tiny bit about it. “I hurt people.”
“You never hurt me.”
“But I could.”
“I suppose you could.” You shrug and then sigh heavily, turning your head ever so slightly that your chin is touching his shoulder and he can feel your breath on his neck. “Is that what you want? Hurt me?”
“No.”
“Then stop doing this,” you whisper softly and lovingly as Bucky feels his control slowly fading and his heart speeding up on his chest. “Disappearing and making people worried. Giving up from things you love.”
He knows that you mean yourself by people and again he doesn’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing.
“Easy for you to say.”
“It is. Because it’s the truth,” you start carefully and Bucky turns his head to fully face you, your breathing mixing with each other and lips so close he can smell the strawberry of your lipbalm. “You can turn in to him and give up from what you know you want or you can have another chance in life and let us in.”
Bucky nods, blue eyes linger on your lips, curved with a tender, truthful smile that is just for him. A man who’s got blood on his hands, done imaginable things and got a target on his back for a lifetime. But regardless, a man. Who’s learning to live and feel and want again. Who’s just trying to be as normal as someone like him can be.
And to him–
To him, you’re normalcy but also love and affection. You’re trust and solace and patience. You’re a new chance. The whole world itself and the life he’s never thought of.
So he kisses you.
Lips meeting desesperatly but still lovingly and deeply, one hand buried in your hair and the other pulling your body flushed against his as you smile against his mouth like you always do no matter what he says because.
You’re just–you.
And after all, that’s just exactly what he needs. |
It’s intriguing, how every time this happens it still manages to shock him that it hurts so badly.
He’s not sure what he expected—his body was never going to simply “give up the ghost”; the ghost is going to have to be wrenched from it forcefully.
Perhaps he should have stepped onto the highway, he thinks idly as he vaguely feels blood pool under his cheek and screams echo in his ears as though from far away. Killed on impact, then. Would’ve been nicer.
There’s a sickening sensation of moving, a prick and burn somewhere on his body, and then Sherlock goes away for a little while.
Alright, so it might have been a long while.
At least, that’s how it feels. He surfaces as though from underwater but instantly knows that he’s not actually awake. He’s not dead, yet, either—well. At least he doesn’t think he is. Not much evidence of what death is actually like, though apparently a bright light is supposed to be involved.
This is pure, uninterrupted darkness (See: black, combination of every existing color (see: color of the night sky (See: John likes the night sky because of the stars))), and if he gave into such fancies he might say it’s comforting.
There’s noise, he thinks, but not much of it. It comes from very, very far away and if he was fooling himself he might say it resembled a familiar voice, but that’s absurd because the owner of that voice hates him can’t be here.
It’s a low, soothing hum, though, so he doesn’t complain as it lulls him back into nothingness.
Last time, he was trapped in the Palace. There were people talking to him, coaching him, desperately trying to teach him how to live.
There’s no one now—just an endless stretch of pitch black.
Perhaps he hit his head so hard that the impact brought the Palace to ground. Perhaps he’s so far gone that his mind isn’t even going to bother. Perhaps he’s been abandoned by practically everyone so it’s impossible to imagine them asking him to live this time round
There’s the hum again. It’s syncopated, almost like it’s trying to form words, but Sherlock can’t make any sense of it.
There’s pressure, somewhere, too. He’s not sure how he knows, but—absurdly—something in the back of his mind tells him that this pressure combined with the hum means he’s safe.
He lets that idea curl around him like a blanket as he drifts away again.
This continues for an immeasurable amount of time, until suddenly, there is a bright light.
Actually, it’s extremely bright. Practically blinding, Christ, that’s bright. Instinct makes him want to fumble for a light switch, but sensation tells him he’s lying down and there won’t be one nearby.
This is likely it, his muddled brain tells him. This is what everyone says it’s like; you’re most likely officially done for.
When he manages to crack his eyes open—god, his head is pounding—the light is obstructed by an extremely blurry figure. He thinks he hears a gasp, but it’s difficult to tell past the ringing in his ears.
The figure moves closer, and for a moment Sherlock gives into fancy and wonders if it’s an angel sent to guide him on his way.
“Fuck,” a man’s voice says fervently.
…..An angel with a bit of a mouth, then.
He knows with certainty that he won’t be able to stay here for long; the light is burning his retinas and his head is pulsing an earsplitting staccato and the temptation to slip back into nothingness is very, very strong.
As his eyes start to slip closed again, though, the figure appears to multiply and then suddenly there are several voices; a discordant symphony that grates on the ears. He thinks he’d very much like to return to the darkness and the pressure and the hum.
One of the voices rises above them all, and for just a moment, Sherlock recognizes the words: “Sherlock, no, don’t go back to sleep just yet. Come on; open your eyes for me, yeah?”
The shock of it is almost enough to wrench him back from letting the darkness drag him under, because he knows that voice. Isn’t that….?
Isn’t…
Doesn’t that sound like—?
The next time the light appears, it resolves itself into the shape of a rectangular florescent, the standard for most government buildings.
The moment he realizes this, a canyon opens up in the pit of his stomach and he feels as though he’s about to fall into it. Oh, no.
He scrunches his eyes closed against the thought; surely, the universe isn’t that cruel.
“Sherlock?”
Oh, no.
The universe isn’t that cruel, he thinks to himself, it’s crueler.
“Sherlock, can you hear me? Could you open your eyes?”
I could, he wants to reply, but I’d really, truly rather not.
He does, though, because that’s John’s voice and John gets quite literally everything (one more miracle) he asks of Sherlock.
John’s face does a sort of elaborate dance before Sherlock’s eyes before it finally settles into the shape of a retired army doctor. He must be leaning over Sherlock, because he looms so close that his breath ghosts over Sherlock’s skin like a whisper. When he sees that Sherlock has managed to focus his gaze, his mouth cracks into the widest smile Sherlock has seen since Rosie was born.
“Hi,” John says so softly that for a moment the word is lost behind the pounding of Sherlock’s blood in his ears.
There’s touch, somewhere, he registers belatedly—John’s calloused hand cradling his head, thumb rubbing gently over a specific area that Sherlock quickly realizes is the spot from which the pain radiates. The hair there, he realizes, feels inappropriately short judging by the way it behaves when John’s thumb brushes over it—he must have been shaved at some point. The implications of that are slightly frightening.
It occurs to him that he’s been staring at John without saying anything for several seconds.
“…’Lo,” he manages finally, but it’s like broken glass, cracked and painful and he coughs around it for a moment or two after.
John’s hand presses gently to his chest to ease the strain, but Christ, that hurts too. Come to think of it, there isn’t much of what he can feel of his body that doesn’t feel lit up like a Guy Fawkes effigy.
“Shh,” John soothes, “easy, you were on a respirator for a while. I’ll get you some ice chips later if you can stay awake.”
There’s a very small chance of that happening, Sherlock wants to say, already feeling sleep curl a hand out towards him in invitation. Just then, though, the door opens and a man Sherlock doesn’t know walks in.
“Mr. Holmes,” the new man says briskly, “good to see you’re back with us. Would you mind telling me the date?”
Doctor, Sherlock’s mind supplies, and then, ridiculously, unnecessary, John’s my doctor.
“’Head’s fine,” he croaks, shoving down the fear that wells up again when he remembers the cold patch on his scalp. “Wanna go home,” he adds.
“Ah,” the doctor chuckles a bit, and John puts his face in his hands in Sherlock’s periphery, “I’m afraid I do need to check whether you’re of sound mind, Mr. Holmes. I’m also afraid you won’t be able to leave for…well. Quite a while.” He exchanges a weighted look with John. Sherlock feels indignation rise to his tongue and he wonders vaguely if he has the energy for a good strop, but what the doctor adds next expels that problem from his mind instantly.
“At the very least, we can’t release you until you’ve passed a psychiatric evaluation,” he says, and Sherlock’s blood goes cold.
No, he thinks with mounting alarm, surely not.
“Why on earth is that necessary?” he tries, the words bitten off at the end as his chest spasms around a fresh set of coughs.
The doctor shifts from foot to foot, gazing at John as though passing the question to him. Sherlock tilts his head to the best of his ability to stare at John too, and sees with shock that the man is staring hard at his shoes, hands stuffed deep into his pockets and looking abhorrently sad.
“Sherlock,” he says finally, raising his eyes to meet Sherlock’s burning ones, “you’re on suicide watch.”
The world inverts.
Panic expands in his chest like a bubble, and he distantly hears both John and the doctor telling him to calm down as his heart monitor spikes, but he pays it no heed. His eyes are darting about the room, searching desperately for the final piece of evidence that will tell him what he already knows and hoping to god that it’s not there.
In the end, though, he lands on it: just there, sticking out from underneath John’s coat on a chair in the corner of the room, his notebook.
The universe is so, so cruel.
The worst of it is: John’s here now, and he’s got Sherlock as a literal captive audience.
John speaks every single moment that Sherlock is awake; chatters about everything and nothing, about Mrs. Hudson and Molly and Rosie and someone named Greg. As he continues to talk, though, and information about Sherlock’s condition filters through the babble, Sherlock is forced to watch as nearly every escape he might have had is closed off and tightly sealed.
When he learns that he’s broken his body so badly that moving independently will be not a privilege he possesses for ages if ever again, he realizes with mounting dread that it will be months and months (during which anything could happen to John because of him) before he can even function alone.
When he learns that John has made arrangements for Sherlock to live with him and Rosie once he’s reached an outpatient PT stage (“Baker Street has all those corners and stairs, Sherlock, it’s just not practical,”) Sherlock snarls under his breath. John pauses for half a second when he hears this and, alarmingly, he grins. It’s the smug sort of grin he used to do when he would deliberately grate on Sherlock’s nerves and finally got evidence that it was working.
It’s horrible because John’s company is something Sherlock has been positively craving for an immeasurable amount of time, and now that part of him is at war with the part that wishes on every star in the irrelevant solar system that the man would go the fuck away.
John touches him, soothes him, speakes to him as though his letter was a figment of Sherlock’s imagination, and it feels like the cure has suddenly become the disease.
He knows without a doubt that Mycroft is the reason why John has the notebook (John wouldn’t go through his things unless at mycroft’s suggestion), so when his brother turns up one day for a visit Sherlock spends ten full minutes shouting at him.
Mycroft, damn him, takes all of it sitting down, staring at Sherlock gravely and not even lifting a finger in his defense as Sherlock verbally eviscerates every aspect of his existence. Finally, when Sherlock throws his head back against the pillows, spent and panting, his brother asks calmly: “Done?”
“No,” Sherlock spits petulantly, but it would seem he actually is done because a nurse comes in just then for one of his “frequent” observations.
“You have come to an erroneous conclusion, brother mine,” Mycroft says placidly as he rises and nods at the nurse, “based on critically-flawed logic. Doctor Watson and I are working to rid you of this fantasy you have convinced yourself of, and despite his numerous misjudgments, it would appear he has elected to be especially stubborn about this.”
Clearly, Sherlock wants to bite back, but just then Mycroft does something utterly perplexing: he leans over Sherlock’s bed rail and grips him tightly about the bicep of his good arm.
“Do not,” he hisses in Sherlock’s face, suddenly devoid of all placidity, “do that to me again, little brother.”
He straightens, pulls his vest straight with a jerk, and leaves.
The nurse says: “He cares about you very much.”
Sherlock replies: “Your boyfriend is seeing three other women behind your back.”
Sometimes, he has to go into surgery to repair this or remove that, and he wakes with morphine lying heavy on his skull and pain poking sharply at his bones, and it seems very much like he will never ever be free of this bed.
John must know whenever he’s scheduled for these procedures because he’s always there when Sherlock wakes up, even if he wasn’t when he was wheeled in.
“Go back to sleep,” he always says, running a hand through sherlocks hair and that’s Sherlock’s favorite thing ever but he would die, just die, if anyone knew that.
Sometimes, if he wakes confused or thinking the game is still afoot, he’ll mumble something like “I have to,” but he never gets to the end of the sentence because he’s not sure what he has to do.
“No you don’t,” John always replies easily, and he shushes all of Sherlock’s protests until he falls asleep again.
After he’s been poked and prodded and tested and stitched together for what feels like an eternity, Sherlock chews up and spits out no less than four psychiatrists sent to “evaluate” him.
After the fourth leaves in tears, John walks in and stands looking at Sherlock with his hands on his hips for a very long time.
“Alright,” he finally says briskly, “so no psychiatrists. Just me, then.”
“What on earth are you on about?” Sherlock snarls, patience already thin from the evaluation he’s just had to sit through.
“I’m on about you planning your own death, Sherlock,” John says overtly, making Sherlock freeze; it’s been what feels like an age since he woke and neither of them have mentioned it since John said he was on suicide watch. “And if you thought we weren’t going to talk about that,” John continues, voice rising steadily, “because we never fucking talk about anything important, too bad. That’s not fucking on. I drove the man I called my best friend to suicide and I’ll be damned if that goes unaddressed.”
The hairs on the back of Sherlock’s neck stand up at that, because that’s not it at all. He reels, trying to figure out how John could have come to that conclusion—how he could have read through Sherlock’s careful logical reasoning and come away pointing at himself—but he comes up empty. It’s absurd. It’s impossible. John is a good man, he would never.
“I…what?” he asks, searching for the answer in John’s face and finding none, “John. John. That doesn’t make sense,” he insists, nearly pleading.
“No, it makes perfect sense,” John replies confidently, striding over to drop into his usual seat with a huff, “but we won’t talk about it any more today, you’re still hurting. Just,” he licks his lips, hand hovering in the air as though poised to snatch the words from the atmosphere, “just promise me you’ll listen to what I have to say,” he finishes.
“I said that I would,” Sherlock says without thinking. He regrets the words almost immediately when John’s face crumples, and for a moment looks like he’s in serious danger of starting to cry.
“Yeah,” John says thickly, “you did.”
“You’re miraculously lucky,” the doctor tells him just before he’s discharged to the inpatient PT facility (no doubt the most posh one in Europe because Mycroft sticks his fat fingers into everything), “I’ve never seen a case like yours where the victim stood even a fighting chance of walking again. I’ve been told, though,” he suddenly darts a furtive glance at John, whose mouth is set in a firm line, “that you are prone to, ah, ‘mad dashes on rooftops’ as part of your job.” He’s clearly attempting to maintain the detached, professional façade that doctors are meant to convey, but the way he shifts ever so slightly from one foot to the other has dread twisting Sherlock’s gut into a fist.
“I’m afraid, Mr. Holmes,” the doctor finishes, “that that’s going to be quite impossible from here on out.”
And, just like that, half of Sherlock’s Work vanishes before his eyes.
When the doctor leaves, Sherlock refuses to look at John. He thinks he hears John try to say something, but he makes no move to acknowledge it; instead he presses the button to recline his bed all the way, turns his head to the side, and doesn’t move for the rest of the day.
He returns from the first day of physical therapy a trembling mess of a man, wishing for nothing more than to regain the ability to walk purely so he can walk directly off the edge of the nearest cliff.
“’S tough,” John says knowingly, “I remember my first day of PT after getting shot; there’s nothing quite like that feeling, eh?”
Sherlock is sulking sitting in the foldable chair they’ve placed in the shower during this conversation, trying to shampoo his hair one-handed while John rinses with the detachable shower head. He hums in agreement, still trying to reconcile his crave for John’s company with the incredible desire for the man to go away; he wonders when the balm became the burn as John’s fingers coax the shampoo out of his hair.
“You were lucky, though,” John continues, and Sherlock can feel harsh words rising up his throat like bile, “at that speed, that car could have easily left you paralyzed for life.”
“That long?” Sherlock snaps, and then grinds his teeth together so he won’t say anything else.
John’s hand stills in his hair, his eyes on the back of Sherlock’s head boring deeper holes than the surgeons’ tools had. “Please don’t say things like that,” he begs softly.
Sherlock complies, and doesn’t speak until John’s gone home.
“What happened to your back?” John asks the next time he visits, and Sherlock freezes, closing his eyes.
Of course. Of course. He was tired and sore and stroppy when he agreed to allow John’s help in showering; he’d forgotten, like an utter imbecile, that that means John just spent almost fifteen minutes staring at his mutilated back. God, he is losing it.
He opens his mouth—to say what, he’s not sure—and closes it again before he finally settles on, “Serbia. While I was…away.”
John exhales harshly through his nose, face doing that thing it does when he expects an answer but still doesn’t like it.
“Ah,” John clears his throat, “when?”
Sherlock frowns, failing to grasp how that’s relevant. “Just before I returned, I suppose,” he answers reluctantly.
“So,” John clears his throat again and Sherlock ponders whether he should ask if the man needs a lozenge, “right before I beat you bloody for an entire night, then.”
“I deserved that,” Sherlock assures him quickly.
“God!” John cries, looking about the room as though searching for salvation on the walls. “Sherlock,” he says desperately, voice suddenly low and intense as he leans his elbows on his knees, every muscle of his body screaming this is important, “you do not deserve everything other people do to you, you know.” He nods severely, eyes darting back and forth over Sherlock’s face in a way that makes him want to squirm.
Sherlock wants to disagree more than he wants just about anything else on the planet, but John’s got that stance he gets into when he’s gearing up for a good argument, so he relents and says, “Alright.” It sounds far less certain than he’d like.
John sighs heavily and puts his head in his hands, and Sherlock wonders if he’s perhaps said something wrong again.
“Sherlock,” John finally says after taking several deep breaths, and when he looks up his eyes have gotten alarmingly misty, “I am losing fucking track of the apologies I owe you.” Sherlock knows immediately that he’s not just talking about Serbia anymore.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he says tiredly, “It wasn’t your fault.”
“Sherlock, you walked into traffic!” John cries as though Sherlock isn’t perfectly aware, thank you.
“It was an accident.”
“Oh, I know. Just like you planned in your notes, Sherlock. That was about as much an accident as me shooting Jeff Hope was.”
“John, I’m serious,” Sherlock insists, “I didn’t mean to step off the kerb; I thought the light had changed.”
“Sherlock,” John’s voice becomes a sickening blend of sad and compassionate, “you don’t need to lie to me.”
“I’m not!” Sherlock beats his good hand against the mattress, unable to do much else but grit his teeth against his frustration. “Honestly, John, do you think I’d be that thick, going to all that trouble to make it look like an accident only to leave behind a detailed plan outlining just how purposeful it was?” he exhales harshly through his nose and throws his head back against the pillows, staring determinedly at the ceiling so he won’t have to look at John’s crumpled face.
“I meant to burn the book,” he concludes dejectedly, “you were never supposed to know.” But now John did know, knew bloody everything and it was all a waste. All that planning, all that preparation, all of it down the drain because of one frankly embarrassing slip of judgment, and in the end it didn’t even work. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
“Sherlock,” John says, breaking him out of his self-berating, “even if that’s true and you didn’t mean for it to happen that day, you would’ve done that or something similar at another time. Am I wrong?”
Sherlock heaves a massive sigh and contemplates taking his pain meds early so they can knock him out.
“No,” he admits eventually, and then quickly adds, “but that doesn’t make it your fault. “
“Christ, Sherlock!” John throws his hands in the air in exasperation. “How on earth does that not make it my fault? How can you honestly tell me this has nothing to do with me?!”
“Because it’s not because of you, it’s for you!” Sherlock snarls, raising his head to glare at John, and it would appear his patience has reached its depletion because the words keep coming like a broken dam. “There are very few things in this world that I would not do for you,” he says baldly, “I jumped off a roof to keep you safe and I would do it again, but the second I reentered your life I continued my usual path of wreaking absolute havoc on it. I do not want to die,” his voice cracks on that and what it does to John’s face is inexcusable, “but I need to be removed from the equation because the moment I enter it, the result is always painful. So I need to leave for you, to keep you and Rosie safe, but it’s my choice, John. My choices are not your fault.”
“And Mary’s choices aren’t yours,” John replies immediately, drawing Sherlock up short. “Mary died for you¸ so that you could live. That doesn’t make it your fault either.”
“I…” Sherlock starts, but the words don’t come. He opens and closes his mouth several times, watching John’s face change from determined to a sort of satisfied smirk.
“Don’t be absurd,” he says after far too long, “of course that was different.”
“Did you push her in front of you?” John demands, suddenly standing with his hands on his hips. Sherlock gapes.
“What?” he asks, bewildered, “of course I didn’t; I would never—“
“So it’s almost like it was her choice, then,” John cuts him off.
“Well…” Sherlock hesitates, “yes,” he eventually agrees, “but if I hadn’t—“
“Did you put your hand over Vivienne Norbury’s and force her to fire her gun?” John interrupts him again, and now he’s got that tone he uses when he’s positively done with Sherlock’s antics.
“Oh, good lord, John,” Sherlock sighs, “not every form of influence is direct.”
“In some cases they need to be,” John declares with absolute confidence. “You act like every bad thing that’s ever happened is your fault just because you were there, Sherlock, and that makes no sense. You’re a bloody genius, but you’re not so all-powerful that everyone around you has no autonomy.” He’s been inching steadily closer to the head of Sherlock’s bed, and when he says that he reaches out to grip the rail.
“You sound like Mycroft,” Sherlock accuses.
“Yeah, well,” John shrugs, unfazed, “Maybe we’ve been having the occasional heart to heart these past few weeks.”
“Oh, God,” Sherlock cries, throwing his head back again; the mere thought has it pounding even harder than usual.
John chuckles, and then he does that thing he’s been doing that Sherlock can’t make heads or tails of: he brushes the fringe back from Sherlock’s forehead and swipes his thumb across the patch of hair that’s only just growing back from having been shaved. Sherlock cranes his neck to gaze up at John in question, but the touch is gone an instant later as John lets out a barely-audible sniff.
“Get some rest,” he says, “I’m going to get Rosie from Mrs. H.”
When he leaves, Sherlock stares with a furrowed brow at the door he went through until the pull of sleep drags him under.
Throughout all this there have, of course, been people other than John.
Mycroft is a frequent and infuriating presence, but every time Sherlock says something alluding to his death he looks ready to combust, so Sherlock avoids the subject unless he’s feeling particularly vicious.
Mrs. Hudson stops by several times, crying and fussing and then suddenly changing her tone to warn, “If you hadn’t broken it, I’d smack you upside the head, young man, don’t think for a moment I wouldn’t.” He doesn’t quite have a response to that because she’s got that motherly countenance that also makes her inexplicably scary.
Lestrade is there every now and then, stammering apologies for texting him, which makes no sense at all, but Sherlock tells him it’s alright anyway (even if purely to make him shut up).
Molly visited frequently while he was at Barts (probably because she was right downstairs), and at one point she says, “I wish I’d ripped that bloody letter to shreds.” He asks her what she’s talking about, but gets no reply.
It’s raining, the day John brings Rosie.
Sherlock almost can’t believe his eyes as the doctor walks in with her strapped to his chest, and then takes her out of her carrier and immediately place her in Sherlock’s lap.
“There we go, say hello to your godfather, love,” John says briskly.
Sherlock jolts as though electrocuted, hands flapping with indecision as she situates herself on his legs and tilts her head back to gaze at him as though she’s never seen another human being before. He’s inexplicably utterly terrified of touching her, suddenly reminded that she is feather-light and fragile as a bird and that if anyone decided to hurt her because of him it would be so, so easy.
“I—John, I—“ He flails, panicked, but John reacts as though he deals with people who do not want to touch his daughter every day.
“Easy, it’s fine,” he placates, and then he reaches forward to raise her so that she’s lying on his chest, face pressed into the juncture of his neck and shoulder. Then he moves Sherlock’s good arm so that he’s supporting her by her bottom, giving her foot a soft squeeze before settling back to admire the picture.
“See?” he smiles as though there is absolutely nothing wrong and Sherlock’s chest does not feel as though it’s ready to cave in on itself. “She knows you,” he adds, pointing at the way Rosie’s hand has taken hold of part of Sherlock’s t-shirt.
Sherlock looks down at the tiny human in his arms, sees everything good and innocent in the world staring back at him, and knows—just as surely as he did the day she was born—that he must preserve this.
He wants Rosie to live a life that doesn’t involve losing her mother and nearly her father because of what their friend does for a living, wants her to live a life in which no one would dare touch her to get to him because they see the world as a series of weak links, wants her to live.
Something in his face must show this train of thought, because John says, “I know you love her very much,” and, “I’m so sorry I took her away from you; I’ll never do that again, I promise.”
“I,” Sherlock starts, but his throat seals itself around the syllable and he can’t get another word out.
John hmms though, as though he understood. “Sherlock, truly,” he says after a moment, “how could you leave this?”
The words fall on him like a rockslide, knocking his breath away for a second. He couldn’t leave this—this is his heart, everything he’s carefully cultivated over the years joyfully thrown out the window if only to see her smile once for him—and that, precisely, is why he must leave it.
“Easily,” he replies, tongue heavy with the words because it won’t be easy, it will feel like ripping his heart out string by string and then playing them like a violin while still dripping, “to protect it.”
Later, John steps out into the hall and Sherlock hears him call Mycroft.
“I think I might’ve made him worse,” he murmurs, low and tense in a way he must be hiding from Sherlock whenever he walks in the room.
After a beat of silence, John explains, “I took Rosie to see him for the first time, since…since. He loves her, you know? I thought…” he trails off, and Sherlock takes that moment to contemplate Rosie where she’s fallen asleep on his shoulder. She’s been that way since almost immediately after John placed her there, and he’s terrified of disturbing her.
She’s soft and sweet and important, and that doesn’t follow from reason at all because she’s less than a year old and has made zero noteworthy contributions to society, but she came from John Watson, so Sherlock supposes that’s reason enough.
“—But I’m worried seeing her might have just…I dunno, reaffirmed all that shit he’s convinced himself of,” Sherlock tunes back into John’s conversation, “That if he exists she’ll get hurt, rubbish like that.”
Not rubbish, he wants to chime, rubbing a tentative hand up and down her back. Not rubbish at all, it’s such a real possibility that it makes him feel ill to think about.
“But how—“ John pauses to exhale what sounds like a deeply-stressed breath. “How do I break him out of that? It’s beyond what I…what I did now, he’s literally convinced himself his presence on the planet leaves everyone worse off! How do I—“ he cuts off suddenly, and then says, so lowly that Sherlock has to strain to catch the words, “Should I give him the book now? If it…if it doesn’t work, I’m scared that I won’t have much else to offer.”
“You have everything to offer,” Sherlock murmurs in the direction of the closed door, “Absolutely everything.”
Sherlock walks. It takes weeks, weeks, and three of his physiotherapists quit, but he walks. He walks, and then he goes home with John.
John is intolerable, but every moment spent leading up to his accident without John has been intolerable as well, so Sherlock hovers between being as scathing as possible and grabbing hold of the man’s jumper to ensure his constant presence.
Of course, this is made no better by the fact that John intermittently chooses to start an argument over whether Sherlock should stay or not.
“Why will it fix anything?” John demands one day, massaging Sherlock’s legs where they ache from yesterday’s PT session.
Sherlock sighs. “Because it is the only way to ensure your continued happiness,” he insists, too exhausted to elaborate.
John sucks his teeth. “Bullshit,” he declares, “that’s complete rubbish and you know it, Sherlock holmes.” He grinds his thumb into a particularly tight knot in Sherlock’s thigh and mutters “sorry” when Sherlock gasps, then he adds with absolute confidence, “You are the only way to ensure my continued happiness. You and Rosie, your presence in my life. That’s the only way.”
What? Sherlock reels.
“I—no it’s not,” he says, bewildered, “that’s not true at all.”
“Why not?” John demands, easing Sherlock’s leg back onto the couch cushion and turning his attention to the other one.
“We’ve had this argument before, John,” Sherlock snaps, “I cannot stand repeating myself.”
“No,” John says, “we’ve had the I’m the cause of every problem because I exist argument, and you already know why I think it’s bollocks. So I’m asking again to see if you’ve got a better answer. So.” His physician’s hands pause, pressing into the muscle of Sherlock’s left calf, and he stares up at Sherlock with challenge in his eyes.
“Why not?” he asks again.
“Wh—honestly, John!” Sherlock flaps his good hand in frustration, “Any idiot could see that I’m the common denominator in every one of those situations! Even you could tell as much!”
John’s brow furrows at that, and he leans back to sit on his haunches. “How d’you mean?” he asks.
“I mean,” Sherlock hisses, “that I am admittedly inadequate at understanding human emotions, but I am very adept at reading reactions. Reactions, John!” he insists when John doesn’t look impressed, “And your first reaction was to remove me from the scenario so that I could do no further damage! You did it first, John, and you’re acting like I’m insane for wanting to provide total insurance against my further influence! Honestly, John, that is what doesn’t make sense. Why else would you—why—that is. You. You said it all in your…note.” He finishes lamely, the words dwindling from stream to trickle in the face of John’s expression. As Sherlock has continued to speak it’s progressed from confused to unimpressed to downright stony. Sherlock wonders, for the thousandth time, whether he’s said something Not Good again.
He clears his throat, forces himself to keep looking John in the eye, and refuses to ask the doctor to go back to rubbing the deep ache from his legs.
John stares at him for a moment, crystalline, brow furrowed into marble, and then he cracks it all as he says: “I fucking knew it.”
“What?” Sherlock asks, absolutely loathing how frequently he’s had to use that word lately.
“I knew it,” John repeats helpfully, hefting himself back to a standing position so he can point at Sherlock from a proper vantage point, “I knew that’s what this boiled down to. Knew it.”
“John, knew what?” Sherlock cries, desperately confused, “Boiled down to what? What on earth are you on about?” And quite all at once he hates this. He hates it with every fibre of his being, hates constantly feeling wrong-footed and hates people not saying things outright to him, hates the bone-deep burn in his legs and hates that he seems to have lost his only chance to get rid of it, hates that John wanted him gone and then changed his mind the moment Sherlock tried to comply, and suddenly, horrifyingly, he feels as though he might cry.
It must be visible on his face, because John’s nostrils flare and he mutters a low, “Jesus,” and then he’s suddenly back kneeling in front of Sherlock, this time gripping him by the forearm as though to ground him.
“Sherlock,” he says softly, “I’m going to talk to you like a child for a second.”
“You’d better not,” Sherlock spits.
“I’m going to,” John replies, unfazed, “because I need to be certain that you understand this completely. Sherlock.” He stops speaking until Sherlock mulishly meets his gaze. “People sometimes say things they don’t mean when they’re upset. They make decisions they regret later, and they hurt people who don’t deserve it.”
“Or they say precisely what they’ve been thinking the entire time,” Sherlock points out stubbornly, “and then later feel guilty because societal norms dictate one shouldn’t do that.”
“Will you do anything to believe the opposite of what I’m saying?” John asks, his frustration diluted by an inexplicable tinge of amusement.
“You are a good man, John,” Sherlock explains, and ploughs on when John opens his mouth as though to argue, “Even at your worst you do not wish death upon people, Moriarty notwithstanding. I prize reason above almost all else, though, and that is why I got the results I did even if my methods went against your moral code.”
“First off,” John replies briskly, hand tightening on Sherlock’s arm, “stop talking about your work in past tense. You’re not done. No, stop it,” he adds when Sherlock scoffs, “secondly, what if your reasoning was flawed?”
“Oh, don’t be absurd,” Sherlock says, “Of course it’s not; I came up with it.”
“You came up with it directly after one of your good friends died and your best friend outright blamed you for it.” John withdraws his hand and stands again, leaving Sherlock feeling oddly cold. “Forgive me for thinking there’s a slight chance you may have been blinded by emotion.”
Sherlock doesn’t roll his eyes at that, but it’s a near thing.
John probably sees the urge, and he looks like he wants to comment, but instead he walks the short distance to the desk on the other side of the living room and rummages around in one of the drawers before pulling out a standard marble notebook.
“Yours was much fancier,” he says as he edges his way around a pile of Rosie’s toys, “but us normal people don’t generally have leather-bound notebooks lying around, so.” He stops in front of the couch and hovers, fingers tapping the cover of the notebook in hesitation as Sherlock eyes him warily. “I know I’m no genius,” he says, “but I do know a bit about syllogism. And I know how dangerous it is to make decisions based on syllogism. And I know you know that too. So.”
He extends the notebook with one hand. It’s like a metaphysical attempt at bridging the gap between them, an offering Sherlock has no idea what to make of, but he feels inexplicably like it’s imperative that he take it.
He extends his own hand to take it and thinks about doing the exact same thing, a million years ago, standing on the roof of Bart’s hospital.
John had been completely unreachable then. Now, he’s right here, but for some reason Sherlock still feels like he can’t touch him.
After Sherlock has taken it, John stares at the carpet and says, “You said people say what they really think when they’re upset.”
“I know what I said, John,” Sherlock sighs, but there’s no real bite to it.
“You also said you heard me when I spoke to your…that is. To your.” He clears his throat. “gravestone.”
“yes,” he admits cautiously, the notebook feeling uncharacteristically heavy in his hand.
“Do you remember what I said?”
Sherlock stays silent until John forces himself to meet his gaze, and it’s utterly infuriating that he can’t read anything there beyond nervousness that doesn’t seem to suit this conversation.
“You said I was ‘the most human human being’ you’d ever known,” he finally answers.
“Yeah.” John says, face pinched with the memory. “I was really terribly upset, then,” he continues, “Did I mean what I said?”
“I…” Sherlock pauses, breaking eye contact with John to stare at the marble notebook’s cover. He tries to picture the day in his mind—the way John’s face scrunched, the way his voice broke—and of course it’s all rife with emotion, but it does seem genuine. After all, no one was around that John knew of; he could have said anything and been satisfied that no one would actually hear and judge him for it.
“I suppose you must have,” Sherlock admits after a beat of silence that’s probably too long.
“I did,” John declares, nodding vehemently. “I said it again when I thought we were going to die in that tube carriage, and I’ll say it again now. You are not a machine, or a monster, or a freak, you’re not any of it.” He nods again as though to punctuate the statement. “You’re bloody brilliant, but you’re human as they come and you’d do anything for the people you love. And I keep…” he clears his throat, something he’s been doing with unnerving frequency lately, “I keep losing sight of that until I’ve lost you or I’m about to lose you, but I…well. I’ve learned my lesson this time ‘round, I think.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and stares at Sherlock, chewing on his lower lip.
Sherlock thinks this is all entirely too intense for 5:00 in the evening, but he doesn’t say as much because John’s eyes look treacherously misty.
“…..Alright,” he finally says because the rest of his vocabulary seems to have gone on holiday.
John looks like he wants to say something else, but Rosie shatters the moment by announcing that she’s woken from her nap.
Premise: John was attracted to Mary because of the element of danger he saw lurking beneath the surface.
Premise: John was attracted to life with Sherlock because he missed his wartime lifestyle.
Premise: John was attracted to the army because he craved the feeling of doing good under stressful situations.
Premise: when John was discharged from the army, he felt so useless he developed a psychosomatic limp and an intermittent tremor.
Conclusion: Never, not once, has John Watson given a fuck about safety.
Premise: If John had not met Sherlock when he did, he would have been dead in under a month.
Premise: If Sherlock had not jumped off the roof of Bart’s hospital, John would have been dead in under a minute.
Conclusion: John is not the only one who saves lives. He is merely the only one who has ever received thanks for it.
“John,” Sherlock breathes, horrified.
John looks up from the book he’s reading and glances between Sherlock’s face and the notebook he’s got a white-knuckled grip on. Understanding dawns on his face almost instantly.
“Did you really not know?” he murmurs, brow furrowing softly in mild surprise, “I always thought you could tell. I thought that’s why you invited me along, that first time.”
“I…” Sherlock blinks rapidly down at the pages on which John has just boldly inked out how close he came to suicide. He swallows heavily. “There were…I suppose there were signs, but. I didn’t know it was that. That is, that…close.”
John nods as though he understands, even though Sherlock is fairly sure that what he said made no sense.
“It was, yeah,” he admits, then adds, “I never thanked you for that.”
“No need,” Sherlock replies immediately, confidently. He can’t figure out why John’s smile looks sad.
Premise: When Sherlock came back and interrupted my proposal dinner, he expected me to be completely alright with the fact that he was alive.
Premise: The minute I began showing signs that I was upset, he recognized them and started apologizing.
Premise: He has still not fully stopped apologizing.
Conclusion 1: Sherlock is perfectly adept at comprehending human emotion the wanker
Conclusion 2: What he’s absolute rubbish at is comprehending his own worth. He was insensitive in the way he told me he was alive not because he didn’t know how the death of a friend makes someone feel, but because he had no idea he was important enough to me for it to actually upset me.
Premise 1: If Vivienne Norbury had not wanted to fire her gun, she would not have fired her gun no matter what Sherlock said.
Premise 2: If Mary had not wanted to jump in front of Sherlock, she would not have jumped in front of Sherlock no matter what anyone said.
Premise 3: Though no one would be surprised if the bloody genius was the first to discover how to do it, telepathy is still very much a fictional concept. Sherlock can’t control people’s actions purely by being in the room.
Conclusion: People make their own choices.
He reads it all, sits on the couch as the sun dips below the line of horrid suburban houses and ignores John when he tries to get him to eat.
Towards the end, he comes across a folded leaf of ordinary ruled paper, titled Sherlock in John’s scrawl on the outside flap.
Sherlock,
As I write this, my daughter is sitting in her play pen absolutely pummeling the toy bee you gave her for her christening, and you’re lying in a hospital bed surrounded by doctors who aren’t sure if you’ll ever wake up again.
If you go before you can see how much she already loves you, before you can see that what you did to protect her means she’s going to grow into a stunning, brilliant, healthy young lady, I’m honestly not sure what I’ll do.
You’ve spent half your time since you got back apologizing to me, for fucking everything. You apologized for things that weren’t even your fault, and I let you take the blame and I keep letting you take the blame and the absolute bitch of it is: I’ve done some god-awful things to you too. I beat you bloody directly after finding out that you gave up everything to save my life, I left you completely on your own and didn’t think once that you might not have had an easy time while you were away, I helped you heal from a near-fatal bullet wound and then I went back to the woman who put it there. And when that woman gave her life to save yours (just like you’ve given your life to save mine so, so many times), I blamed you for the choices of everybody else and then not only left you alone but made sure you knew you were alone, and as a result I might not ever get you back.
I need you to wake up. You don’t owe me a goddamn thing, but I need you to wake up so that you can read this. Even if you wake up and you’re in a state where you can’t read anymore, I need you to wake up so I can read it to you and make sure you understand that I mean every word of it.
Mary’s death was not your fault. The woman was a trained assassin, for god’s sake, no one on the bloody planet could make her do anything she didn’t want to do. That night in the aquarium, she decided that she wanted to save your life, so she did. She made a choice and she followed through on it, because that was the kind of person she was. Her actions are not your responsibility, and her choices are not your fault.
Rosie is your goddaughter and she’s always going to be your goddaughter, because you would give (and have given) absolutely anything to protect her. I’m not a praying man and you don’t give even half a bollock about religion in any form, but I know what it means to declare something before the eyes of God. The way the church sees it, you’ve got to be really fucking sure of yourself when you do something like that. I was sure of myself then, and I’m sure of myself now. She’s every bit yours as she is mine because I’m not sure there’s anyone else on earth besides myself who loves her more, and I’m honored that you want to be a part of her life.
You aren’t a monster. I’ll never stop apologizing for calling you that, and I need you to know that even as I wrote the words I knew they weren’t true. You’re human, and you make human mistakes and have human feelings, and I’ll never (ever) forgive myself for forgetting that.
You are human. Seriously. You are. And you didn’t vow to be a superhero or some sort of fucking guardian angel, hovering over us protecting us from everything with your supernatural powers, you vowed to be there for us. And you have been, every step of the way, even when I wouldn’t let you. So please, please, please, fucking please, Sherlock, keep being here. I don’t care if you think you can find a way around that vow by “metaphorically” being there through your brother or money or whatever protection you think your death will provide, I don’t care. I don’t care. I do. Not. Care. I don’t give even a fraction of the most high-flying fuck there ever was. You made a vow to be there, and I’m prepared to beg you to keep it.
Mary gave me a lot of things while she was alive. Some of those things were the biggest fucking headaches I’ve ever experienced, but at the end of the day she chose to give me you. So, I’m going to be just as selfish as I have been this entire time and ask you this: Please, do not make me face the consequences of throwing that away.
Please.
—JW
He reads it. Reads it again. Reads it a third time. Goes back to the beginning of the notebook, drinks in every bit of information John has given him, and then rereads the letter yet again. And again. And again.
He’s still sitting there with the notebook in his hands when John meanders into the kitchen the next morning. The space between them is a long stretch of silence as John sees him and realizes what he’s been doing all night, and the moment hangs there for a small eternity; snow in the first few hours after it’s fallen, before a single footprint has been made.
“Alright?” John finally asks, shifting, nervous, like Sherlock’s answer to that question will decide whether Sherlock stays or not.
Sherlock means to say yes, but instead what comes out is: “I wanted so badly to be able to protect you.”
“I know,” John breathes, breaking from his frozen stance and kneeling in front of Sherlock’s knees in what seems like the blink of an eye. “God. God, Sherlock, I know.”
“I’m—“ it’s inexcusable that his voice cracks on the word and even worse that he feels a lump rising in his throat, “—I’m not an angel, John. I’m not.” John nods vigorously, desperately, gathers both of Sherlock’s hands in both of his own and presses his lips to them in a bizarre sort of kiss. “But I…I tried, I tried so hard to—“
“Fucking Christ, Sherlock, I know you did,” John squeezes Sherlock’s hands and looks up at him, eyes over-bright and searching, “You did everything you could, fucking everything, yeah? You’re still trying to do everything, but I’m begging you, on my bloody knees like a fucking daytime telly show, I don’t give a fuck, I’m begging you. Don’t leave. Don’t leave us, don’t leave me. Please, Sherlock.”
It goes entirely against reason that deciding to die should feel less like leaping off a cliff than the decision to live does. Fear still coils in his gut like a living thing, snaking around his chest to squeeze the breath from his lungs and whispering what if in his ear, the fact that he couldn’t see Mary’s sacrifice coming leaving him shaky and uncertain. He thinks about slipping, about missing things and paying the price for it, about not being quick enough or clever enough and losing John yet again as a result.
And then he thinks about being human.
He looks at John, feels the wrinkled paper of his letter where it’s gotten squashed between his leg and the cushion, and thinks about being human. About forgiving himself for being human, about trying his damndest and failing anyway because he was built out of bone and tissue and remains, despite his best efforts, eternally fallible.
He looks at John, and he leaps. |
"What are you doing Stiles?" Scott asked me with a confused puppy look.
"Are you really asking that?" I scoffed with a dry chuckle. One so dark that even made a few werewolves tremble from it, the others were staring at me shock clear in their faces "I am getting the hell out of here! That is what I am doing" I answered him, continuing my way towards the door of Derek's loft.
"Wait! Why?!" Scott exclaimed, the hurt could be easily heard on his voice and when I turned around I find myself staring at his kicked puppy expression.
What a big surprise, I scoffed sarcastically in my head.
"Because I got fed up of this ungrateful pack!" I shouted at him angrily, ignoring the way he flinched at my tone "I can't stand anymore having you disappointing me anymore. I was very happy when you found true love in Allison, I really was. But who do you think that always end up paying for your Romeo and Juliet story?" I questioned him "I do! You almost killed me twice when you just got turned, and I still stayed with you. Tried to help you, I was patient with you and tried to get through that hard skull that being a lone wolf won't help anyone" I chuckled humorless, almost watery "But I've had enough of feeling guilty for what happened to you. Scotty..." he winced when I said the special nickname that I had for him with so much sadness "When was the last time that we spent together? When was the last time that in our conversation there wasn't a single mention of Allison or how Derek ruined your life? Fir which, flash news, isn't true. If you want to blame someone for how unlucky you are, blame me for dragging you that night to the forest and Kate for driving Peter so mad that he ended up biting you!".
"You aren..." I cut Scott off immediately, I didn't end up speaking yet.
"Also, is being a werewolf such a bad thing?" I asked him but didn't expect an answer, so I kept on talking "Your asthma is gone and you are the lacrosse team captain! It is a blessing not a curse, you should learn from Isaac to be grateful for the bite" I sighed tiredly and leaned against the door behind me "Did you even notice that I was kidnapped and beaten up by Gerard? That you sweet little girlfriend knew an didn't do anything to help me?" I spat the world girlfriend and didn't even felt bad when Allison started crying from guilt or when Scott glared at me for making her sad "Go on defend her. Defend the bitch that didn't do anything when Gerard almost raped me" everyone gasped at that.
I guess it was new news for them, I taunted in my head. Of course, it was. They never cared to know anything from me.
"You know... you were the one that disappointed me the most Scott" I confessed to him "I always knew that I meant nothing to the rest. I wasn't a friend to them or part of the pack, and it was fine to me. After all why would I want be family with teenagers that act all high and mighty cause they entered the VIP circle?" Boyd, Erica and Isaac flinched at that "Kids that I helped so much when they were in their worst and pay me back by hitting me. By betraying their Alpha just after a few electricity shocks, making all the hell I survived in that basement useless" the three puppies looked at the floor in shame.
Good, they deserve feeling that bad. I thought evilly. I found myself so strange weird thought I lost track of my conversation for a few seconds, cause even if I was hurt I never desired them to suffered. But got back into it soon enough.
"Why would I want to be friend with a girl that let her grandfather almost rape me and did nothing to save me?" Allison cried harder at my words "Why would I want to be friend with a girl that only picked on me and humiliated me since we were kids, even after I tried to be friend with her accepting her completely by who she was?" Lydia only glared at me but I could see her own mind scolding her.
Then my eyes landed on Derek Hale, the guy I loved and kept on breaking my heart time after time.
"Why would I want to be part of a pack that it's Alpha prefers to be feared, by using pain, rather than loved, by gaining their loyalty?" Derek kept expressionless but I could see all the emotions running wild in his eyes, guilt and self-loathing the predominated ones. I desired to cradle him in my arms, telling him how much I loved him and that everything was forgiven... but if they really wanted me back, they will have to work harder
"That is why you Scotty were the worst of them all" I broke gazes with Derek and turned to look at my best... ex-best friend "I thought you were my friend... that I could count on my brother. But it seems like I lost you too... no, it seems like you abandoned me".
"No!" Scott shouted/whined and tried to get me, but I used my new discovered magic to keep him at bay.
He sent me a look of shock and betrayal, while the others only looked at me stunned. In the meanwhile, Scott tried to
"My father said that he doesn't recognize me anymore!" I shouted at him angrily. Wind beginning to react at my mood swings "You get your mother to know the truth and accept you, even if you are a werewolf! I, on the other hand, lose mine my dad and I am human" I shook my head, trying to clear my head "Sorry that was unfair, there shouldn't be any difference between human and werewolf".
"Stiles" Scott sighed happily and flashed me a big smile.
"You get to keep your mom even if you had been nothing but a selfish, self-centered and bad friend" his smile crumbled at my words and I felt awful for making him suffer so much, but I had... needed to get this out of my chest "Lose my number Scotty" I ordered him, each time it was harder to ignore his kicked puppy eyes "Better, all of you lose my number. Except Cora, Peter, Aiden and Ethan".
"What? Why them?! They are evil!" barked Scott angrily and the three werewolves of Derek whined pitifully.
"They were the only ones that took me into consideration!" I snapped back at him "Aiden, Ethan and Cora thanked me when I saved their lives. They thanked me! Three wolves that I didn't get close to and only helped them once. I gave everything for this pack, everything! And you didn't even thank me. You treated me us a pathetic outsider that should be grateful to be in your presence. And always looked out for a wrong move from me, as if I was ever going to betray you all. When I almost got myself raped to save the stupid life of all of you!" tears were now on my eyes but I didn't let then fall, I will never let them see me weak.
"Peter... he always saw something especial in me. He asked me if I wanted the bite" they all gasped again and a few looks of anger were thrown at Peter. I looked at him apolitically for causing him problems, but his smirk only grew wider. It looked like he was having the time of his life "In a way I regret not accepting it that time" everyone looked at me surprised, even Peter. There was something in his eyes... longing? I just ignored it, thinking that I was wrong "But I am still grateful that I told him no at that time, or I wouldn't have found out about my powers".
"I am so sorry Stiles..." I interrupted Scott again.
"Sorry won't cut it!" I told him shortly with a glare "Scott, even Deucalion recognized me. Did you know that he visited me before leaving town?" the werewolves growled protectively and the humans looked ready to attack on my defense "A bit late, don't you think?" I commented at their behavior, making them wince guiltily "Would you like to know what he told me?" I asked my ex-best friend who nodded slowly after a bit of thinking " I quote: 'Well played, Miss Stilinski. It's a pity that I am no Alpha now, I would have loved to have such a fierce Little Red in my pack'. Even the enemy saw something on me but you all didn't!" I shouted angrily, the window glasses broke by the force of my magic wind.
I took a deep breath and thought of my mother, to anchor myself. Normally I would have thought of dad, but now that hurt more than thinking of mom. Admitting it saddened me but worked for controlling my powers. I looked at each one of the companions I met during this adventure, trying not to feel bad for their sad faces, and sighed tiredly.
"Goodbye Hale pack" I parted and turned around. Then when I was on my outside I murmured under my breath, so low that not even werewolves would have heard me "And goodbye Beacon Hills". |
“I thought I’d be seeing you soon.” Otose says, wet cloth dipping smoothly into the inside of a glass, eyes not straying from her task. Gintoki stays silent, sitting down in a bar seat and slumping over the counter. “It’s been quiet up there.” She waits a moment, deciphering him and the situation before speaking again, a more serious tone to her voice. “I heard what happened.”
“I don't know what to do.” He admits, fingers tightening their grip in the unbrushed mess of perm.
“I know you’ll keep them safe, Gintoki. I’ve never doubted you on that.”
“I don’t know how you have that much faith in me, baba. It’s not like it was before.”
She stops, glancing quickly over to him seemingly to confirm his words. “How bad?”
“It’s… nearly consuming. That’s the only way I can really put it in terms for someone who hasn’t ever felt it.” His leg was bouncing like he was in desperate need of a cigarette, an addict that needed his fix, which wasn’t too far from the truth.
“Well, I’ve talked to your wig friend, he’s told me that you need to be eating more.” Otose says, drying her hands off and lighting up a cigarette, offering him one which he politely declined. “I don’t know what the amount your “usual” is but I don’t have to, because I know how you are.” She leans up against the bar and crosses her arms, the stance motherly and condescending. “You need to think about yourself before you can think about others, Gintoki.”
Once more, Gintoki keeps his silence. Otose watches him momentarily, the atmosphere between them stuffy.
“I know you’re not going to want to hear this but that’s my job. You’re being selfish. Now, don’t think that I’m trying to say that you should tell the kids about you because I’m not, I’m just saying that you need to be more active in their lives. None of this “it’s for your own good” bullshit you probably spit back at Shinpachi when he yelled at you.” She states, taking a long drag from her cigarette, knowing good and well she’s right.
He knows she’s right too. He knows he needs to be more active and he knows he needs to eat more. He’s scared of what he will become if he loses control. Every bite he takes over the bare minimum is just one more chance for the beast to take over. He knows what that is like, he’d seen kindred succumb to their primal instincts, their vision clouded over until they finally regained control― countless lives later. Takasugi was one of them.
Otose rolls her eyes at the lack of a reply. “That night… why did you bring him here?”
“Who?”
“You know who. The Shinsengumi officer.”
“Oh...” Gintoki says, “Him.” Otose waits for him to answer, ignoring his attempts to play stupid. She’s not playing any games with him right now so he answers truthfully, skipping by all the nonsensical responses that flashed through his head first. “I really don’t know.”
“You’re just putting yourself in more danger, am I wrong?”
“No, you’re not wrong. At first, it was a mutual cause and it still is… I’ve learned a lot about the murders and the missing girls from the Shinsengumi but now I’ve just become too valuable of an aspect.” Gintoki says, rubbing a circle with his fingertip into the bar counter’s wood. “Now one of the officers knows, an-”
“Excuse me?!” The smoke comes out of her nose and mouth with the words, lips pursed as she turned towards him. “An officer knows what?!”
“Listen,― I didn’t want it either.” He barks back, the tone fried but careful not to blow up on someone else. “He grabbed my hand, I can’t do anything about my lack of a heartbeat, now can I?”
“What will you do if he tells someone, Gintoki?!” She scoffs, not minding her tongue, her tone ridiculing and unyielding. “What will you do if they kill you and your kids find out about everything through someone not you? Not only that, but you put their own lives in danger! Consider the tests and th-”
“I get it!” Gintoki cuts her off, will power unable to stop the unnatural glow coming from his eyes. “I understand, I’ve thought about all of this a million times. But that’s the worst-case scenario-”
Otose now cuts him off, cigarette threatening to be crushed between her fingers. “Since when have you not been a worst-case scenario type of guy?”
“Since right now!” He huffs and she huffs back, both of their heads now turned away from each other.
There’s a long moment of silence that passes between them, the only noise the soft jingle of the wind chime swaying gently outside and the sound of her exhaling smoke. “You know…” She starts, turning back to look at him. “That’s the first time I’ve seen your eyes since that day.”
Gintoki stands up, a human complexion now dawned once more on his face. “I’m sorry.” He mutters and begins to walk to the door, Otose letting him leave knowing good and well he would be back.
Not but a few steps out of the bar, a familiar voice calls his name and he turns to the sound. Hijikata is walking up to him, one hand in his pocket, the other relaxed on his sword’s grip.
“Gintoki,” He says, and Gintoki hopes he didn’t miss the officer eavesdropping through his not so subtle conversation in the bar. “What time are you free tonight?”
“For what?” He retorts back.
Hijikata gives him a dumb look, face pinching up. “Huh-? Whaddya mean “for what”? The drinks we agreed upon yesterday.”
“Oh, right.” Fuck. “Uh, anytime is fine. Whenever you get off.”
“I’ll be done around nine, see you… here?”
“No,” Gintoki says, Otose’s eye’s burning holes into his back from the ajar door space. “What about the ramen shop in front of Essence?”
“Fine with me.” He says, sweat lightly covering his neck, pulling on the cravat to loosen it. “See you then.”
“Y-yeah.”
Fuck. He watches the officer walk off towards the club, his stomach turning from a mix of hunger and sun irritation. Otose peaks her head out of the door, silent as she blew smoke from her pursed, red lips. Gintoki just rolls his eyes, walking off to wherever his feet took him, as long as it wasn’t the apartment.
-
The night takes it’s sweet time to come, the imaginary rumble in his stomach telling him he needed to eat and soon. At this point, it’s just a game to see how long he can last and so far, the beast is winning. He’d spent the majority of his day lazily roaming about, chewing on a dango stick he’d snatched from the owner’s stand when he dropped by.
Even in death, his sweet tooth couldn’t be quelled. Not that dango tasted even a little bit sweet to him, it was just the action that made life seem the slightest bit more normal.
In fact, he couldn’t even remember what many of his favorite sweets actually tasted like. Strawberry milk, parfaits, dango― all smelled wonderful and delicious but fell royally short when the taste finally hit his tongue. Immortality was a curse through and through.
Seriously though, why couldn’t he have been a werewolf?
On the topic of werewolves, the moon is hanging brightly above him, signaling that he needed to start making his way to the ramen stand. He's absolutely starving and as soon as Hijikata gets done telling him whatever he needs to tell him, he’s bolting. Gintoki can’t afford another slip-up, especially not with the vice-commander.
The streetlight’s of Kabukicho are gleaming overhead, giving his skin a bluish-purple tint as he walked. The streets are packed, Friday nights always bringing in the largest amount of visitors to this side of the city. The air smelled heavily of booze and sweat, people indulging in whatever sins they could after work. He should be out there helping them indulge, but a certain dark-haired vice-commander had him painfully preoccupied for the better portion of the night.
In truth, Gintoki doesn’t know why he’s still helping him. He could find the missing girls that he’d been hired to find on his own, but Hijikata seems determined on having Gintoki’s help and he can’t exactly disappear without warning, he doesn’t know how big Sougo’s mouth is. In short, he’s stuck. Hopelessly stuck.
There is nothing else to do except keep on the path he’s going on and hope that the case will close soon and thus leave Gintoki with a significant reason to say goodbye to the vice-commander he’s grown to be… friends(?) with. Not that Hijikata isn’t a decent guy when he wants to be, right now he just has his priorities, his life being one of them. He’s not about to be reckless and place his bets on going and winning one-on-one with the high-heel wearing-crossdressing-professional vampire hunter when and if he does slip up. Not yet.
Distantly he can see the club’s unlit sign hanging above the streets, an array of police cars still parked out front. It’s difficult to imagine that only a couple of nights ago he assisted in one of the biggest vampire hideout shut-downs in the city. Technically, he was a traitor now to all of his kind. But then again, having a “kind” didn’t really sit well with him either.
Hijikata is outside the place smoking and when he sees Gintoki, he snuffs the smoke out into the ashtray next to him.
“Hey.” Hijikata nods, folder tucked gently but protected underneath his arm.
“Hey.” Gintoki replies back, an awkward air hanging between the two.
“The uh, the shop’s kind of packed.”
“I know a place.” Hijikata, once more, nods and lets Gintoki lead the way. It’s a couple of blocks down, more of a popular human bar instead of a vampire one, because the location was rather secluded, tucked away in a bad spot on the street so few knew of its existence. Vampires usually never fed off of victims in small locations, too many eyewitnesses, too many compelling statements if anything was to go awry, so Gintoki was confident in the bar’s confidentiality.
He can tell Hijikata tenses when he’s led down the alley, the lack of streetlights unnerving to someone of his nature. Gintoki doesn’t blame him. Hell, he has every right in the world to be more hyper-aware in the situation, Gintoki was in fact shoving lie after lie down Hijikata’s throat every time they met, damn near everything about him to Hijikata was fabricated.
“It’s just around here.” Gintoki states, glancing back to make sure Hijikata was okay. The more friendly body language he gave, the better. They turn the corner of the alley and in a little nook off to the side of a narrow street, there sat the tiny hole-in-the-wall bar.
Gintoki slides open the door, the owner waving and calling out his name to him. Gintoki leads the officer to the back table, the booth seats freshly cleaned and catching lightly on his pants, the scent of the chemicals lingering in his nose. Hijikata seats the folder to the side of him on the seat, taking off his jacket. Soon enough, the lone waitress is coming by to take their order.
They both order something simple, something easy to sip on as they talked. Gintoki looks around the bar, seeing a couple of familiar faces but no kindred, which was all that mattered. That same awkward twinge between them is still there and he can’t put his finger on why exactly tonight of all nights they’re choosing to be somewhat reserved. Neither Gintoki or Hijikata’s personalities were what you would generally describe as reserved, which is why it made little sense. Was he being― dare he ever say it― professional? Pfft, no, he couldn’t be. The perm never had that.
The waitress brings their drinks, sliding them on the table and leaving. Hesitantly, Hijikata picks it up and takes a sip, silently setting it down once more.
“You ready?” The officer asks, bringing up the folder to the table. Why were they acting like this was a first date? So formal and stiff, like some hormonal teenagers.
He nods, Hijikata looking through the documents he brought and picking one out for him, turning it around for Gintoki to look at. “Here. This is what I was doing minutes before we ran into each other that day by the dumpster.”
Gintoki reads through, paying attention to Hijikata’s notes he’d made talking to Miyake Kazuo’s wife, Toriko. There were various things that caught his eye, the lack of communication to Toriko about when and where Miyake was going and coming to every week, obviously the strange men she claimed he began to hang around, topped off by the multiple nights of disappearance. However, the note that really drew to him was the last one, one Hijikata had made countless little scribbles out to the side but had yet to come across any ends to.
Stay clear of men with tattoos on their necks.
Gintoki narrowed his eyes at the writing, paper feeling heavier in his hand. Memories of heartache and loss flooded back, accompanied by the searing pain of becoming reborn, becoming a different man. Gintoki shakes his head, knocking away the ghosts of his past. Hijikata is watching him carefully, a pinch in his brows that was torn between concern and confusion.
He couldn’t say for certain if his experiences were in line with what Yushiro was warning Toriko of, but he could say that if he was correct with his assumptions, Edo was going to be in a whirlwind of shit he wasn’t sure it could get out of. Vampire politics was a tight, unbreaking rope that he chose to stay as far away from as possible.
Gintoki takes a deep breath, one that wasn’t for theatrics. “I have… thoughts.” He begins, unsure of how to continue. He pushes the paper back towards Hijikata, deciding that it would be safer for both him and Hijikata if he didn’t speak on them at all, given the influence of the people in question. “Not here though.”
Hijikata nods, understanding. He begins to shuffle through the papers again, pulling out last night’s transcripts, which had been scribbled all over in an attempt to make some order to the nonsensical speech of the sedated Nishio. Gintoki reads over this as well, being sure to take it in the new light that he now was seeing through. Hijikata had summed it up well, (thankfully, as Gintoki had not been paying the best attention thanks to Sougo) and many of the notes had his name in them. Of course, for reasons unbeknownst to Hijikata, Nishio was now infatuated with Gintoki and much of what was about him was trying to figure out why Nishio had such an affinity for him. He knew Hijikata was going to ask him about that later too, but he definitely wasn’t going to initiate the conversation so he skipped over them, instead looking for things to back up his previous theory.
“These men, snake, they don’t like you… but they know you very well. They told me to tell you this, they knew that I would come into contact with you… After all, I’m just another pawn in their immortal, petty fuckin’ game.”
Gintoki reads, Hijikata’s notes scribbled out vast to the side. Men who know Gintoki very well, bad terms, (does Gintoki know them well? Does he know why they don’t like him?) The same men who were calling the shots for Nishio and Fukuda, the men with power. Links to… Hijikata scrawled off, the sentence unfinished, left to be touched on later. The note under it spoke about Fukuda and how he had been on the Shinsengumi radar a couple of times but they had never been able to secure anything on him. Finding Fukuda was going to be the key in this whole deal, that was Gintoki’s intuition and if he was anything to go off of, then that was Hijikata’s intuition as well. Honestly speaking, he hated how similar they were, but that was beside the point, a terrible thought for another time.
Gintoki sets down the paper quietly and takes a sip of his drink. He knows he’s going to have to bite the bullet, he’s going to have to get Katsura’s opinion. Katsura, much to his own disagreement, was more involved in the vampire politics and workings than he was― and if there’s anyone he can count on to confirm his suspicions on the “powerful and influential” men, it would be another person who lived through it with him. Katsura also might know something about Fukuda and Nishio, which he doubted, but still would ask anyway.
The perm readjusts himself in his chair, hunger creeping up on him like a bad omen. He ignores it, like he always does, handing Hijikata back the transcript. “I’ve have thoughts again, but some I need to get a second opinion on before I say them.”
“I could maybe help.” He replies, the “if this is the right place to talk about it” heavily implied.
Gintoki shakes his head lightly, “No, not you.” He pauses, “I have someone who knows more than what I know, so if I come up to them with my theory they might be able to tell me more. We could get a better lead.”
Hijikata nods, rolling his head to relieve some of its tension. “Yeah, okay. That sounds go-”
Before Hijikata could finish the sentence, he’s interrupted by a familiar female laugh as the woman came through the door. Gintoki looks up from the table, Nene making her way towards them quickly, hips thrown from side to side as she walked. The guy behind her looks visibly confused as he was left in the dust, the silver-haired perm now unwillingly taking his spotlight.
“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” She purrs, the words rolling off of her lips, covered by the same glossy red lipstick as the last time he’d seen her. “This isn’t your usual stomping grounds...” She gives Hijikata a long look up and down, eyes narrowing as they observed. Hijikata glares back, obviously pissed off at the unwelcome guest and he closes the folder before she can look at it. “And this isn’t your usual toy.” She finishes, leaning over the table, long manicured nails clicking against the wood.
“Nene…” Gintoki grumbles, leaning back so she wasn’t in his face. He’s about to excuse himself with her when she speaks, cutting him off before he could say a word.
“How was he?” She asks insistently, smirk turned up on her jealous lips.
“Who-”
“Oh, you know who. Akito, our little friend? Remember now? Did he suit your... needs?” She purrs, whispering the last word, Hijikata’s eyes immediately landing on Gintoki after that statement. “You know, after you two left me. Not even a goodbye! So rude… Tell me, Gin-san, did he pay you, or did you pay him?”
Gintoki has to fight every nerve in his body not to roll his eyes and make a scene. He decides quickly that she’ll only go away if she gets her answers and so he glares, wrapping a hand around his glass and taking a sip. “There was no money.”
“Oh, mutual pleasure I see.” She leans in, whispering in Gintoki’s ear. “How much? And then if I’m better than him than I get to keep my money. Deal? You know I’m better than the guy you have now, at least.”
Gintoki sighs, irritated and still hungry, which wasn’t helping to quell his emotions at the moment. “You're not paying me anything because this isn’t a business deal, so you can go back to that puppy with his tail between his legs you walked in with.” He snaps, voice low and demanding as he motioned with his head towards the guy practically cowering in the doorway.
She laughs, unperturbed by the serious turn of Gintoki’s nature. “You seem tired, I’ll let you have a few drinks and then I’ll be back.” She winks, turning around and ordering both Gintoki and Hijikata another drink. “This one’s on me, again.”
Gintoki runs a hand through his hair, catching on a few tangles. Hijikata finishes his drink, the empty glass clinking against the table. “Yikes.” He says and Gintoki honestly couldn’t agree more. Nene was a whirlwind of a woman and in the two meager times they’d talked, he’d say that she had managed to surprise him in almost every moment of their conversation.
“Tell me about it.”
“I probably shouldn’t ask too many questions.”
“One question is too many when it comes to her.”
“One question is too many when it comes to you, too.” Hijikata retorts with a snort.
“Pfft, Gin-san is an honorable and respectable man who works hard for his money.” He says and Hijikata rolls his eyes, the side of his mouth turning up like he was about to laugh.
“Not sure honorable and respectable are the words I would use.” Gintoki chuckles at the remark, watching Hijikata pull out his phone. He texts someone quickly and then picks up his jacket, holding it in the crook of his arm. “Ah, dammit, I’ve got to go, I’m needed back at the barracks. Tell me when you’ve talked to your consultant, we’ll meet up somewhere. Drinks again?”
“Alcohol is always nice.” Gintoki says as he finishes his own. Hijikata leaves with the folder, dropping off money for their tab to the owner. Not a moment later, the waitress comes by, confused as to what to do with the spare glass. “Leave it, I’ll drink it.” He says, picking up the one meant for himself after she leaves and brings it up to his lips. Nene swoops into the other booth seat, which he knew she would do, however, he wasn’t expecting her to slyly steal the glass from his hand, consequently spilling a couple of drops of the liquid onto the crotch of his pants.
He glances down at it, then back at her, and she theatrically makes a show of turning the glass so she was drinking from where he was. “Whoops,” She whispers, eyes not leaving Gintoki’s. She’s pushing his buttons and she knows she is, they’ve talked long enough for Gintoki to know that Nene isn’t all looks. He’s not going to stop her either, because he’s starving and she’s begging him to leave the bar with her, too easy of a catch to pass down. “Your boy-toy leave you?”
“He’s not my boy-toy,” Gintoki begins, endorsing her by taking the glass out of her hand when she goes to drink. “It was business, nothing more.”
She smirks, chuckling appreciatively at Gintoki’s actions. “Don’t lie to me, Gintoki. I see that way you look at him.” Gintoki ignores her, eyes watching people roam outside the window. Nene continues, disappointed in the lack of reply, “It’s hungry― one could say primal, even. You have something for a man in uniform? Is it the opposite ends of the spectrum that you like? The thought you might get caught?”
“Pfft, I don’t have anything for him.” Gintoki retorts, watching her finish the glass. “He’s just part of the means to an end, that’s all.”
She shrugs her shoulders, nail tracing the ring of the glass gently. “Whatever you say.”
Gintoki looks around, the man that Nene walked in with talking awkwardly to the older man next to him. “So, are you just going to leave him?” He motions his head towards the man and Nene giggles, seemingly amused at Gintoki’s curiosity.
Glancing over at him, she watches his conversation. “He’ll be okay, won’t be the last time he sees me.” She pauses, her devious eyes once more finding his own. “Besides, you’re much more fun.”
Gintoki doesn’t say anything, already knowing that won’t be the case tonight and instead orders her another glass to accompany the already full one in front of her. They talk for a bit longer, the perm only able to hold out the beast’s insistent calling for so long. He knows Nene won’t mind either, so after she gets done with her second glass he pulls out his wallet, getting ready to leave. She’d been putting back drinks and he could tell she was at the cusp of her limit, caught somewhere between being drunk and coherent, which was right where he needed her. Gintoki quickly pays, covering her tab as well, and he makes a joke about how they were equal now.
They talk and walk, Nene stumbling step by step with him, following mindlessly until there was no longer any hotels in front of them. Nene laughs about all sorts of things, face glowing in the warm streetlights. There’s no doubting it, she was a beautiful woman with a rather... unique personality. He hoped that she would find someone to treat her right later in life, once she got through having her fun in her young adult years.
He leads her to the docks, the waves just as gentle as his voice as he soothed her worried, un-probing questions. There’s no one around, the ocean’s breeze blowing her long hair all around her face. He chuckles as she fixes it, his hands tenderly resting on her hips. She’s much quieter than usual, that mask that she had projected each time they drank together crumbling quickly away as her anxiety grew. She was a soft and scared girl at heart and Gintoki feels bad that she had to be his choice tonight. But then again, he always felt bad. No one deserved to bear the weight of his curse other than him, but he had his priorities and the kids and Otose always came first. When they were gone, then he could focus on ending his own mess of a life.
She looks up at him with stars in her worried eyes and he tucks the single loose strand of her hair behind her ear, pushing her lightly against the wall of an abandoned fish cannery. The back of her head hits the bricks, eyes not straying from his own; he can see the fight in them to convince herself to trust him.
He picks her up, her legs wrapping around him, the moon silhouetting his face in darkness. There’s a finger that runs down her jaw, a tender, gentle caress. Their lips meet, her eyes hesitantly fluttering closed, the taste of raspberry sake on her tongue. The ocean’s cool breeze blows again, the kiss soft compared to the grip he has on her thigh― except it’s not really his grip. Their mouths break, her glossy red lipstick smudged on his lip. He watches her bring her hand up to wipe it off but the last thing he sees is the realization hit her face, her body tensing in defense against the monster before her.
She tries to break free, unwrapping her legs and trying to tug away. Her eyes are frozen onto his own, the beast’s wicked and bright gaze peering back, his body unmoving against her pushes. A sharp, long black nail digs into her thigh drawing blood, her breath getting quickly trapped in her lungs when she goes to scream― stopped by the bruising, unyielding, iron hold around her neck. There isn’t time for the blood to rise beneath her skin however, as his teeth latch onto where his fingers and thumb connect around her throat.
It was like a switch went off, white to black in a second; a lust like never before consuming him in darkness, driven only by the primal instinct to drink there was no return. He was going to kill her.
The void in him wants to escape, long grown tired of his constant teasing. It wants release, relief― like any good sin.
It has it right in its hands too, a victim and the pawn― so willing to give in to the sweet snare the beast had laid out for him. Just a few more moments and he would be reborn again, a killer carrying a different type of blood on his hands, no longer blood from hard-fought battles in the war, no longer blood from victory. No, this blood was different, heavier, blood that signified he had lost.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he’s counting the seconds, counting her heartbeats, she doesn’t have many left. Gintoki, however, was relishing in it, scratching an itch fifteen years in the making.
It never fully stops though because as if a truck hits him, an unknown force launches him into a nearby steel shipping container, the metal denting with the curve of his back, the sound echoing through the docks. His eyes stutter open, the unexpected twist allowing him to recover enough of himself from the depths of desire to see what had hit him.
Katsura was there, smoke trail slowly dissipating behind him as Sakamoto rounded the corner of the cannery, leaning down to tend to Gintoki’s victim, glasses tucked away in his jacket’s pocket. Zura stands and doesn’t move further, eyes darkened and disappointed as they stared mercilessly at him. Sakamoto whispers something to him and Katsura leans down too, blocking Gintoki’s vision from what they were doing over her body. Everything is a blur, his vision, his hearing, nothing is clear. It’s like everything had a gray film over it, prohibiting him from doing anything other than keeping himself in control. It’s getting harder, he’s teetering between consciousness, on the edge of losing himself again and the thick scent of blood is only furthering that decline.
He’s afraid, afraid to hurt one of them so he just sits there, keeping his muscles as tightly locked as he could, doing everything in his limited power to avoid slipping up and furthering his madness. He stays like this for a long time, sitting, his eyes slowly dimming in the moonlight as he came down off of the terrible high.
There’s a constant, stinging ring in his head which is only interrupted when Katsura finally walks over to him after God knows how long, leaning down and evaluating his sorry state. Zura looks at his long nails, blood pushed into the side of one nail bed, packed into the ridges of his fingers. He’s got blood on his mouth too, he knows because he’d felt it he’d been rammed earlier, sharp teeth tearing soft skin like paper.
Katsura sits down in front of him, legs crossed, and all Gintoki can do is look at him. “I saved her.” He doesn’t say anything, instead tossing his head back against the metal container as Katsura continued. “She’ll wake up with a nasty headache but she definitely won’t remember anything that happened tonight, because she was hardly alive to witness it.” He pauses, and Gintoki knows what he’s going to say before the words ever leave his mouth. “You’re lucky it wasn’t one of the kids.”
The moon is mockingly bright above him and he watches the clouds roll over it, draping Edo in temporary darkness. “I can’t go back.” He mumbles, Zura’s eyes cast up to the clouds as well. “I can’t face them.”
He feels Katsura’s eyes fall back down on him, and the weight they carry with their gaze. “You can. Just not tonight, for their safety.”
Gintoki chuckles at the last line; oh, the irony. If only Katsura knew of his conversation with Otose just hours ago, he’d be laughing too. “They’ll hate me more if I don’t come home tonight.” He whispers to no one in particular, Sakamoto having walked just a couple of steps shy of Katsura, warned not to come any closer by a pale arm thrown out to the side. “But who am I kidding? They don’t like me anyway,” He starts, he can feel Katsura’s eye twitch with the words. “Every word that comes out of my mouth is just another lie to them... A waste of their time.”
“Gintoki, you do what you have to to keep them safe and that’s all that matters.”
“Zura, you said it yourself… You know I’m not in control.”
“You weren’t, but you fought back.” Katsura sighs, pausing. “I wish I could say I did the same. However, we’re not all as strong.”
“Strong? I killed her. I was just lucky enough that you were here.”
Katsura stands up, done with the conversation, brushing off his yukata and quickly offering Gintoki a slender hand. Gintoki takes it, his head still spinning too much for him to effectively get up by himself. Sakamoto checks up on Nene once more wordlessly, her skin patching itself up quickly thanks to Zura. Her heartbeat is steady and he’s right, she’ll wake up with a hell of a headache but she’ll walk away from it fine, if not a bit sick.
There’s a long gash weaving itself together where he'd ripped her skin, following her neck and just a couple inches shy of her shoulder. It makes his stomach turn, just the thoughts. The beast, however, is satisfied, content for the time being. Gintoki knows it will be back though, it always came back. For now, he’s feeling relatively full for the first time since he was turned and even if he doesn’t agree with it, he understands why vampires kill.
Katsura keeps himself in between him and Sakamoto, Gintoki grateful for the extra precaution. Though Katsura had never explicitly told him before that he had killed with the curse, Gintoki had always known. Every time Takasugi got mentioned in a conversation between them Katsura would get this distant look in his eyes, one that Gintoki knew very well from their days in the war, before they learned how to seem void of any emotion. It was guilt, deeply rooted guilt. The same guilt that caused Zura to snap at his louder permed counterpart when he’d asked to be turned at the bar. The same guilt that lead him to keep warning Gintoki when he got too close to the edge. The same guilt that caused him to come to the Nene’s rescue just moments earlier. Zura knew what it was like― the itch, because the man was too kind-hearted for his own good.
Not like Gintoki, who immediately used humans who showed him even the least bit of trust for his own selfish needs. Sex, money, food, there were countless nameless faces he’d left in the night after he’d gotten what he wanted from them. He knew what it was like, what being human felt like, he hadn’t forgotten and he couldn’t even if he wanted to. Vampirism was like being trapped in a lucid dream, looking back on your old life and wanting it’s now minuscule seeming struggles. He wanted his feet to hurt after walking on them too much, for his doctor to tell him that he was eating too much sugar, to be scared of the dentist and ghosts. He wanted to not have to worry about relocating somewhere else later in life, to die before his kids do.
Katsura leads them somewhere, Gintoki following a few steps back as he thought. He’s got blood on the inside of his sleeve, beginning to stain the blue swirls on his yukata. Slowly, the streets start to look familiar and it’s not too long before he figures out where he’s being led to. He can hear their laughs from a couple of blocks down, Sadaharu barking at whatever was happening.
The dojo slowly comes into view, Sakamoto disappearing off to the side somewhere to let Katsura and Gintoki be alone. He can hear the kids and Otae laughing about something, their endless banters hitting too close to home, making the after taste of blood on his tongue weigh heavy. Katsura turns, looking directly into Gintoki’s eyes.
“This is what you have to protect.” He starts, voice low and resolute. “This is what’s important. It’s not the curse or any blood. The people you have around you are not there just because they feel bad about your circumstances, they’re around you because they want to be there.” He pauses, crossing his arms, letting his words sink in. “You need to take care of yourself so you can ensure they can keep laughing and living.”
Gintoki knows he does and for the first time in forever, that feat doesn’t seem impossible to attain. His stomach isn’t rumbling with the longings of the beast and though the blood on his sleeve and finger smells tempting, it’s not driving him mad like a certain soaked collarbone did. He can still do this.
“You want them to eventually know about you, right? It starts here, with your change― then you won’t need to worry about hiding so much from them.” Gintoki slumps back against the wall, Kagura yelling loudly at the board game they were playing.
Sadaharu starts barking in their direction, everyone quieting. Shinpachi slides open the door and his voice is a little more hoarse than usual, Gintoki silently running through the options of what could have gotten it there. The boy dismisses the dog who was, to them, only barking at the garden wall and tells him to come back inside, Sadaharu complying only after a moment of staring at seemingly nothing. Shinpachi shuts the door, the game resuming quickly after.
For the third time that night, Gintoki looks up to the moon for answers he already knows. |
“A-Andrew?”“Just go Neil.”“I don’t understand. This is just over for good? After all this time?” Neil said, his voice breaking.“This was never anything. And now it’s done. Get away from me.”Andrew couldn’t bear to look at Neil for another second. His heart felt like it was in a vice grip and it was about to shatter into a million pieces. He’d never felt this level of pain before. And the one person he thought he could trust… No. He was done. Neil chose to cheat on him. Neil ended this. He had no right to look so heartbroken. He had no right to have tears streaming down his scarred cheeks. Andrew stormed out of the dorm before he hit Neil. Or took back every word he had just said. He couldn’t handle another second looking at those blue eyes. He couldn’t handle the way it felt like he’d lost a part of his soul.~Neil’s mind was a kaleidoscope of memories blinding him by the second. He couldn’t help but go over everything that had happened in the past month, trying to figure out where he went wrong. Trying to figure out why Andrew had shattered his heart and left him with no warning. He came up empty. They had had no fights, no arguments, nothing of consequence had occurred. He’d been blindsided. And now it felt like he was drowning and there was no way to the surface. To live without Andrew by his side. He would never see those hazel eyes sparkle again. He would never get to feel Andrew’s lips on his skin again. He would never get to have a lazy weekend with Andrew again. He couldn’t bear it, didn’t know how he would be able to survive this. Maybe it would be easier if he knew the reason, but Andrew gave no explanation. He was just done. He knew he would be haunted by this forever. Knew the loss of Andrew would be a scar that never faded. The pain was excruciating.And there was nothing Neil could do but try to survive without his heart, for it would always belong to Andrew.~It was a Saturday night when Andrew had felt his world shatter before his eyes. He had been going to see his stupid junkie. Because he missed him. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Of course Andrew had assumed Neil would be alone. The first sign was the thong thrown haphazardly on the floor in the living room, and then the bra following soon after. Andrew had felt nausea roil in his gut at the sight. He knew for a fact no one else was here but Neil. No one else had been staying in the dorm for the past few days, all busy with different plans. And as he had walked closer to the closed door he heard a girlish voice, followed by Neil’s carefree laugh.“Neil stop it,” the girl said playfully, giggling.“Okay, okay,” he laughed.“Damn Neil, you’re insanely sexy. This is perfect!” The girl exclaimed.Neil giggled softly and Andrew could easily imagine the blush on Neil’s cheeks at the compliment.“Do you have condoms?” The girl asked playfully.“Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry,” Neil said.That was the point of the conversation when Andrew couldn’t stand to listen anymore. The familiar feeling of betrayal ripped through him like wildfire, surprising in its intensity. Neil didn’t want him anymore. Neil had chosen someone else, someone better.His instinct was to go up to the roof, but he couldn’t bare it anymore. The roof was drowned in memories of Neil. He couldn’t go up there without feeling the echo of Neil’s lips on his skin.So he started driving. He drove until he buried the heartbreak as far down as he could. Until he felt only numbness. He wiped away the few tears that had managed to escape him. And then he came back and Neil was alone again. He couldn’t bare to ask. Couldn’t bare to hear Neil either lie or confess. He just ended it. Ripped off the bandage. And then it was gone. This light in the darkness. Andrew had been in darkness his whole life, just surviving. And then Neil had come along and it was like he could finally see again, as much as he didn’t want to. And now the light was gone. The universe had proved him right once again. There was nothing good for him here. Neil was and had always been, a pipe dream, and Andrew had finally woken up. It was more painful than he had expected it to be. The pain would linger, he knew. He would never be able to escape it. Because part of his soul was missing now, shredded apart, taken by Neil’s scarred hands and ice blue eyes and silver tongue.~It was movie night with the foxes. It had been two days since Andrew and Neil’s breakup and none of the foxes knew. Neil felt nauseous at the thought of having to tell the foxes, of having to be in the same room as Andrew again. He hadn’t seen him since that day. He didn’t want to cry again. For two days he had dreamt of Andrew. Andrew next to him, Andrew loving him, and both times he had woken up to remember the truth. It shattered him every time. He hadn’t expected to cry. But the tears flowed and overflowed and never stopped. Just the thought of Andrew made his throat tighten painfully.~Andrew knew he looked like shit. He hadn’t slept one minute the past two days. He hadn’t been able to smoke either, it reminded him too much of Neil. The nicotine withdraw mixed with his grief caused headaches, lack of appetite, nausea. He had already vomited his guts up twice today. He had told Bee what happened, but her advice had just sounded like ringing in his ears, faraway, insignificant. He was drifting off to sea and there was no one to pull him back. And now he had to see him. He had to sit in the same goddamn room as Neil for hours, pretending to care about movie night, pretending to be some form of a capable human being. It was going to be agony to be at a party when he felt like an open wound, raw and bleeding out.Neil wasn’t there yet when he got in. Andrew dragged his tired body to a beanbag and plopped down, not acknowledging anyone. Normally, he would have stopped to get ice cream first, but he knew he would vomit if he so much as smelled it. Normally he’d be sitting with Neil up against him, his warmth seeping into him like honey. Nothing was normal anymore.Neil finally appeared in the doorway and it was a slight consolation to Andrew that Neil looked like shit too. His eyes were puffy, red, and bloodshot. He had deep dark circles under his eyes. His hair looked greasy and disheveled, like he hadn’t bothered to wash or brush it in days. His eyes were lifeless, like chips of ice so cold they could burn. Neil’s eyes caught Andrew’s for a moment and his entire body froze. Andrew felt nausea roil in his gut at the feel of Neil’s eyes on him. He looked away quickly.“Hey… woah Neil. Are you okay? You look like shit,” Matt said.Neil’s eyes barely flickered in recognition of Matt’s words. He didn’t even look at Matt, his lifeless eyes were glued to the floor.“I’m fine,” Neil said, his voice cold, dead. Matt looked deeply concerned and he exchanged worried looks with Dan and Nicky. Neil just trudged over to his beanbag on the opposite side of the couch and plopped in it, staring at his hands like he was searching for something there.“Neil? Can you tell us what’s wrong?” Allison asked, leaning over Neil.Neil didn’t reply, just flicked his eyes to Andrew for a moment and then went back to staring at his hands.All the foxes looked to Andrew then.“Andrew?” Nicky said tentatively.“We broke up.”All the foxes froze at this. Eyes jumping between Neil and Andrew over and over, most likely cataloging how miserable they both looked.“W-what happened?” Nicky asked looking to Neil.Neil snapped his eyes to Andrew, fire flickering there once again, “He dumped me,” Neil said, his voice like steel. Andrew wanted to bury a knife in his gut in that moment. How dare Neil make him out to be the bad guy?Andrew snorted, muttered under his breath, “You’re pathetic.”Neil seemed to freeze at the words, and then deflate. He looked so broken and defeated in that moment that Andrew almost felt regret. No. Neil cheated. He deserved this.Allison went over and sat next to Neil, wrapped her arm around his waist.“Mind if I sit with you for the movie?” She asked kindly. Neil just smiled weakly and rested his head on Allison’s shoulder. Nicky gave Andrew a scathing look before flicking the lights off for the movie. By the end Andrew’s head was pounding and he felt one second away from vomiting all over the floor. Nicky, Allison, Matt, and Dan had all been fawning over Neil the entire movie. Bringing him food and drinks, hugging him, whispering words of kindness in his ears. Aaron and Kevin had been cautiously watching Andrew throughout the night but hadn’t said a word. They had looks of concern in their eyes though.When Nicky flipped the lights on Andrew immediately got up to leave, but he swayed on his feet. He paused, closing his eyes, trying to gain equilibrium. Neil had trudged off to the bathroom so at least Andrew could leave the dorm in peace. Andrew almost didn’t say anything, but he felt their eyes on him, angry and accusing. Because how dare Andrew hurt their perfect little Neil. Andrew paused in the doorway on his way out, turned to look back at the foxes.“You can stop treating Neil like a broken victim.”“Why?” Nicky said sharply.“Because he cheated on me,” Andrew said with a cold grin, saluting the foxes with a hand as he left the dorm.Andrew felt Aaron on his heels as he was leaving the dorm. He turned around to face him. Aaron looked confused, distraught.“He cheated on you?”“That’s what I said isn’t it?” Andrew said, raising a brow.“How do you know?”“I heard them. I saw remnants of their clothing on the floor,” Andrew said honestly.“Another guy?” Aaron asked, sounding afraid.Andrew swallowed the tightness in his throat, “A girl.”Anger and disgust flashed in Aaron’s eyes, “I’ll kill him. I’ll kill that bastard,” Aaron said venomously. Andrew just laughed coldly and walked away.“Don’t follow me.”~Aaron stormed back into the dorm, ready to rip Neil’s throat out.“Where’s Neil?” He demanded.“He just left to go on a run… why do you look like you’re about to commit homicide?” Matt asked cautiously.“Because that piece of shit cheated on Andrew.” Aaron said.“I thought Andrew was kidding,” Nicky said.“Holy shit… Neil actually…” Kevin muttered under his breath.“Wait. Wait. Are you sure?” Dan asked, looking to Aaron.“What? You think he’d lie about that?” Aaron asked scathingly.None of the foxes had a reply to that. They were all standing in shocked silence. Morning practice tomorrow was going to be rough.~Andrew squeezed his eyes shut and gripped his hand against the goal, trying to fight against his nausea. He knew he was going to vomit again. He just didn’t know when.Neil hadn’t shown up to practice yet. He was 30 minutes late. All the foxes had been silent throughout practice, only speaking when absolutely necessary. Wymack had asked what the hell was going on so Nicky went up and whispered something in his ear. Wymack stayed quiet after that.Andrew walked over to the water jug, trying to blink the stars out of his eyes. And then Neil walked onto the court. Andrew physically gagged at the sight and had to swallow back his vomit. Neil looked even worse today, if that were possible. He didn’t look at anyone as he trudged towards the team. He looked dead inside, like a ghost of himself.Before anyone could react Aaron had Neil slammed against the wall. Aaron punched Neil in the jaw and Neil’s head snapped to the side at the impact but his expression barely changed. He didn’t even fight back. Everyone was frozen, not knowing what to do.Aaron slammed him harder against the wall, “I should kill you. I should rip your throat out right here.”Neil just laughed, his expression dead, “I won’t stop you.”Aaron seemed to pause at Neil’s tone. Because Neil meant it. If Aaron had actually tried to kill him, he wouldn’t have fought back. The lack of fire, the lack of care in Neil’s eyes, it was terrifying. And even though Neil had shattered Andrew, the thought of Neil dead, the thought of Neil wanting to be dead, made Andrew sick. And finally the vomit he’d been holding back all day came out. Everyone turned to Andrew in shock. Andrew was on his hands and knees on the ground now, dry heaving, choking and spitting. He had barely eaten in days, his stomach had nothing left to reject but the feeling of his heart shattering over again.“Andrew,” Neil said breathlessly, breaking apart from Aaron to run to Andrew’s side. Andrew kept dry heaving, didn’t have enough energy to push Neil away when he settled next to him on the ground.When Andrew finally stopped dry heaving he turned a scathing look to Neil, grabbed his shirt with a fist and pulled him closer.“You piece of shit. You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to give up. You don’t get to want to die. Don’t you fucking dare Abram.”Neil’s eyes widened, he shook his head, over and over, “I can’t… I can’t do this Andrew. It hurts too much.”And for some reason at those words Andrew paused, realized something. Neil had never once looked guilty. He had never once looked regretful. He had only looked heartbroken and confused. Either that meant that Neil was much more heartless than Andrew had thought, or… No. There’s no way Andrew was wrong. He knows what he heard. He knows what he saw. But some instinct inside of him made him pause. He knew Neil better than he knew anyone or anything, and if Neil had really cheated on him this wouldn’t have been his reaction. Andrew went over what he had seen and heard over and over in his head, and realized… there could be another explanation. The hope that flared in his chest pissed him off so much that he shoved Neil away as hard as he could. Neil just steadied himself and blinked at Andrew. He had noticed Andrew’s thoughts changing direction.“Drew?”Andrew glared at him, “Don’t. Don’t fucking call me that right now.”Andrew’s thoughts were going a mile a minute, trying to discern the truth from what he had assumed. He knew he should just ask Neil, but he didn’t want an audience for that conversation. He looked in Neil’s blue eyes and only saw fear, confusion, hope, and such deep, unending sadness. No guilt. No regret. Had Andrew truly been wrong? Did he break up with Neil for a reason that didn’t exist?“What is it?” Neil asked.Andrew just shook his head and walked off the court.Andrew went to the roof of fox tower. Smoked a cigarette, smoked 3. He called Bee. Told her his predicament. Of course she just said he needed to have an honest conversation with Neil. Andrew rolled his eyes at the thought. It had been a while and he was sure practice was almost over by now but he was tired of waiting. Andrew drove back to the court and waited in the parking lot. When the foxes saw Andrew waiting they all paused. Andrew just looked to Neil and gestured for him to come over. The foxes stayed back, watching, but just out of earshot.Neil walked up to Andrew, he looked nervous.“When I came to the dorm Saturday night there was woman’s undergarments thrown of the floor. I heard you with someone in the bedroom. She told you you were sexy and she asked if you had condoms.” Andrew said calmly. Neil blinked. Blinked again. He dropped his bag and racquet on the ground like he was in shock.“You thought I cheated on you!?” Neil half-shouted.“Didn’t you?” Andrew asked.“No! Andrew I would never- I can’t believe-Oh my God.”Now Neil was making Andrew feel stupid for ever thinking it, and that really pissed him off.“Explain,” he bit out.Neil rubbed a hand across his face, disbelief and frustration written all over his face.“One of the girls in my math class. We were assigned a group project together so she came over a few times to work on it. Her clothes were on the floor because she spilled her coffee all over her on her way in. I let her borrow some of Allison’s leftover clothes while hers got washed,” Neil cringed, “While we were working on the project she said my hair looked long and I needed a haircut. I agreed and she trimmed my hair a little. She called me sexy because I guess she thought it looked good,” Neil’s cheeks flushed and he twisted his hands together, “She knew I was seeing you later that night, thats why she was talking about condoms. I’m sorry Drew.”Andrew stared at Neil, took all this information in, repeated it in his head. He knew Neil wasn’t lying. Neil’s words were genuine, his expression was genuine. He felt like an idiot. Of course Neil wouldn’t cheat on him. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.“Okay.”Neil took a step closer to Andrew, looked at him with those big blue eyes.“Does this mean we’re back together?”Andrew scoffed and looked away. Neil just took another step towards Andrew and lifted his hand to Andrew’s cheek. Andrew nuzzled his head against Neil’s hand and sighed, his eyes fluttering shut. Andrew’s heart felt so happy, so light. The relief of having Neil back was almost enough to bring him to his knees. His Neil. The light was back brighter than ever before.Neil stared and stared at Andrew. His Andrew. He understood now. He felt horrible, thinking of the way Andrew must have felt the last few days. He wish he would have known. If he had known Andrew had thought he was cheating, of all things… The thought of Neil ever cheating on Andrew was laughable. Neil would rather die than be with anyone else. All Neil wanted to do now was wrap Andrew in his arms and never let go.“I thought i’d lost you,” Neil said softly, still caressing Andrew’s cheek.“I thought you didn’t want me anymore,” Andrew whispered. The confession broke Neil’s heart.“Yes or no?” Neil said and right when he saw Andrew’s nod he wrapped him in his arms, holding him tightly.“I love you Drew. You’re all I will ever want. Every day for the rest of my life. I only want you. Always.”Andrew had his head buried in Neil’s neck, breathing him in, soaking up the words Neil was saying.“I love you too. And yes junkie we’re back together.”Neil laughed lightly and pulled back, “Promise me if you ever think I cheated on you again you’ll talk to me about it first before dumping me?”Andrew snorted but still saw the phantom pain lingering in Neil’s eyes, “I promise. But Neil? Why did you think I broke up with you?”Neil frowned, “I didn’t know. I thought you just got bored of me like you said you would.”“I never meant that. I want to be with you forever.”Neil sighed and his lips quirked up, “That’s good.”“Yes or no Neil?”“Yes,” Neil said breathlessly and then they were kissing, slowly, languidly. Andrew pulled Neil closed and wrapped and arm around his waist, the other going to his hair. Neil tangled his hands in Andrew’s hair as they kissed and all the pain of the last few days disappeared.When they broke apart Neil traced Andrew’s lips with a hand, “I love you Drew. Only you.”Andrew kissed Neil once on the forehead and flicked his eyes to the foxes. They all looked thoroughly confused. Probably all wondering why Andrew was taking back Neil if he cheated on him. Neil glanced back at the foxes and then looked to Andrew, frowning.“They all think I cheated on you don’t they?”“Maybe,” Andrew said, his lips tugging up at the corners.Neil snorted, “Well that explains why Aaron punched me.”Andrew’s grin faltered, he examined Neil’s jaw but only saw a small bruise there. Neil’s eyes softened.“I’m okay. And besides if I had cheated on you I definitely would have deserved it.”Andrew snorted and gestured for the foxes to come over to them. They all cautiously walked up and waited for Andrew or Neil to speak.“I didn’t cheat on Andrew. But I appreciate your defending him. If I had cheated on him I would have deserved much worse.”“Oh thank god. So you two are back together now? Because it was really horrible having you both so unhappy.” Nicky rambled.“Wait. Andrew you just assumed he cheated and dumped him without even asking him about it?” Kevin asked.Andrew just shrugged, “Oops.”Aaron narrowed his eyes at Neil, not fully believing him. Andrew caught his eye and nodded. Reassuring Aaron that he knew what he was doing.“We’re leaving now. Bye,” Andrew said, taking Neil’s hand and dragging him to the car.Once they were alone in the Maserati Neil smiled softly at Andrew. Andrew just stared back.“What is it junkie?”“I love you,” Neil said, grinning widely.Andrew rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his mouth. He leaned in and kissed Neil softly on the lips, “I love you too.” |
Grumbling, Lance adjusted his coat, trying to make himself feel more comfortable in it. He hadn’t expected the weather to turn this cold this quickly, and was unprepared for it in every sense. None of his jackets were warm enough, since he’d cleared out his winter wardrobe last season, when he’d moved in with Keith.
“Cold?” a knowing voice asked.
Lance only huffed. “Not all of us run as hot as a furnace, you know,” he said, haughty, his nose turned up.
Hands inched around his waist, pulling him back against a warm chest. “Why not stay inside?” Keith asked next, pressing his cheek to Lance’s neck. “It’s warmer in here.”
“I need air.” Lance finally managed to get the coat’s buttons done up properly, which made it fit a little better. It was Keith’s coat, though he didn’t wear it often. It wasn’t long on Lance, since Lance was basically the same height as Keith, but Keith was definitely broader in the shoulders than him. There, the coat swamped him, hanging awkwardly off his shoulders like an overlarge sweater. “I won’t be gone long, anyway.”
Keith hummed. “Must you be gone at all?”
Lance tried, and failed, to suppress a smile. He let out a small, questioning wave of magic, one that Keith could feel – the tightening of his hands on Lance’s hips was proof of that. They were close enough that Lance’s magic could read Keith’s, giving him a sense of what Keith was thinking and feeling. He knew Keith didn’t like it when Lance went out without him, only because he missed him. He’d never stop Lance from doing what he wanted, since they were very mindful of each other’s independence, but Keith was still prone to pouting.
Years ago, when they weren’t as close, Keith probably wouldn’t have shown so much emotion. He’d been very stone-faced, and very reluctant to open up. Lance relished any time Keith let himself be emotional or clingy.
“You know how it is,” Lance said, patting Keith’s hand. He liked to get out and explore, and fresh air always lightened his mood. Lance’s magic was a little more naturally inclined than Keith’s, anyway. He felt truly at ease when he was by a water source, especially if it was the ocean – they lived less than a ten minute walk from the nearest beach.
But Lance supposed that Keith’s clinginess wasn’t unjustified. He could sense a faint flutter of worry on Keith’s emotions, and it made him consider his words carefully. Lately, their town, as well as the neighbouring ones, had been plagued by rogue mages. Not many, but enough to be a concern.
Rogue mages were those who had been corrupted by magic. It was a difficult thing to become, because magic was a very honest thing, a very picky thing. If used for the wrong reasons, whatever those may be, it turned on the user, cutting itself off. Their magic would slowly drain away, leaving them starved and desperate for more. Stolen magic was rotten magic, and when a rogue mage siphoned it from someone else, it never lasted long in them. It waned and wilted, like a plant left unwatered.
That was why they were dangerous. They went through victims at a fast pace, hungering for more and more magic as theirs faded.
“I’ll be alright,” Lance eventually said. Even though his magic was usually used for healing, he could attack, too. He wasn’t defenceless.
“I know,” Keith murmured. He and Lance had sparred countless times, and they knew each other’s strength well. He lifted his head out of Lance’s neck, and a wave of red magic expanded around their feet. “Take Cosmo with you, please.”
The wolf-dog appeared out of the summoning circle with a flash of red sparks. Cosmo was Keith’s familiar, and his most trusted companion. The wolf-dog was quite an interesting and rare animal. His fur was dark, aside from a silver mane that went from the top of his head to the tip of his tail. Blue markings stook stark around his eyes, over his ears, and on his legs. Not only was he ferocious, with his sharp claws and fearsome fangs, but he could teleport at will, and take people with him. He was loyal and protective and mirrored Keith’s emotions.
It had surprised Lance, at first, how protective Cosmo could be. He’d taken to Lance rather quickly. If anything, that was an indication of how much Keith had liked him, when their relationship was still tentative. It had embarrassed Keith to no end that his emotions were always outed by his familiar.
Cosmo slept at the foot of their bed, and often stayed awake all night, watching over them while they slept. Keith didn’t limit which plane of existence Cosmo could stay on, which some mages did with their familiars. Cosmo was free to move between the physical one, their one, and the adjacent realm where familiars lived whenever he pleased.
“I’m sure he won’t mind a walk,” Lance said, smiling at the sight of the wolf-dog. Cosmo blinked at them, assessing, before pressing his face into Lance’s open palms for a pat.
Keith hummed. He seemed to share a thought with Cosmo as they stared at one another for a moment, before coming to some silent agreement. “Don’t be too long,” he said, as he finally let go of Lance.
“I won’t,” Lance repeated.
The air outside was as chilly as expected. Cosmo padded along beside him, completely unfazed by the weather. He was large, even for a wolf-dog, coming up almost to Lance’s shoulders. It was hard to feel vulnerable with Cosmo by his side.
The town was quiet as he walked. With the changing of seasons, the trees and plants were starting to shed their leaves. No snow had fallen yet, but Lance expected it would soon. He much preferred summer, since it was perfect swimming weather, but there was a sharp charm to winter that he liked, too.
He was only about twenty minutes into his walk when he felt an uneasy chill go down his spine, one that had nothing to do with the weather. This part of town wasn’t well populated – it was more of a nature trail than a suburb, really. In summer, lots of people walked there, and played or picnicked in the open fields. But it was empty today.
At least, it looked empty.
Lance knew better than to ignore his instincts. He paused, drawing his hands out of his pockets. Beside him, Cosmo bristled, lips peeling back to reveal his fangs. Lance looked around, but couldn’t see anything. “What is it, boy?”
A wave of black energy slammed into Lance’s back, shattering around his body like glass. He cried out as he was thrown to the ground, feeling a sharp sensation rip into his back through his clothes. Dark magic prickled at his spine, sucking the air from his lungs. He suddenly felt like his bones had been turned into fragile shells, easily crushed by even the gentlest of tides.
It hurt to lift his head, but he forced his neck to move. He couldn’t push himself off the ground, but he saw a figure behind him. Shadows flickered off their skin as if they’d been set on fire. Under their hood and stringy hair, he could see unnaturally pale skin marked by pulsing black veins, like their blood had turned to ink.
It was the mark of a rogue, the mark of someone being rotted from the inside out by their own magic.
Beside him, Cosmo let out the angriest snarl Lance had ever heard. The wolf-dog charged forwards, faster than the rogue mage could anticipate. His teeth clamped over the rogue’s shoulder, sending blood splattering across the ground. The rogue let out a strangled scream, but it was drowned out by Cosmo’s snarling.
Cosmo shook his head, rattling the rogue around like a doll. The rogue shoved their fingers in Cosmo’s mouth, trying to pry his jaw open, but Cosmo was stronger. His fangs sunk in deeper, until Lance was sure there was more blood streaming down their shoulder than in their body.
Lance tried to push himself up, but he was drained of energy. “Cosmo,” he croaked.
Finally, the wolf-dog let go. The rogue crumpled, and Cosmo let out a ringing howl, one that bounced off every nearby surface. In a flash of blue energy, Cosmo appeared beside Lance, standing over him with his teeth still bared. Lance’s vision spun, and he let out a weak groan. One hit and he was already so drained…
He must have blacked out, because the next thing he knew, he was waking up to Keith crouched beside him, the familiar ceiling of their living room above their heads. “What happened…?”
“Cosmo teleported you back to me,” Keith explained. He had Lance cradled in his arms, propped upright. There was a simmering anger behind Keith’s eyes, one only thinly veiled. “The town guard captured the rogue.”
Lance just groaned. “My body feels so heavy. I didn’t even sense them until they attacked…”
“It’s alright, save your energy.” Keith’s expression softened a little, anger bleeding into frustration.
Cosmo nudged his way between them, folding his large form down around them. He let out a little growl, which confused Lance – was he growling at Keith?
Noticing his confusion, Keith let out a weak peal of laughter. “He’s so protective of you,” Keith said. “He wouldn’t let me come closer, at first. It’s like he didn’t recognise me.”
Lance’s eyes widened. One of the strongest bonds in the world was the one between a familiar and their mage. Nothing could get between them. They were almost like one being split into two bodies. Lance had never seen Cosmo act aggressive towards Keith. He was never anything less than perfectly faithful.
So he was incredibly flattered to think that Cosmo was so protective of him. Even now, the wolf-dog was sniffing at Lance’s hair and pressing closer, his ears perked and swivelling, his hackles still raised.
“Good boy,” Lance whispered, patting Cosmo’s face with a slow, heavy hand.
Keith nodded in agreement. He didn’t seem at all put off that Cosmo cared so much for Lance – rather, he looked quite satisfied. He and Cosmo shared another look, and this time Lance felt like he could read their minds.
He’d never felt so loved.
And, in return, he’d never felt his heart be so filled by his love for his partner and their wolf-dog companion.
“You should rest,” Keith said, lifting him up and depositing him on the couch. “It’ll be a while before you regain all your energy.”
Lance hummed. Rest sounded good.
Keith joined him on the couch, and Cosmo looked over them, their watchful guardian. |
Request by Xiuchenlover
I’ve recently seen a couple of interviews where Minseok refers to Jongdae as his wife or refers to their relationship as a marriage and I was hoping you might like to write something about Minseok and Jongdae actually being secretly married and Minseok brazenly referring to Jongdae as his spouse/comparing their relationship to a marriage because he knows fans will just assume it is fan service, but it makes Jongdae flustered and uncomfortable.
I was thinking that maybe Minseok teases Jongdae about their so called “marriage” during an interview and afterward Jongdae yells at him for being so brazen when they are trying to keep their relationship a secret. He’s not really angry though, maybe he even secretly gets off on the idea of Minseok outing their relationship. Basically, I think it would be nice to read a fic where Jongdae pretends to be angry with Minseok for referring to their relationship as a marriage in public and Minseok makes it up to his husband with sex.
Other members of EXO can know about their marriage or it can just be their little secret. Fluff or angst or both is welcome.
Word count: 2167
The first time Jongdae had just counted it as a slip of the tongue, something that he had just forgotten to sensor and Jongdae had let it slide despite the fact that he may have experienced a few minor heart attacks.
The second time he had counted it as coincidence but he still jolted at the mention of it.
The third time, well that definitely wasn’t a coincidence. Jongdae looked over to Minseok with wide eyes, shocked at what had just came out of his mouth for the third time in a span of less than ten minutes, in front of all of their members and tens of thousand fans recording the entire thing on camera and he knew that those recordings would end up on the internet for millions more to see.
Jongdae glared at Minseok who had the audacity to smirk at him playfully, completing his smug look with a wink and heart made with his fingers, the fans screaming at the interaction. Definitely not a coincidence.
Jongdae felt an embarrassed flush work its way up his neck and onto his face and tried to school his expression into a smile, like he was just playing along with what Minseok had said, like it didn’t make him want to run over to the elder and shake him, asking him what on earth he was doing saying things like that. The screaming from the fans did nothing to help him fight off his embarrassed flush, if anything it only made it worse.
And still Minseok had that smile on his face, one Jongdae wanted to smack right off. The elder knew what he was doing and it both baffled him and frustrated him that he was doing this with the knowledge that it was something they wanted to keep hidden, something they had both decided to keep hidden. Who knows what would happen if word got out.
No one knew.
Their members had been kept in the dark just as their families had been. It was safer that way, for both them, their members and their families. They could all loose so much if it their secret was revealed. Only the two of them knew.
They were married and had been for the last two years.
They had been married at a private service consisting of only them and the priest in a small garden attached to a hall while they were in Mexico. They knew their marriage would not be recognised in the eyes of the law in their home country but that didn’t mean anything to them. The ceremony was short and sweet as they exchanged their vows and slipped on each others rings. They spent the rest of the day and well into the next morning consummating their union with their bodies.
They had returned to their members the next day, tired but happy, their rings safely kept in a little bag in their back pockets.
It had hurt not being able to tell anyone that they were together, that they were married, but it was for the better. It’s not like they didn’t trust them because they did, it’s just they were scared that someone outside of their circle would find out not that they would do it intentionally but it was easier when kept between just the two of them.
There had always been something between them from the first moment they had contact with each other. There was this spark that drew them together like magnets. It was unexplainable. And that unexplainable feeling had lead them where they are today and it was something they were incredibly thankful for.
Back to the present Jongdae tried his hardest to keep his gaze from landing on the elder as he was sure that he was bound to yet again turn as red as a tomato in a mixture of embarrassment and slight anger. He made an aggressive mental note to have a discussion with Minseok when this was over.
Only that didn’t happen as Minseok had been able to successfully distract him with risky touches and a whispered promise of much more when they were behind the four walls of their shared bedroom, his concerns having been forgotten and pushed to the back of his mind.
It wasn’t until a few weeks later when it happened to come up again. To be completely fair Minseok hadn’t been the one to bring it up first as their ‘married-like’ relationship had been one of the questions, so it hadn’t been completely his fault but Jongdae really should have expected Minseok’s answer.
Jongdae had tried to steer the question in another direction, one that he had thought would work and would have worked if Minseok hadn’t added onto it, at first with things that they did regularly together, which was fine, until he decided to add something that he thought was quite unnecessary.
“Just like a normal married couple.” He said and Jongdae’s eyes widened in surprise. He tried to laugh it off but he didn’t know how convincing it looked. Baekhyun had smiled at Minseok’s words and Jongdae’s reaction. Jongdae knew he found it amusing and teased them for it on many occasions.
For the rest of the interview Jongdae felt unsettled and uncomfortable. Minseok’s comment had thrown him off. To make matters worse he could feel the elders leg pressing up against his own and his eyes gazing on his face intently while he was talking. It seemed like hours before the staff called a close to the shoot. Baekhyun had been whisked away immediately to attend one of his solo schedules while Jongdae and Minseok were put in another car to be taken back to the dorms.
Jongdae made sure to keep as far away from his husband as he could, taking the front passenger seat so there was no likelihood of Minseok sitting next to him. He saw Minseok frown at the move, the elder proceeding to pout the entire way home. Jongdae wanted to coo at his actions but remembered just in time that he was still annoyed at him, remembering that he deserved it.
Ignoring him was difficult.
He kept finding his eyes drifting over to the rear view mirror to look at him, though he would quickly advert his gaze back to his phone where he mindlessly scrolled through articles that he wasn’t even particularity interested in, the droning of the car radio filling the unusual silence in the car.
They walked up to their dorm with the silence still covering them, Jongdae in front of Minseok leading the way. Minseok had tried to slip his hand into Jongdae’s but the younger had refused, putting his hand in his pocket instead. He could feel Minseok burning holes into the back of his head and it sent shivers down his spine.
As soon as they entered their thankfully empty dorm Jongdae turned around and glared at his husband.
“What was that?”
Minseok stopped. “What was what?”
“You bloody well know what.” He snapped, annoyed that Minseok still wanted to play.
Minseok looked at his frazzled husband and sighed, deciding that it was best to not act stupid. “I don’t understand why it bothers you so much. So what if I tease at it? The fans all think that it’s just a cute relationship.”
“Minseok, it’s supposed to be a secret!”
“It is a secret and still is a secret.” He countered calmly. “No one actually thinks that we’re together. What’s the harm in going along with it?” Minseok asked and Jongdae pursed his lips, arms crossing across his chest. “So what’s the real deal, Jongdae?”
Jongdae frowned as he looked down at his feet. “Just, stop it please.”
“Not until you tell me what’s really bothering you.” He said with an air of authority, though it was still kind and not forceful.
Jongdae groans in frustration, running his hands down his face as he begins to pace, finally seating himself down on the couch in the lounge room after Minseok had carefully pushed him in that direction.
“Come on babe, tell me what’s wrong.” He says and he looks so worried Jongdae just wants to wipe that look off his face because it just doesn’t belong there.
“I hate lying to everyone. I hate that we can’t share this with the people that we love because of people and their closed minded views. And it sort of feels like we’re rubbing it in our members and fans faces every time it comes up in conversation.” He admits.
Minseok cups the side of his husbands face and sends him a look that’s so full of knowing. “I know it’s hard and I know it’s unfair. I also feel at times that we’re betraying the ones we love in order to protect them. Sometime I think that we’re being selfish and that we’re protecting nothing but ourselves. But it’s for the better, at least for now.”
Jongdae nods because Minseok had just perfectly described everything he had been feeling in words. “I just – I just wish people didn’t view this as wrong because it’s not. We love each other and that’s all that should matter. What does gender have to do with love?”
Minseok doesn’t answer but he does hug the younger to his chest. It’s something that’s been brought up in conversations between them more often than they can keep track of. It’s always managed to bring the mood down. But Minseok knows that while what Jongdae was saying earlier was true, he knows that there’s something else, another reason why Jongdae had reacted in the way that he had to his casual teasing of their relationship.
“There’s something else though, isn’t there?” He asks, mischief heaving in his voice and Jongdae looks up, a look of caution developing that replaces the sadness. Minseok places a hand on his husbands inner thigh that makes the youngers breath hitch and clueing him in on what Minseok is getting at.
“N – No.” he stutters.
Minseok hums. “I know you like it. I know it makes you excited. The fact that no one knows, the fact that everyone thinks we’re just joking when in reality it couldn’t be any closer to the truth. You may not admit it but I know you get a rush out of it when our relationship is flaunted in front of everyone’s faces and they don’t even know the truth.” Minseok smirks and Jongdae’s face reddens. “Don’t try to deny it. I saw the way you squirmed when I called you my wife that time. I can see the pride in your eyes when people call us a married couple even if they don’t know that we already are.” By the end of Minseok’s spiel he’s talking huskily in Jongdae’s ear, his hot breath tickling at his neck and Jongdae can feel he hair stand on end.
“W – Well maybe I don’t hate it completely.” he confesses, voice shaking and Minseok laughs.
“I’m glad you’re being so honest.” Minseok begins to nip at his neck and Jongdae giggles at the ticklish feeling before moaning when his husband palms at his hardening member through his jeans.
“Not ahh – not here.” Getting the hint Minseok lifts Jongdae as he stands up so the youngers legs are wrapped firmly around his waist, the elders hands cupping his ass to keep him supported and from slipping down.
Jongdae chuckles. He had always enjoyed the feeling of the elders strong arms supporting him. Jongdae noses at Minseok’s neck and takes pride in the way his husbands muscles tense. When Minseok reaches their shared room he closes the door with his foot, Jongdae’s laughter at the action causing Minseok to smile at the sound he loves so much.
While Minseok sleeps peaceful after their activities Jongdae lies in his arms, his back to the elders chest who has his arm resting around his waist. Jongdae stares at his palm, two rings shining even in the darkness of the room. He smiles at what they represent, their love for each other and their promise to stay by each others side.
He places the rings carefully back inside their bedside table and burrows back into the familiar comfort of Minseok’s warmth. His husband unconsciously tightens his hold around his body, pulling him even tighter against his own.
Jongdae hopes that he’ll be able to enjoy this for the rest of his life, just like had had promised the day they became each others, the day they pledge to stay by each others side through sickness and in health and until death do they part.
They only hoped that someday they would be able shared it with the ones they loved, to officiate it on home turf surrounded by their family and friends.
Maybe in the future they would adopt, have their own family. A girl and a boy. An older sister to look after her little brother. That was the dream.
One they hoped to achieve.
|
Spencer was seemingly the first to arrive at the usual conference room. It was raining outside and more or less sunrise. The clouds were pink and orange, like from a painting.
Spencer felt completely different than he had, even the day before. His shoulders and back was still tense and sore, but his headache was more or less completely gone and he felt way more calm.
His fingers weren’t even shaking and he managed to force himself to sit completely still in his chair. He usually tried to not fidget to much or shake his legs. But when he was to stressed he pretty much had to.
He knew he had to talk with Hotch, and he hoped he had some more time to prepare himself.
Eye bags were circling Hotch’s blank eyes, completely overfilled with sleeplessnesses. His tie was sloppily tied and he had missed buttoning a button on his blue button up.
J.J followed him quickly mumbling something seemingly important, albeit nothing Spencer could pick up.
The second Hotch’s eyes met Spencer’s, he quickly shot a glance to J.J, who in turn stopped talking, like a three year old who got caught in the act of picking candy.
“Hi Spencer.” She said softy, almost as if she was talking to a child. Which Spencer had to understand in a way, after the way he acted lately he must seem pretty fragile.
“What’s going on?” Spencer asked without hesitation, head on.
J.J shot a glance back to Hotch before letting out a sigh.
“After yesterdays events, there had been some discussions within the higher ups.”
“Oh,” was all he could reply with.
J.J let out another sigh, before Garcia interrupted her answer by throwing open the door, with her usual stressed look she had before briefing cases.
“Where is everyone?!” She uttered with a high pitched voice.
“They’re on their way.” Hotch answered. “Reid come with me.”
“What’s going on?” Garcia quickly interrupted bluntly.
“Nothing,” J.J replied quickly while Reid followed Hotch to his office, like a child going to time-out.
“What is going on?” Reid said again, this time more sternly, but he couldn’t hide he shaking in his voice.
Hotchner nodded for him to take a seat opposite of his desk.
“There’s been some concerns about the,” he paused, carefully choosing his words, “situation this Friday.”
Spencer nodded softly, while feeling the worry rapidly increasing in his still sore chest. He felt his heartbeat racing while waiting for Hotchner to continue.
“At first they wanted to take you out from the field, which I immediately completely denied. I have no doubts in your abilities, and Friday did nothing to change that.” Hotch paused while leaning back in his chair. “But they have demanded a weekly therapy session for two months, and… you have to go through a new firearm qualification exam and psychological evaluation to be able to carry a gun.”
“Wha… what. Why?”
Hotch sat quietly looking into Spencer’s eyes with an unreadable expression, probably deciding what to say next.
“There has been some… worrying about you being mentally unstable and therefore it would be a risk to carry firearms.”
Spencer swallowed.
“This is not something I’m standing behind at all, but I believe you’ll pass with excellence and it’s just better to get the rumours felt with immediately.”
He nodded in response while trying to keep his emotions bottled up. Most of all, he was confused, but also anxious; he hated these types of situations, where he was the centre, or the one to blame. Where he was the one who had done something wrong. Where he was the cause.
He felt his fists clench, his stomach turned and he held his breath while cursing himself. Why couldn’t he just react like everyone else?
He saw the logical reasoning behind it, but still, he felt untrustworthy. Like a burden to his team who only made everything worse.
Therapy. He scuffed and shook his head; like it was a joke. A part of him felt like it was. A cruel joke from the universe, sending him to a therapist.
“Was that all?” He asked as he felt a lump in his throat.
“How can we help you in the future?” Hotchner asked plainly. As if he was asking about something usual, like how his weekend had been.
It didn't go unnoticed by Spencer and he appreciated it much. It made him feel like the whole situation was just a small inconvenience, and not that big disaster which he had made it appear like.
He hesitated with his answer. He wasn’t sure what would help. He had always handled those situations by himself, and people trying to help him might only make everything worse.
“I don’t know,” he started “I don’t believe there’s anything, but I will let you know if anything comes to mind.”
He started standing up from the chair as he spoke, looking everywhere except his eyes. He watched the floor and his own feet. Stressed, he was fidgeting with his satchel and when hotch gave him an okay, he left his office.
Finally, the team was gathered around the usual table, with Garcia and J.J standing in the front. A few pictures were laid out in front of every team-member, and while Spencer looked at the one’s in front of him, he saw the faces of two people.
One woman in her mid twenties, and another in her thirties.
“These three have all been found murdered, several weeks apart.” J.J started, “they have been killed all the same way, but the unsub has escalated, time reducing between the murders, last victim had a very low-risk lifestyle.”
“These three are the only ones we’ve been able to connect to the same unsub, but I believe there are more leading up to these.” Garcia pointed out.
“The three of them were all found in a box with swords. First tortured by being stabbed by swords and finally killed by a sword right through the head. The latest one found barely a few hours ago.” J.J talked uncomfortable, and rightfully so, about the brutal murders. “In the pictures in front of you, you will find pictures of the boxes and bodies.”
“I do not need to see that again,” Garcia said as she kept her eyes on the roof to avoid the bloody pictures.
The box appeared to be quadrant, and made out of plywood. Several swords had been stuck into the box, and there were traces of blood which had been leaking onto the box’s floor and to the ground.
“It’s a sword box, sword casket, or the basket trick. -many names,” Reid explained, “It’s a common stage illusion dating back to the early 1700 century. The secret of the trick was revealed in 1895 and it’s quite a simple illusion.
The assistant, which usually is a woman, gets into the basket and then the performer puts several swords through it. The trick ends with the assistant reappears unharmed. As the trick was adapted by western magicians, the basket turned into a box.” Spencer says, “The trick behind it, is simple. The assistant either takes an escape tunnel, or is situated where the swords wont touch them. However in this case, neither of these options were possible. It was a set up death box.”
When he was done with the rambling, he looked around at the other’s faces. They looked as they usually did when he threw up facts like these. Slightly uninterested, Spencer had a habit to go into unnecessary details while rambling.
“So we might be looking at a killer magician?” Morgan asked.
Reid shrugged his shoulders before saying, “Maybe.”
“Wheels up on thirty,” Hotch let out his usual line.
It was a few hours to Seattle, where the murders had occurred; so Spencer decided to try and get some sleep, as he hadn’t gotten much of it lately. But his mind kept spinning, about everything. He felt ashamed that he had shown his vulnerable side like that to Derek. He was ashamed of a lot of things lately, which he knew was unhealthy, and only making him more stressed.
A part of him, and a big one, was all giggly about how Derek had held him, talked to him, and verbally just showing that he cared.
He knew he shouldn’t get to deep into the train of thoughts. Even slightly caving in to his feelings would only end up with him getting hurt.
Seattles was more sunny, even now in the late evening. The team made their way into the local office where they immediately started setting up their things, whiteboards, and files.
Spencer started reading up on illusionists and how they operate and their common illusions. Spencer liked illusions although card-tricks or more close-up illusions were more his area of expertise. But he knew the grounds and also started researching on local magician shops.
He didn't like the word magician, because there was no magic in it, only illusions and well planned distractions. There was always a logical trick, no matter how hard the brain tried to trick oneself.
The group agreed with the cops’ thesis about a first- and secondary location. It was not enough blood at the dump sites to indicate it also being the murder site, plus the places were often populated even in the nights darkest hours. The unsub wanted the boxes to be found quickly.
“The media is already going crazy about this,” J.J declared. “Already naming the unsub the ´box-killer´” she sighed loudly.
Giving the murderers a name only put them in a higher position. It made people more frightened, and doing irrational things. For example ‘giving themselves in’. It was an odd thing to do, spencer thought, wanting to take blame for such monster outs things.
He wondered if that was why some did it eventually, because they wanted to be put in the serial-killer-spotlight. Strange.
“The last box was found almost 24-hours ago, I believe we should get there immediately.” Hotch commanded.
The sun had begun to set as they drove through the city, giving the whole situation an even eerier vibe. Spencer had his sunglasses on, even in the dark. He wanted to minimise the risk of another meltdown in every way possible. And if that meant seeing a bit worse in the dark, so be it.
The box had been dumped in a park, common used for various reasons.
They parked the cars and began their short walk to the area.
“How could someone transport a big, bloody box, by foot, in a populated area like this?” Morgan said.
Reid knew that the question was likely rhetorical, but he had to bite his tongue to not list several methods which would work. They walked quietly on the well walked path, finally arriving and seeing the taped off scene.
Several cops, locals, and reporters were gathered around the area immediately making Reid take a deep breath to gather himself.
A cop walked towards them and introduced herself as officer Matarazzo. She told them that they hadn’t yet touched the crime scene, waiting for them to arrive.
“When this box -the third- showed up, I knew that this was beyond my reach.” She said.
Rossi reached for the yellow crime scene tape, and pushing it down while stepping over it.
Hotch asked officer Matarozzo some more questions, while the rest of the team followed Rossi into the crime scene.
Reid inspected the outside of the box and since he had looked closely at pictures of the other two, he could tell this one was made the same. Made to kill. No illusions. No brain tricks.
The reporters were asked to back away as they closed in on the box. Investigation was investigation after all.
Prentiss walked around with her eyes on the ground, appearing to be searching for marks of any kind. She didn't seem to find anything, which didn't surprise Reid, for this unsub was controlled. They didn't make such simple mistakes as leaving shoe prints behind.
Officers were collecting different samples from the ground and from the box, for the purposes of sending it to a lab. The box was going to be opened at the scene, it was decided. Transportation could destroy evidence if it caused the box to move around to much. They wanted it to be as intact as possible.
The team stood in half a circle carefully watch the box being opened. J.J was till at the police office, trying to stop as much media leakage as possible. Reid found himself wishing he was with her. In a low-lit sterile office, without this many people around, whispering excitedly. He never understood how people found this exciting and wanted to watch it for their own entertainment. Like how people would watch guillotines executions for fun.
Most of the time Reid wasn’t too bothered by the bloody scenes, but he wouldn’t go there if he wasn’t there to help catch the person behind the murders.
The box started giving out creaks which indicated it soon being opened. He brung back his focus back to the box.
The plywood finally gave in, and the box opened followed by the gasp of the people around. A distinct smell came out, and Reid had to lower his dark glasses to see the box’s containments. He was met by the profile of a bloody person, sitting in curled up in the small box. The legs were stuck with one sword in each, and another sword was impaling through the back and poking out of the stomach. And the last sword, going in between the eyes and right through the skull. |
Sheer panic and anxiety hit her hard as Lee gently picked up the small orange tabby, cradling the tiny creature in the palm of his hand. Carefully the warlock overlooked the animal from head to tail.
“He’s a boy,” Lee spoke, “Domestic orange tabby – possibly long haired. Not very old,” he added as if he could read the kittens genetic report, “About a week or so,”
Just as gently as he picked him up, Lee placed him back down in the little nest Claire had made for him. She was worried that the kitten would stumble around too much and hurt himself. Creating this barrier around him prevented him from going anywhere.
“My cat, Eleanor, just had a litter of kittens.” Lee informed them like a proud father, “I’m confident that she’d adopt this little one and care for him.”
“No!” Claire snapped dramatically, “That’s my baby, I found him!”
“Oh I’ll give him back once he’s weaned, sweetheart,” Lee assured her, dropping down to his knees so that he was eye level with her. “He’s extremely young, he needs the special care and attention only a mother cat can give.”
“It’ll be very hard and exhausting Claire to look after him like we have been. He has a better chance of survival if Ellie looks after him.” Pine encouraged sympathetically.
“We can see him every day if you’d like,” Tom added from the doorway with a worried look on his face. “And when he’s old enough we’ll take him home and he’ll never leave again.”
As they were trying to convince her to let the kitten go with Lee the tiny creature began to make noises and move around looking for food once more. This time Lee took it upon himself to feed the small animal with just as much care as Pine had. The kitten was only consuming about a dropper full of milk at a time now.
“Poor thing,” Lee sighed sadly, “That cry you hear is him calling for his mother. I’m to presume that he was abandoned by the mother’s owners?”
“He had 3 siblings but they had passed,” Claire sadly confessed, willing herself to not cry once more. Her eyes were already red and burning from the shedding of tears before Lee arrived.
“I’m sorry you had to come across that,” Lee sympathized, reaching out to touch her hand. “I’m glad this little guy survived, however. Claire, I know you love the kitten very much and I know it’s hard. But I’m in the position to provide this little baby with what he needs – which is a mother cat.”
Claire didn’t want the kitten to die. Keeping him alive is why she rescued him in the first place. If she put so much time and emotion into hand feeding him herself and as a result, he passed away – Claire would never forgive herself. Pensively she looked to Lee and then to Tom before settling on the tiny orange tabby sleeping peacefully.
“How many litters has Eleanor had?” Claire asked,
“She’s had a few,” Lee admitted, “She’s never lost a kitten to date. Very good attentive mum.”
Tom had told her that warlocks and witches were crazy about cats for some reason and it was rare to see them without multiple furry companions. Kittens always had good homes to go to and the demand was strong in their community so it wasn’t uncommon for their animals to be unaltered.
“Fine,” Claire replied in defeat, “But I need to go with you and see first hand that she’s accepted him!”
“That’s fine,” Lee smiled lightly, “You can stay and watch them interact for as long as you want.”
From the doorway, Tom had shot Lee a look that Claire translated to ‘She’s never going to leave your home now!’ Claire would stay for a little while but eventually, she’d leave no matter how hard. A new mother cat can only take so much foreign company before she’d start to get stressed. And Claire wasn’t going to cause distress on Ellie and her kittens because of her own insecurities.
“How many kittens does Ellie have?”
Perhaps Eleanor had a large brood and couldn’t look after Claire’s fuzz-ball. Mentally she scolded herself for trying to think up excuses as to why he shouldn’t go with Lee. Even though she knew in her heart that it was the best thing for him.
“5” Lee smiled proudly, “And she has 6 nipples for nursing.”
Oh, how convenient.
For the first time since they brought him home, the kitten went to the washroom on the towel, subconsciously crawling away from the mess. Lee looked at the tiny poop and nodded his head.
“Well, that’s healthy and normal. Thank god,” Lee informed them, taking a tissue and cleaning it up for Claire. “If a kitten that tiny and in his circumstances developed a runny stool it could kill him. We have to worry about dehydration as well as starvation. Another reason why he needs Eleanor’s care is that there are certain vitamins and antibodies he’ll get from her milk that’s not in goats milk he…what’s his name?”
Name? Claire didn’t want to name him because she didn’t know if he’d survive. It would be easier to say goodbye if it wasn’t too personal. She set eyes on the squeaky little fluff ball and tried to think of a name.
“Milo,” she finally spoke. It was the first thing that came to her mind upon looking at him.
“Little Milo will have his immune system strengthened by Ellie’s nursing,” Lee informed her, picking the kitten back up very carefully. He scanned the baby once more trying to assess his health, cradling Milo to his chest. “Come on,” Lee encouraged gently, “Get your shoes on. The sooner Milo is with Eleanor the sooner he’ll come home.”
Tom appeared to be impressed with Lee as she followed behind the tall man and slipped on her shoes. Pine hesitated for a moment before trailing behind her. It was clear by how comfortable Seb and Michael were on the couch that neither man was coming with them. Chris still didn’t really want anything to do with magical folks and removed himself from the situation altogether leaving Tom and Pine to accompany her back to Lee’s home. Which, honestly, is something Pine was supposed to do anyways pending the investigation.
“I know it’s hard but you made the right decision,” Pine encouraged her, rubbing her back.
Lee had given her back Milo and she was able to rest the tiny kitten on her lap in a blanket that he had brought from home. Apparently, it was one of Ellie’s and its purpose was to accustom Milo to her scent before he was placed in the resting spot with the other kittens. Milo accepting Ellie was also very important. If he didn’t recognize the mother cat he might not even nurse at all.
“Eleanor, I’m sure, will accept Milo as her own,” Lee reassured her through the rearview mirror of his car. “And in a month or so you can take little Milo back.”
“I’m scared he’s not going to know that I’m the one who rescued him!” Claire confessed with anxiety.
“Milo will recognize your scent,” Lee told her, “Cats are very smart creatures. He’ll know who you are. Especially if you visit him.”
“Will we be close like Pepper and me?”
“And then some,” Lee smiled, nodding his head, “You two will be great friends,”
Milo stretched a little and yawned, nuzzling around the blanket for physical contact. Placing her hand in front of him he inched forward resting his head on her palm. Slowly Milo managed to pull his whole body into the palm of her hand where he curled up and fell back asleep. It was so humbling to see something so tiny and fragile. Claire had never seen a kitten this small or young before in person. How could anyone throw him and his poor siblings away? If she thought too much about it Claire would cry. Humans could be so heartless.
“Everything is going to be alright,” Tom spoke from the front seat, turning in his seat to address her. He reached out and covered her hand with the blanket leaving just Milo’s head exposed.
Milo was so young he didn’t even really look like a cat or a kitten. His ears were so tiny they were pretty much folded down flat on the side of his head and there wasn’t a whisker to speak of. If it weren’t for the tiny tail attached to his bum you wouldn’t even think he was a cat.
“I’ll personally make sure that you see him daily if you wish,” Pine promised. “You’re a good little momma. But sometimes even the best mothers need help.” |
November 26th, 2026
Claire watched with hyper focus as her favorite band in the world answered questions on one of the most watched interview series on YouTube. Their answers were everything she had expected from them.
Even with twenty million streams, a number one album, and a Grammy nomination under their belts already, only a year after crashing onto the scene. They were still humble, still down to earth. So much so that she could actually picture herself being friends with these people. Her mind went back to the months before she had discovered their music.
Flashback
When her friends had dropped her like she never even mattered. When her parents had informed her that they were getting a divorce, expecting her to choose who she wanted to live with. Neither was the answer but she was fifteen and didn’t really have a choice so she chose the lesser of the two evils. Her indifferent mother as opposed to her abusive father.
One night, when her soul felt particularly weighed down by the trials of her very short life, she locked herself in the bathroom and pulled a small box out from the loose floorboard under the sink. There was nothing in there except a few blades she’d pulled out of a razor. It was her only comfort in a world where she felt completely alone. Of all the pain forced on her over the years, this was one instance where she was in control. She could make it hurt as much or as little as possible and it made her feel powerful.
Once her wrist was bandaged and her sleeves were pulled down until her hands disappeared in the fabric the pain felt less life or death and more like a dull throbbing. She decided then that she’d browse YouTube for a distraction from the guilt.
The thumbnail caught her eye first, right there at the number on spot of the trending page. The LA skyline during sunset, a beautiful girl in a puffy purple dress, Latina, just like Claire, belting into a mic with confidence she wished she could possess. For a second she felt like the world held just as many possibilities for her as it did for this band.
The song wasn’t anything special to her at first, having been absorbed by the imagery enough that the lyrics didn’t register. By the third replay though, she actually heard them, let them in.
Sometimes I think I’m falling down. I wanna cry, I’m calling out, for one more try to feel alive.
Those lyrics hit her hard. Hadn’t she been trying to feel alive this whole time? Hadn’t she wanted that more than anything?
And when I feel lost and alone, I know that I can make it home. Fight through the dark and find the spark.
Claire had always loved music, loved it so much that it held a power over her more than any other aspect of her life. It swayed her moods, spoke to her soul, formed a bond between herself and the artist whose voice was blaring in her earbuds.
In times that I doubted myself I felt like I needed somе help, Stuck in my head with nothing left. I feel somеthing around me now so unclear, lifting me out. I found the ground I'm marching on.
She’d doubted herself a lot, to the point that she’d allowed her darker thoughts to win. There was a reason, though, that she’d swallowed the pills on the one day her mother was home early from work. Deep down, she wanted to live. She’d found the ground and she was marching on.
End Flashback
So when Luke Patterson, lead guitarist and lyrical mastermind, spoke about her sign, the one that she’d thrown together, not expecting any one of them to notice it, she broke down. She’d gotten the ticket last minute, thrown the sign together that day, and marched out alone to the Orpheum where she’d attend her first ever concert watching a band that spoke directly to the deepest parts of her.
“There’s actually one moment that I think will stay with me for the rest of my life. It was the night we opened for Panic! At the Disco. There were a lot of signs in the audience that night and we loved them all, but one of them I’ll never forget. It said “Sunset Curve saved my life.” I don’t know who that person is, I’d love for them to get in touch with us. But that’s the point. Our music resonated so much with someone that it stopped them from making that choice? That’s what it’s all about.”
She’d gone to every show since then. Tracked their progress and followed all news of Sunset Curve religiously, her room had been littered with posters of Julie alone and those of the whole band. She’d even kept a box full of interviews clipped from magazines to come back to whenever she was feeling low.
The night of their final show of the Stand Tall tour they had come back to where it had all started for her. The Orpheum. And so, she’d pushed past the fear, the possibility of meeting her heroes only to find them lacking. She grabbed the sign that had been shoved in the back of her closet for years and made her way to the venue.
She’d watched the entire show before a woman approached her. Short and petite, older now than what Claire remembered from Sunset Curve’s earliest posts, but just as beautiful. Flynn Ryder walked up to her and tapped Claire on the shoulder.
“Come with me. The band would like to meet you.” She’d said into her ear and looped her arm through Claire’s.
“I’m Flynn.” She said into her ear.
“I know.” Claire smiled and leaned in. “I’m Claire.” Flynn beamed at her and pulled her forward.
“She’s with me.” Flynn said to the bouncer. A man taller than most trees and wider than any human had the right to be. The man grunted and pulled the velvet rope to the side to let them pass.
“Help yourself to anything you’d like. You can watch the show from over there. They’ll come back here after the next song. I have to go but you enjoy yourself, okay?” Claire nodded because her brain wasn’t connected to her mouth at the moment. Flynn beamed at her and ran back out to the VIP section.
Claire grabbed a beer (because she was 21 now), popped it open, and moved to stage right where she could watch them perform. They were so close that she could see the sweat beading on Luke’s forehead, make out each individual crystal that adorned Julie’s badass purple suit. She could see the color of Reggie’s guitar pick and see the post it notes on the inside of Alex’s drum kit with the drum outlines for each song.
She watched, teary eyed, as Luke sang an exclusive song written for the woman whose voice had pulled Claire out of her darkest moments. The lyrics were beautiful, personal, and so heartfelt that her own heart stuttered when he sang to Julie.
They stumbled backstage, shaking with adrenaline, sweaty and riding the high of performing for a sold out crowd. Claire stepped back to allow them to pass to the refreshment table. All four of them grabbed two bottles of water each and gulped them down as if they’d been lost in the desert for months.
“Hey! Did Flynn bring you backstage?” Julie asked her as she came up to stand in front of her. Julie placed her hand on Claire’s arm. She nodded, her voice still not working.
“I’m so glad to finally meet you! We haven’t stopped thinking about you since that night.” Julie said. Before Claire could speak Reggie came up to stand next to her.
“Hi! I’m Reggie. I’m really glad you’re here.” He said one thing but she knew his words meant something else completely. It was the shift in octave that made it clear. He leaned in and gave her a hug like he’d known her all his life. It was comforting, more so than any hug she’d received from people she’d known most of her life.
“I’m glad I’m here too. Thanks to you guys.” Julie’s nose scrunched at her words, her emotions reading clear on her face. She leaned in and hugged Claire too.
“Are you the person with the sign?” Luke asked, appearing in front of her as if he’d poofed there from the other side of the backstage area. Again, Claire nodded in confirmation, holding up the poster board. It was wrinkled and ripped in the corners but it was still there after six years spent shoved in the back of her closet.
Instead of speaking, he gathered her up in a hug. He was sweaty and smelled musky but it didn’t really matter because wow. Her actual heroes were embracing her like a friend. Like she meant something to these people who won Grammys, sold out shows, who she’d watched grow from unknown kids to full blown superstars.
“Is this her?” It must have been Alex who asked because the rest of them were hugging her too. She felt someone step behind her and then she was enveloped in a group hug, the poster board squished between herself and Luke.
“You matter. Please always remember that.” Julie whispered in her ear. The rest of them must have heard too now that the venue had emptied and they were alone backstage because all five of them were crying now. Happy tears, of course, because Claire had met her heroes and they had exceeded all of her expectations.
1 Year Later
Claire came home from work, tired but fulfilled. She’d always loved music in all of its many forms and now she was blessed enough to be working as a producer. Granted she'd gotten the opportunity because of her friendship with the best selling band of the decade but her work spoke for itself.
She had become Trevor Wilson’s go to music producer quickly after being introduced to him. She was even lucky enough to produce a track for Carrie Wilson when she’d left Dirty Candi and decided to go solo. It had been a great move because she was now number two on the Billboard Hot 100, right under Fingertips which the band had been forced to release after the news broke of Luke and Julie’s engagement.
Once the announcement was made and the videos of the proposal went viral, their fans spent an entire month tweeting #ReleaseFingertips to the point that it was number one trending for a week. Luke had given in and now the song was sitting pretty at number one in anticipation of “The Wedding of the Year.”
Claire pulled out her mail expecting bills which were of course present and accounted for but then she felt a thick, stiff envelope buried between the rest of her mail. She quickly pulled it out and squealed right there in her lobby. She ripped it open to pull out a simple cream white card. She’d expected something extravagant from two people so rich and famous but the invitation was exactly what the two of them embodied. Simple, humble, perfectly them.
Mr. & Mrs. Molina
Along with Mr. Patterson
Joyfully invite you to the wedding of their children
Julie Molina
and
Lucas Patterson
Saturday, January 14th, 2028
Five PM at Ashton Gardens
89 Ocean Hill Drive, Beverly Hills, CA 90210
January 14th, 2028
“What if she leaves me at the altar?” Luke asks.
Mitch snorts but ignores the question and continues tying Luke’s bowtie while his son fidgets. Alex rolls his eyes and holds still so Willie can tie his. Reggie’s sipping on a whiskey neat and rolling his eyes.
“She’s as likely to leave you at the altar as you are to leave her.” Reggie answers, clinking his glass against Nick’s who nods in agreement. Reggie steps out of the room, making his way to the brides quarters.
He can’t stomach Luke’s nerves when his own are running rampant. He goes looking for his sister for comfort. He also wants a glimpse of her in her dress before everyone else just to rub it in Luke’s face that he’d seen the bride before the groom had. His best man duties can wait a little bit.
“What if she realizes she can do better?” Ray is watching the father and son with a soft smile.
He remembers his own wedding. How sure he’d been that Rose would make a break for it and he’d be left behind to pick up the pieces of his broken heart. Twenty five years later and he was about to walk his daughter down the aisle.
“You’d think after twenty years together this wouldn’t even be an issue.” Ray says, clinking his glass against Mitch’s when the other man holds up his glass.
“I hear there’s some nerves in here running rampant.” Rose says, shutting the door behind her. Her lavender dress hung to the floor. Made of silk and simply cut, leaving her back exposed, she looked absolutely radiant and way too young to be the mother of the bride.
“Come with me.” Rose takes Luke’s hand and pulls him away from his father and out onto the terrace of the country club the wedding was to be held at.
He’s standing in front of her, brows furrowed, foot tapping and hands shaking. He’s a grown man now, taller than her but still she sees the little boy who kicked Anthony Burnes for calling Julie a freak in first grade.
“You know Emily knew we’d end up here before anyone else.” That brings him up short and he stops his squirming for a moment to look at her.
“She’d been calling us in-laws for years before you and Julie got together. It was always a joke until one day it was just another fact we knew to be true.” Rose says it like he should know it as well, like she couldn't believe he’d even be worried about something as silly as this.
“My point is, mijo, that soulmates are real. All kinds and if the years have taught me anything, it’s that you two are the very definition of the term.” Rose pats his cheek and pulls him in for a hug which he returns enthusiastically.
He shudders into her shoulder, trying and failing to keep the tears at bay. “I wish she was here.” He whispers. It’s not meant for Rose to hear, he’s speaking to himself but his words drifted to her ears anyway.
“She is! She always has been. She’s been with you through everything. And she’s here today, I have no doubt in my mind.” A soft breeze flits between them, ruffling Luke’s hair that he had begrudgingly allowed to be styled, carrying the scent of peonies in the air.
“Signs, Luke. They’re always there for you to find.” Rose inhales deeply and wraps her arm around his shoulders.
“Lets go get you married, yeah?” Luke leans into her and laughs as they walk back into the room where Mitch is waiting, holding up the crisp black tuxedo jacket.
“I can’t wait to be married.” Julie says while Rose is busy zipping up her dress. The layers of lace fan out around her like a waterfall.
Flynn stands in front of her, placing little purple flowers intermittently throughout Julie’s loose fishtail braid. Carrie is off to the side, applying make-up to Nicole’s face. All of them are wearing matching lavender bridesmaids dresses. Flynn’s is slightly different due to her role as maid of honor.
Nicole had been a welcome addition in the last year when she had turned eighteen and promptly informed her parents in a very no nonsense way that she way gay. Not only was she gay but she was moving out, effective immediatley and in with her brother who she’d never cut contact with.
The Mercer’s had been livid and had trash talked both of their children to anyone who would listen. Fortunately, no one would tolerate it in their neighborhood as the kids had and would always be the town darlings. They’d been forced to sell their house and move shortly after the fight with their daughter after the neighbors refused to have anything to do with them.
The icing on the cake had been Alex buying the house as soon as it went up for sale. He moved Willie and Nicole in and now it was back where it belonged. One of three houses that hosted barbeques, pool parties, and impromptu block party concerts.
“Someone go get Julie’s man. He’s spiraling.” Reggie says as he walks into the bridal suite and throws himself bodily into an armchair. Rose checks Julie over one last time before leaving to take care of her nervous son in law.
“Hello to you too, Reg.” Julie smiles at him through the reflection in the mirror. For a moment Reggie forgets that two of his best friends are getting married. He forgets all the things as he looks her over.
She’s absolutely glowing, her smile is bright and seems to come from deep inside of her. Reggie stands up and walks over to stand in front of her, he looks her up and down.
“You look beautiful.” He’s tearing now and Julie’s eyes are filling with tears too.
“Don’t you dare cry, Jules. We don’t have time to reapply the make-up.” Carrie says. Nicole giggles but remains still as Carrie puts the finishing touches on her face.
“If you cry, I cry and that's a whole other problem. So Reg, keep a lid on the emotions.” Flynn says from his right but she’s smiling and her eyes are suspiciously shiny.
“I can’t believe our babies are all grown up and getting married.” Reggie dramatically clutches at his neck like he’s clutching a string of pearls.
“We’re the first, but definitely not the last.” Julie looks at Reggie pointedly. Message received. He backs away and picks up his drink, taking another sip. He looks to his watch and back up to Julie and Flynn.
“T minus twenty minus to take off.” Flynn walks over to him and hugs him from behind, leaning down to kiss his temple.
“How did I ever fall for such a nerd?” She asks.
“My stunning good looks and disarming charm.” Reggie responds and now they’re all laughing.
The bridal march rings out and everyone stands. Three hundred people all gathered to watch Luke marry the love of his life. They had allowed only one reporter and no photographer. They’d release their own pictures in time but for now Jessica Lang from Entertainment Weekly was seated in the back taking notes.
The shaking had eased up but his fingers still tingled as he watched the door at the back of the aisle. His boys stood behind him, lined up and eager to get to the ceremony. Alex had money on Luke crying first. Reggie’s money was on Julie. Willie thought it’d be Luke, too. Nick and Carrie had also thrown their money on Julie. Nicole and Flynn had gone in for Luke.
The girls lined up in front of him giggling and whispering excitedly to each other. He had no idea what to expect, all he knew was that he hadn't seen Julie in over twenty four hours and that skin-too-tight feeling was almost suffocating him now.
The doors swung open and there she was, walking towards him with her arm looped through Ray’s. She clutched a beautiful bouquet of peonies, her way of ensuring Emily’s presence. Luke’s mouth went dry instantly and his breathing stopped completely. His lungs burned but he couldn’t remember how he was supposed to make that feeling go away.
If he had to choose a word to describe her in this moment it would be ‘
Magic
’. She floated down the aisle, the train of her dress trailing behind her. Her dark hair was tossed over her shoulder, braided intricately and dusted with purple flowers. She looked like a fairy queen and Luke was absolutely ready to be of service to Her Majesty.
Finally, she was standing in front of him. Her breathing was just as shallow because she’d never seen him in a tux and all of the sudden she’d discovered something new she loved about him.
“Welcome family, friends, and loved ones. We gather here today to celebrate the wedding of Julie and Luke. You have all come here to share in this moment, to offer your love and support to this union, and to allow Julie and Luke to start their lives together surrounded by those that mean the most to them.” Willie’s voice rings out around the room.
They’d chosen him to officiate since neither one of them were particularly religious. They’d both decided it would mean so much more if one of their best friends was the one to marry them.
“Marriage is perhaps the most challenging and yet the most exhilarating adventure in human relationships. So before we get this show on the road-” Willie winks at them. “The bride and groom have prepared vows. Luke, you go first.” Willie finishes and takes a step back to allow the attention to be solely focused on them.
“Jules.” It comes out on an exhale. Like the name itself was a prayer. “I’m not the best with words, you know this. My talents lie in lyrics and music but when it comes to you, they’ve never come easier. I know everyone in this room would say this is a long time coming but to me it feels like it all just happened yesterday. Last week you shoved Cassie Sharp into a puddle of mud for stealing my lunch. A few days ago you told me you liked me. Just yesterday you told me you loved me. It all feels like the blink of an eye but at the same time, like a lifetime. You used to say that music was my only love and while it might be true that it was my first, you, Julie, are my last. You and music have always been one and the same to me. You
are
the music. I promise to spend all the years of our life together loving you, lifting you up, and most importantly being the rock you can always lean on because you make me better, Julie. I want to spend the rest of my life being the best version of myself that I can be, because you deserve it.” Luke finishes.
There’s not a dry eye in the house, including Julie who's already planning on running to the bathroom before the reception to get her make-up fixed. She’s smiling up at Luke like he’s the first sight of the sun she’d gotten after a lifetime in the dark.
“Luke. My bandmate, my best friend, my soulmate.” She repeats his words from the proposal. “Sometimes, when I think about or lives, I wonder how I ever got so lucky. How it’s possible that through the pain and the low points in my life, twenty three years of it, that you’ve never waivered. Not in your passion, your drive, nor your love for me and then the answer comes, just like always. We were written in the stars, you and I. Fate, destiny, predestination… whatever you want to call it. That’s us. And then I wonder if anyone else will ever be as lucky in love as I’ve been. The answer is, I hope so. Because it’s been and will always be my most cherished gift. I promise to always put us first. To always help build us up higher than the limits we set for ourselves. To try and make you as happy as you’ve made me for my entire life. We make each other better. You asked me once if I was sure about you, if I was sure that I’d never want anyone but you. So here’s a question for you; How could I ever look for anything else when perfection was placed in front of me when a little boy asked me if I wanted a carrot stick?”
Willie sniffled and used a handkerchief he pulled out of the pocket of his pale lavender jacket to wipe at his nose before he cleared his throat.
“Do you Luke take Julie to be your lawfully wedded-” Luke interrupts, his eyes full of tears.
“I do!” Luke slips the gold band onto her ring finger. Willie chuckles and continues on.
“Do you Julie take Luke to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
“I do!” Julie repeats.
“Then I pronounce you husband and wife! Now seal it with a kiss!” Willie exclaims.
Julie pulls Luke to her lips with more force than she’d ever used, their lips clash together and it feels like the first kiss all over again. It’s soft and languid and everything they’d always been and would always be. It was perfect.
“Attention! Hello! It’s time for the speeches.” Carlos is yelling into the mic but everyone around them is too busy toasting and talking to pay any mind to the kid on stage.
“Hey! Shut Up! It’s time for speeches!” Luke bursts out laughing and Julie is trying to hide her own giggles behind her hand. Rose and Ray both have their heads down but Rose is still laughing while Ray looks on, accepting the fact that his kid inherited his mothers mouth.
Flynn walks up to the stage and takes the mic out of Carlos’ hand before he starts cursing the guests out. The bride and groom are seated at their own table behind the mic stand.
“Welcome everyone, to the wedding of the year. I cannot believe that we are here celebrating two of my best friends getting married.” She pauses for the guests to applaud.
“I remember when I first moved into the neighborhood, that first day while unpacking my room, I heard screaming outside and when I looked out the window there were four little delinquents running up the block spraying everyone they came across with water guns. I remember thinking you’d get in so much trouble for that but instead Mrs. Benson came outside with a plate of cookies, Mr. Benson a pitcher of lemonade and you sprayed them up but they just laughed and had cookies with you. I remember wanting so bad to be part of your group too because everything about you guys was real and authentic. I saw you again at school that Monday and all four of you took me in like I’d grown up right along with you. It’s been years of insane highs and terrible lows but through it all there was always one constant: Luke and Julie, Julie and Luke. It was and always will be a forever thing. I’m so happy to be here today to see the culmination of twenty one years of lives lived together. Here’s to one hundred more!” Flynn held up her glass in the direction of Luke and Julie who raised their own glasses in a toast before pulling Flynn in for a hug.
Flynn stepped off the stage and handed the mic to Reggie who kissed her temple and swung his arm around her, pulling her in and keeping her in place. She looks to him questioningly but he ignores it and brings the mic to his lips.
“That was beautiful, Flynn. I’m not sure I can top that.” She laughs and shakes her head.
“As the
best man
to be chosen best man ever in history, it’s only right that I close out the speech portion of the party, right?” The guests laugh, except for Alex who rolls his eyes but smiles anyway.
“Well, I’m honestly shocked that a woman like Julie would choose a man like Luke Patterson. I mean come on, the man is allergic to sleeves and if Flynn would have allowed it, he would have worn sneakers to his own wedding.” Luke’s laughing now and shaking his head.
Julie though, is whispering in his ear.
Were you actually going to wear sneakers? Come on Jules, you know I hate dress shoes, they pinch my toes.
“She chose though. Chose so long ago I don’t think even she remembers. It was obvious to the rest of us though, right? Flynn? Alex?” They nod in agreement.
“It was obvious from the way she always chose to sit next to Luke. It was obvious in the way Luke would only ever show his songs to Julie first, so that she would okay them before we could see them. It was most obvious, though, in the way they moved around each other. Like magnets, always attracting the other, always mirroring each other's movements, always within reach of each other. Sure, there were times when one would pull away from the other, but they always found their way back. To us, to each other, to Sunset Curve. So that’s why, with your blessing-” He raises his glass to Luke and Julie who are teary eyed and nodding enthusiastically.
“I’d like to create my own version of Juke couple goals.” He leads Flynn over to take Julie’s seat when she gets up and grabs a second mic. Julie comes to stand next to Reggie, her white dress flowing behind her.
“
Now I’ve had the time of my life, No I never felt like this before. Yes I swear, it’s the truth. And I owe it all to you.”
Reggie starts off while moving to stand behind Flynn. Luke’s laughing even harder now that he gets a clear look at her face.
“Cause I’ve had the time of my life. And I owe it all to you.”
Julie holds the note, coming around to Flynn’s other side as she sings to her.
The music plays and Reggie holds his hand out to Flynn who hesitates before taking it. “Nobody puts Baby in the corner.” He says and the audience cheers in delight while he leads her to the dance floor.
“I've been waiting for so long now I've finally found someone to stand by me”
Reggie’s deep voice sounds almost exactly the same as the original song. He’s spinning Flynn out and she’s laughing loud and deep.
“
We saw the writing on the wall as we felt this magical fantasy.
” Julie sings. Reggie and Flynn are twirling around the dance floor and Julie watches them from the stage.
“Now with passion in our eyes there's no way we could disguise it secretly. So we take each other's hand 'cause we seem to understand the urgency”
Julie and Reggie sing together, their voices harmonizing.
“Just remember you're the one thing I can't get enough of. So I'll tell you something this could be love, because I’ve had the time of my life.”
Reggie spins Flynn out one more time before bringing her back in.
“Reginald Peters! I am not doing the lift in this dress!” Flynn shrieks into his chest but it echoes around the venue because his mic is clutched to his chest right next to her face.
The guests clap at their performance. Everyone is laughing and having the time of their lives, literally. Reggie
reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulls out a little red velvet box.
Flynn is frozen in place, her eyes wide as she looks between Luke and Julie who are absolutely beaming with happiness and Reggie who’s cheeks have turned a dark pink.
“Flynn. I’m not even sure where to start or how to even go about this. I’ve never been good with words other than lyrics and even those I need help with most of the time. I’m going to keep this short and sweet, just like you.” Flynn cracks up even as her eyes fill with tears.
Reggie lowers himself down to one knee and opens the little box, lifting it up so she can see it. “I love you. Marry me?”
“Yes!” The venue erupts into applause, whistles, and cheers as he slides the beautiful white gold solitaire into her finger.
“Same time next year?” Julie says into her mic. Flynn looks up, shakes her head, and grabs the mic from Reggie.
“I prefer a summer wedding.” She says.
“Think we can plan a wedding in six months?” Reggie asks.
“With Carrie, Nicole, and Julie? We can get it done in one.” She replies.
“We need to come up with something better than
Fleggie
though.” Reggie cringes and nods.
“Definitely.” He responds.
THE END
|
“You can’t be serious,” Arthur complains when the first notes of My heart will go on start coming from the TV.
Merlin smirks. “I told you we’re watching the Titanic.”
“I thought you were joking!”
“Well, you thought wrong. I never joke about Kate and Leo.”
“I’m not watching this,” he folds his arms across his chest and sulks.
“You know, if I didn’t know better I would say you seem nervous to watch it.” Merlin inches closer from his spot on the couch. “What do you have to hide?”
“I’m not hiding anything. I just hate the movie.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I do, too!”
“Hm,” Merlin pretends to think. “My superpowers tell me otherwise.”
“Your superpowers are wrong.”
“They are never wrong.”
“Tell me then, what are they telling you now?” he challenges and Merlin giggles as the wave of irritation Arthur sends his way hits him.
“I’ll make you a deal,” he compromises. “We watch the movie and I’ll massage your feet.”
Arthur stops sulking, his interest peaked. “For the duration of the movie?”
“Are you nuts?! It’s three hours!”
“Yeah, three hours of torture, I deserve to be compensated.”
“I’ll give you ten minutes.”
“Ten minutes?! That’s not worth it at all!”
“You should know I’m a great masseur. Definitely worth it.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
“So you take it?”
“Fine, but I want at least half an hour.”
“No way, I’ll do it for fifteen minutes.”
“That doesn’t make up for it!”
“Fine! Twenty, and that’s my final offer.”
Arthur thinks it through and then sighs as though it’s such a hardship to lounge on Merlin’s couch and have his feet rubbed.
“Well, I don’t have much of a choice, do I,” he complains, bending down to take off his socks and promptly shoves his feet in Merlin’s lap. “You better make it worth it.”
Merlin narrows his eyes and grabs his left foot, pressing strongly into a spot in the middle. Arthur shoots up with a painful squeal.
“What the hell are you doing?!”
“Be nice if you want me to be nice.”
Arthur grumbles something incomprehensible and reluctantly lies back, making himself comfortable.
Satisfied, Merlin follows suit and situates Arthur’s feet a bit differently for a better access. He starts rubbing at the sole of one foot as he turns his attention to the movie. Arthur sighs happily, forgetting about their argument and starts watching the screen too.
Merlin truly loves the Titanic but all his focus is actually on Arthur. He doesn’t need to look at him to be completely absorbed by his responsiveness. Arthur keeps making these little humming noises and positively keens when Merlin finds a particularly sensitive spot. He lingers at those just to hear more of it.
Besides the addictive noises coming from the man, Merlin can feel his pleasure too. It gets progressively harder - ha... haha - to keep his composure and focus on what’s happening on the screen.
Merlin thinks he’s never gonna stop being blown away by the intensity of the bond the two of them share. He doesn’t know how it happened, or why, but at some point, they connected on a level Merlin has never connected with anyone else. Not his previous partners, regardless of how much he loved them. Not even his mom, and she is his best friend.
He finds he doesn’t care about the why and the how. He’s just so damn grateful it happened.
Rose’s voice screaming for help as Jack is desperately trying to pull her up over the railing snaps Merlin back to reality and he’s baffled to find they are already half an hour in the movie.
He reluctantly lets go of Arthur’s feet but keeps them in his lap. Arthur’s eyes snap open from where they were halfway shut in his relaxed state and stares at Merlin accusingly.
“That couldn’t have been twenty minutes.”
“You’re right. It was thirty.”
Arthur’s eyes narrow in suspicion but the time on the screen confirms Merlin’s words. Instead of admitting his mistake, Arthur turns to him with a smirk.
“Got carried away, did we?”
Merlin fights away the blush threatening to show up. “I was too engrossed in the movie.”
“Sure, whatever you say,” Arthur snorts, not believing the excuse for a second.
Merlin pinches him in revenge, earning a yelp and a few choice words in return. However, Arthur doesn’t take his feet off Merlin’s lap, relaxing back into the cushions. Merlin hums contently despite himself and places one hand back on the top of Arthur’s foot, not massaging, just moving his thumb in small circles, listening to Arthur purr.
They barely move the whole time, silent except for Arthur’s occasional grumbled commentary which Merlin dutifully rewards with another pinch each time it happens and Arthur eventually shuts up, muttering something under his breath instead.
And then, it happens. The song starts playing as Rose and Jack look at each other, Jack watching the safe-boat descend lower and lower before Rose throws caution to wind and leaps back to the ship. They collide with each other at the clock, kissing and crying, and suddenly, Merlin hears a sniffle come from Arthur.
He turns to him curiously but before he manages to get a good look, Arthur shoots up from the couch, back facing Merlin.
“Um, where’s the loo?” he asks, his posture rigid.
“First door on the right,” Merlin instructs and watches as Arthur basically runs in the direction, slipping into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him.
It slowly occurs to him what Arthur is so upset about and he has to stifle a laugh.
Gods, that’s adorable.
I so knew it!
He gives Arthur a few minutes, negotiating whether to pause the movie but eventually deciding against it, for the preservation of Arthur’s dignity. When five minutes pass and Arthur still hasn’t emerged from the bathroom, he decides it’s time for intervention.
“Arthur?” he calls gently as he stands in front of the door. “Are you ok?”
“Fine,” comes from the inside, short and grumpy.
“Arthur, come on,” he coaxes. “The movie is almost finished.”
“I’m not watching.”
“Arthur,” he repeats. “I’m not gonna laugh at you because you get emotional. I told you it’s a classic, you can’t watch it and not cry.”
“I’m not emotional! And I’m not crying!”
“Great, then come out.”
“...”
“Arthur?”
“Merlin,” he pleads. “Just leave me be.”
“No chance,” he insists. “Come on. I promise I’ll cry at the end. And we’ll be even,” he reasons and sends some soothing energy across.
“Merlin,” Arthur says warningly, “what are you doing?”
“What?”
“You know what, you sneaky little manipulator.”
Merlin chuckles. “You like it,” he shoots back. “Come on, I’ll give you another foot rub.”
It takes some more coaxing from him but Arthur eventually relents, stepping out and looking anywhere but Merlin.
“Come on,” Merlin says, taking his hand and leading him back to the couch. He places Arthur’s feet back into his lap and makes good on his word until Arthur finally relaxes.
And he keeps his promise when Rose lets Jack sink into the ocean, making a promise of her own. He felt the tears welling up for several minutes so he’s not surprised when they finally spill over.
Damn, every. Single. Time.
Arthur’s foot nudges his stomach and he turns to him. Arthur is, of course, smirking.
“Wow, you weren’t kidding.”
“Yeah. Gets me every time.”
Arthur just hums, not saying anything else and they finally finish the whole movie, Merlin crying openly some more as Rose and Jack reunite and he consciously ignores a suspicious, sniffling sound coming from Arthur. The credits start rolling and Arthur withdraws his feet, sitting upright instead.
“Well, that was terrible,” he says and Merlin smacks him on the shoulder.
“You’re a dick.”
“Yeah, yeah. But you have to admit, Merlin, that the whole concept was ridiculous. They knew each other for what, a few days tops and suddenly they are in love and planning to run away together. She abandons her family and he turns into some kind of a hero. And then, she spends what, eighty-four years thinking about the guy, even though they barely spent a week together.”
“So, your point is?”
“My point is that you can’t fall in love so quickly. That’s bollocks.”
Merlin shakes his head fondly. “I think you think too much about it. They are just kids and she’s lonely and he’s this free spirit wandering the world and they just kinda meet in the middle.”
“That’s exactly what I mean. It was just the timing. If she met him anywhere else, she wouldn’t give him the time of day.”
“You can’t know that.”
“Maybe not, but I would bet on it.”
“Well, maybe that’s where you got it wrong. Yeah, ok, I agree, falling in love in a matter of days is pretty impossible, it’s more like a crush, right?” Arthur nods in agreement. “But I think that’s not the point of the story at all. Everybody thinks it’s a tragedy - and I’m not talking about the sinking ship - because Rose lost the love of her life. Who knows, maybe he wasn’t the love of her life at all. But the reason she never got over it and kept thinking about him her whole life until her death, is that they never got a chance to have a life together. And you’re probably right. Let’s say they made it, that the Titanic docked in New York and they ran away together. Maybe they were happy, maybe they spent their lives with each other. Or maybe they made it work for a while before realizing that it was just a flame and that they are not a good match. And maybe they went their separate ways and found love with other people.”
“Ok, so what is your point, then?”
“The point is that it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because they never got the chance. Jack was the first person in her life to see the real her and he liked it. He saved her life, literally, and he saved her soul. She had all this planned out in her head, their future, and then he died. That’s why she never got over it. Because it was taken from her before they could even give it a shot. So... she never got to know what it would actually be like. She just kept thinking what if.”
Merlin feels a tad embarrassed when he registers how long he kept rattling on for and he looks over at Arthur shyly. He doesn’t expect to see the fondness written across his face and something warm and fuzzy settles in his chest.
“What-?”
“Merlin?”
“Yeah?”
In the next second, Arthur is plastered to his side with their faces only inches apart.
“Shut up,” he says and pecks him on the lips. “You big, ridiculous, wonderful sap.” And dives in for a deep kiss, hand coming up to grab at his ears and tug.
Merlin’s hands automatically come around Arthur, pulling him close and a moan escapes him when Arthur’s tongue swipes across his lips. He deliberately opens up to him, letting Arthur slip in and just taste him. He’s determined to give Arthur anything and everything he wants.
And Arthur doesn’t hold back. His hand tangles in Merlin’s hair, exposing his throat and Arthur’s lips latch onto a patch of skin below his jawline, sucking a bruise into the pale flesh. Merlin shudders against him and holds on for dear life.
Arthur moves his mouth lower, sliding down the whole length of Merlin’s throat until he reaches his collarbones. Merlin hears him huff out a small laugh but before he can question it, Arthur pulls the collar of his shirt to the side and starts kissing across the newly exposed skin. Merlin was hoping to keep some resemblance of control but he recognizes its futility the minute his cock grows fully hard in his jeans. And he knows he’s truly fucked when Arthur’s thigh brushes against the bulge and he lets out a whimper.
Arthur stops his ministrations, at the sound Merlin makes or at the feeling of his hardness against his thigh, he doesn’t know. He expects to be met with Arthur’s panicked expression and braces himself for a freak out but it never happens. Instead, he watches Arthur’s pupils dilate until black consumes nearly all the blue of his irises and he grinds his thigh against Merlin’s crotch.
“Ugh, Arthur,” he pleads.
“Merlin,” Arthur breathes, voice low and dark. All the thought leaves Merlin as he finds himself horizontal, hovering above Arthur. He has no idea how they got in this position, whether he pushed or Arthur pulled, or both, but none of it matters because instead of panic, the only thing he sees in Arthur’s eyes is pure, undeniable desire. He bends down to give him a deep, filthy kiss and slides his hand low and under Arthur’s shirt, caressing the soft skin of his stomach. Arthur’s breath hitches and Merlin looks up to check on him.
“This ok?” he asks and Arthur nods once before sitting up abruptly, nearly throwing him off, and grabs the hem of his shirt to pull it over his head. He looks at Merlin, expectant and a bit nervous, and Merlin only has a split second to appreciate the view before he shoves Arthur flat to the couch and kisses him again, hands stroking over his chest and stomach. He smiles at the fact that the hair on Arthur’s body is the same golden color as his hair, finding it both cute and sexy.
He feels Arthur’s hands tug at his own shirt this time, sliding it up, up.
“Can I-?”
“Yeah, yeah. Anything you want,” he promises, making a short process with the shirt and giving Arthur time to look his fill.
His eyes are wide as they take Merlin in and Merlin tries not to fidget under the scrutiny. He should worry, he knows, given Arthur’s situation, but there is nothing about Arthur that would tell him he doesn’t want this.
“You can touch me, Arthur. I don’t bite.” He takes one of his hands and places it on his chest. Arthur’s fingers are reluctant as they glide over the same collarbone his lips were worshiping just minutes ago but as it roams over Merlin chest, he grows bolder. His hand moves with a purpose, mapping the milky white skin, skimming through the chest hair and he smiles a bit sheepishly.
“This is new,” he says more to himself, moving his hand lower.
“Good new?” Merlin asks, nervous despite already guessing the answer.
“Yeah,” Arthur says. “Definitely good.”
It’s Merlin’s turn to smile stupidly and he returns to kissing Arthur, unable to stay away. Judging by the sounds Arthur makes, he doesn’t want him to anyway.
Merlin settles on top of him more firmly and can feel the same hardness pressing against his. Arthur gasps into the kiss, sudden and out of breath.
“Merlin,” he says like a prayer.
“Hm?”
“I want...”
“Yeah?” He breaks the kiss to look at Arthur properly, the other man suddenly shy. “I told you,” he brushes their lips together. “Anything you want.”
Arthur whimpers and his legs come around Merlin. “Touch me,” he asks, nearly begs, and Merlin is this close to losing his shit.
“God, yeah.” He fumbles with the belt of Arthur’s trousers but manages to pull it out of its loops, making a short process with the rest and then, his hand is on Arthur’s cock, only a thin layer of fabric between them.
Arthur pushes his hips up into Merlin’s hand and makes a frustrated sound.
“Take them off,” he orders and Merlin doesn’t hesitate to comply. He slips his hand behind the hem of Arthur’s briefs and tugs it down, as far as he can and then, he’s stroking over Arthur’s hot flesh.
“Fuck,” Arthur gasps, eyes squeezed shut and head thrown back. Merlin repeats Arthur’s previous ministrations as he takes the chance to kiss over the golden skin of his throat, having half the mind to not leave marks, as much as he wants to, but thinks it better to not attract attention given the nature of Arthur’s job.
He has a firm grasp on his cock, stroking him slow and long and feels Arthur’s quickening pulse against his lips where they are still moving over his throat.
Next, he feels Arthur’s shaky hand brushing against his still covered cock and he pulls back to look at him.
“Arthur...”
“You too,” he says. “I want to touch you too.”
He lets go of Arthur’s cock in order to get rid of his jeans and underwear in less then ten seconds and the moment he does, his hand returns to Arthur’s cock, resuming it’s ministrations. He holds his breath as he feels Arthur’s unsure fingers wrap around his own length, tugging experimentally. His hips rock forward reflexively and he returns his attention to stroking Arthur, giving him time to figure things out on his own. It doesn’t take long at all before Arthur’s grip around him tightens and starts stroking him in the same rhythm.
They move in sync, rocking against each other, half kissing and half breathing into each others mouths, lips barely connected. Merlin can feel their hearts beat in tandem too and it’s the most peculiar, beautiful thing he’s ever felt. He can’t help but share this with Arthur, opening himself up as much as he can and giving everything he has, everything he is.
Arthur’s chest heaves in a struggle to breathe, his hand on Merlin’s cock faltering.
“Merlin,” he pants and in the next second, his body stiffens and he paints his chest with his release. Merlin keens, stroking him through the aftershocks until he starts trembling from over-stimulation.
He takes his hand of Arthur’s spent cock and begins stroking himself since Arthur lost the control of his body the moment he started coming. He watches Arthur with half-lidded eyes, taking him in and he feels himself nearing his peak at the sight of the man in his post-orgasmic state.
“Arthur,” he warns, not sure how much Arthur will allow him. Arthur blinks at him tiredly, eyes dropping to his hand on his cock and noticing the way he shakes.
“Fuck yeah,” he moans, voice hoarse and deep and so fucking hot. “Do it.”
It’s all the permission Merlin needs and his orgasm hits him full force. He comes on Arthur’s stomach, adding to the mess and it takes every ounce of strength in him to not just collapse onto him. He knows neither of them would appreciate it.
He reaches for his discarded shirt and gives Arthur as thorough clean-up as he can given the circumstances, then slowly lowers himself against the man, tucking his face in the crook of Arthur’s neck. He feels Arthur’s hand in his hair next, fingers carding through the dark strands, massaging his scalp. He hums contently, then starts giggling as something hits him.
“Are you laughing, Merlin?” Arthur asks in disbelief, which makes Merlin laugh harder, body shaking.
“It’s just... I can’t believe you put out on the second date.”
The hand in his hair ceases its movement and Arthur’s affronted voice follows.
“What?! You put out too!” he argues and Merlin can’t stop laughing.
“Well, you’re the one who mentioned the fourth date. And! You kissed me first!”
“That’s utterly irrelevant!”
“It’s totally relevant!”
“Well, you kissed back so you’re as guilty!”
“Just admit it, Arthur - you’re a slut.”
Arthur gapes at him, lost for words, and in an attempt to put a stop to Merlin’s laughter, he grabs a pillow and smacks him in the face.
It just makes it worse. |
John dragged himself home after the fourth day in a row working at a local care home. They had had an outbreak of pneumonia, and John had been working with a team of elderly care specialists to make sure they got the prescriptions and treatments they needed. It had involved long hours, longer than usual, but now they were bringing in more staff he would be able to have a breather.
Looking forward to a long sleep, he slipped into the flat. Sherlock was nowhere to be seen, and his bedroom door was closed. John frowned at it, wondering for the umpteenth time if he had done something to upset the now-reticent detective. They hadn’t seen much of each other since… since the chair, but the glimpses John had managed to get of him gave him cause for concern. The detective looked exhausted, drifting from one area of the flat to the other, until noticing John and pretending to occupy himself with a sudden need to read from a random piece of paper, or start scrolling on his phone. The skin under his eyes now looked like faint bruises - like someone had pressed their thumbs there, feeling the outline of the delicate eye-sockets. As far as John could tell, Sherlock’s sleep schedule was now completely altered as well; the long lay-ins and day-naps becoming the norm, rather than the exception.
If John were using his medical opinion, he would say Sherlock was depressed, and John’s whole being pulsed with the need to do something, to help. He thought of danger-nights, of vague comments from friends and Sherlock himself about black moods, and murky ideas of a desperate past, and it hurt not to be able, to be asked, to do anything about it. Looking with the eyes of Sherlock’s… companion? He still didn’t know how to refer to himself in regards to Sherlock, or vice versa… he would say that Sherlock was hiding something - trying desperately to hide something, and becoming worn-down with the effort.
Just as he continued to wonder if he had upset Sherlock somehow, he also continued to wonder - is it over already? Has he changed his mind? Is that what he’s hiding?
After a quick snack and a deep sigh in the kitchen then a brief visit to the bathroom, he went upstairs and opened the dresser drawer to find some pajamas. Lifting up the top pair, he uncovered the things he had hidden beneath - the cuffs, the clamps, the flogger and the collar. He got the familiar squirming feeling in his gut when he looked at them; part titillation, part discomfort.
He pulled some more clothes on top of the offending items and got into bed, but his mind kept circling back to them, and the part they had played in his last liaison with Sherlock.
John had been so nervous - almost to the point of nausea - when he had presented the cuffs and clamps for Sherlock’s scrutiny. He had had no idea what to expect: derision at the items themselves, scorn for their quality, a happy trill of excitement, or a practical, ‘Mine are better, wait here.’ However, instead Sherlock had regarded both items with some caution, though it had been carefully controlled in both his expression and movement. John had been pleased when he had reached for the clamps because at least that indicated some sort of interest, but Sherlock had looked at the things the same way he would look at new lab equipment - curious, but curiosity on a practical level - it had not been the amorous joy that John had been secretly hoping for. Yet, Sherlock had said yes, agreeing to try them out, and had then moved immediately into what John was starting to think of as sex mode. His stance changed, he put on a ‘come hither’ look, his sole focus suddenly seemed to become how best to orchestrate the steps of the encounter for maximum pleasure… or maximum speed.
It had not gone unnoticed by John that Sherlock did not appear to enjoy drawing these things out. It was like he planned exactly what was necessary in order for things to go well, then followed those steps with single-minded determination. There didn’t seem to be much room for improvisation, or even joking around. No, sex mode meant serious business, and once again John found himself missing their easy banter and the gentle smiles of before.
He lay in bed, thinking over again what had happened with the cuffs and the clamps. He wasn’t even remotely aroused while thinking back on it, because… it just seemed so… strange, when looked at with an objective eye. When he had been in the moment, turned on and tense in their living room, having Sherlock’s warm weight on his thighs… he had been willing to go along with just about anything; whatever the other man wanted. Feeling Sherlock thrust against him, hearing his rapid panting and feeling the pulse in his neck flutter against John’s lips... it had been exhilarating if a little disturbing for John’s taste, and all of that had been enough to send him quickly on his way to orgasm.
Afterwards, though… Sherlock hadn’t even wanted to look at him. He had climbed down off John’s lap, legs wobbly as a new-born foal, drawn and pale but with a flush high on his cheeks as if of a fever. John had reached for him just as Sherlock had stepped away to collect his clothes, John’s hands closing on empty air. He hadn’t known what to say, hadn’t known what to do. He at least thought he should be doing something to make Sherlock feel as good as John had mere moments before… but as Sherlock had disappeared into his bedroom he had wondered with a sinking feeling if that had been his mistake. Was Sherlock upset that John pointed out he hadn’t orgasmed? Was there some kind of issue there?
As a doctor, John had seen and discussed it all when it came to reproductive health. People with performance anxiety, with erectile problems, those who couldn’t orgasm during penetrative sex and those who could only orgasm that way, and those who never orgasmed at all. Some he referred on to sexual health experts, others just really needed someone to talk to that wasn’t going to laugh at them. He was skilled at those kinds of discussions - when to push, when to back-off, when to recommend, when to encourage - but with Sherlock it just all seemed to desert him. He had waited anxiously on the landing for Sherlock to emerge, hoping to at least offer to have that kind of conversation in the future if Sherlock had wanted to, but then he had completely fumbled it when he saw how evasive the man continued to be. It had been obvious that Sherlock had wanted out of the flat as fast as possible, and if John were honest with himself he had been relieved to end the awkward amateur-like conversation and grant him his wish.
John rolled over, punching his pillow and trying to get comfortable. Of course, there was a much more plausible explanation for Sherlock’s lack of climax - that John still wasn’t doing what he wanted, or needed. John was usually able to read his sexual partners like a book, giving them everything they wanted and asked for, but with Sherlock it was like he had been given a book in braille; he knew there was meaning in there somewhere if he could interpret what his senses were telling him, but he just didn’t know how to understand it.
He thought back on the few times they had been together, and tried to work out what might be working, and what wasn’t. Sherlock certainly responded to being restrained - though still not with the happy, unguarded sensuality that John had dreamed about, but at least he had some kind of response to it - and the few times John had given him a short command he had seemed to appreciate that as well. So… John needed to be more commanding? Rougher? Was Sherlock waiting for John to tell him what to do?
It was possible; Sherlock had certainly gone for a strong, domineering personality when he had had… whatever that had been, with Irene Adler. John could picture her, the image of cold control, snapping out orders and doling out punishments without a flicker of a guilty conscience. He knew that the people who went to visit her did it of their own free will and he didn’t begrudge them that - but he just could not replace this image of a calculating lover with a vast array of tools at their disposal, with himself.
Giving orders, being in control… that was army life, for John, and often the orders he had given had resulted in unpleasant or deadly consequences for those under his command. He didn’t regret his service, was working through his feelings of guilt with Ella, but he also had no desire at all to bring that side of himself back, and especially not while getting closer to someone he cared about.
What if that was what Sherlock was attracted to, though? What if that was the reason he had decided to go along with all of this in the first place, the idea that ‘Captain Watson’ was going to take control and be the master that he could submit to in the bedroom? What if Sherlock was realizing that John was just playing with the toys - the cuffs, the clamps - but really had no idea how to use them, how to be that kind of person? Had the little scene in the armchair really been that disappointing?
John punched the pillow away, trying to get his thoughts to stop spiralling - because really, there was only one way forward. John was just going to have to get over himself, because if that was what it was going to take to keep Sherlock, he would do it, no question - but if he kept hesitating, kept putting in half the effort, then there was a danger that the window of opportunity would close and Sherlock would be lost to him; both as a lover and a friend. There was no way back from where they were now - no way to forget everything that had happened between them, no way to unsee what John had seen. He wouldn’t be able to just be Sherlock’s friend, and as for what that would actually mean in reality…
He couldn’t even think about it.
His tired gaze strained through the dark towards the dresser and its closed top drawer, his mind’s eye picturing again the secret stash of items that John wished he didn’t have to own.
****************************************
John felt he was as ready as he was ever going to be. He had finally read the pamphlet he had got free from Racy’s, though it was fair to say he hadn’t fully understood what he was reading. It had been hard to focus properly on learning about something that he just didn’t want to do, and it had reminded him of trying to concentrate on his least favorite subjects at school. He did think however that he had at least grasped the three basics: safe, sane, consensual. Whatever he and Sherlock did from now on had to be safe; no more erratic or risky behaviors that would get either of them hurt, as had happened in the kitchen. Sane; they wouldn’t be doing anything to harm the mind either… though John struggled with this somewhat. Did it count as harming his mind if he was doing something he found personally distasteful? Anyway, consensual: he was going to continue asking Sherlock clearly if he wanted to try things, as he had with the cuffs and clamps. He didn’t think they had much of an issue with this part, as the Sherlock he knew never did anything that he didn’t want to do.
He had balked when reading through suggested conversations to have with your partner, though. Not only was he unwilling to admit to Sherlock just how little he knew about BDSM, he also had a strong suspicion that this kind of talk would only cool Sherlock’s affections, not stoke them. Plus, Sherlock was already an expert in all this, it was only John who was trying to learn, so there was no point in going over all the basics.
It was late afternoon on his day off, and he was waiting for Sherlock to come back from wherever he had disappeared off to that morning. Sherlock had come out of his bedroom at 10:30am, fully dressed in his charcoal suit, wrapped himself up in his coat and scarf and whipped out the door before John had even gathered his thoughts. The suit, scarf and coat did nothing to hide the pinched quality to Sherlock’s face and frame - he had definitely lost weight, and John had wondered if there was a way to incorporate eating more into the dom/sub relationship that he was gearing up to introduce. If the only good thing that came of all of this was that Sherlock was happy and healthy again, it would be a price worth paying.
John had dressed in his black jeans and a black shirt, which was about the closest thing he owned to what he pictured as a dark, commanding outfit, and his feet were bare. He had laid out his room upstairs for the… the scene. He’d taken the duvet and pillow off the bed so that all that remained was the cover sheet, then laid the wrist and ankle cuffs on top of it. The flogger and clamps were on his cleared bedside-table, along with a bottle of lube and condoms. He would definitely be getting Sherlock’s consent before using any of it, but he was forcing himself to put it all out where it could be seen. What Sherlock wanted, Sherlock would get.
The collar was wedged into his back jeans pocket, handle in the other pocket,chain dangling over his backside. The idea was to greet Sherlock, tell him what they were going to do, get his consent and then…
And then…
John berated himself. If you can’t even THINK it, how do you expect to do it?
And then… he was going to put the collar around Sherlock’s neck, and lead him up the stairs to John’s bedroom.
John felt alternate flushes of hot and cold pass over him at the thought, and he paced the living room for what was surely the hundredth time, chain bumping against his behind as he did so. It just seemed so… so silly, and humiliating, for he and Sherlock both. Sherlock was not a pet to be led around - he was wild, free, and untameable. Or at least he should be, in John’s opinion, but he knew that hoping didn’t make it true.
He clenched and released his hands as he paced, feet cold on the carpet, coaching himself over and over. It has to be believable, you can’t play at this. You have to be firm, be in control. Tell him what to do, make it clear and direct, no messing about. If he thinks for a second you aren’t serious, then…
He heard the downstairs door open, and his heart leapt into his throat.
I can’t do this!
John forced the panic back though it made him queasy, and moved himself into a military stance, facing the door.
Sherlock came in, movements slow and listless. His eyes were on the floor, he looked, if anything, even worse than when he went out. He had hung up his coat and scarf and was toe-ing off his shoes before he even noticed John’s presence. When he did however… the effect was startling. Glazed pale eyes came suddenly into focus, widening as he took in John’s unusual clothing choice, his bare feet, his clenched fists, and his raised chin. Sherlock swallowed almost audibly, a flash of trepidation over his face before it was schooled into the blank calm face that John was determined to erase before the day was over. It already didn’t look as secure as previously - the edges of it appeared brittle in Sherlock’s weakened state.
This will make him feel better, John reminded himself, fighting with his disquiet, and he stood even straighter.
“Come here, Sherlock,” John said firmly, indicating the spot of floor in front of him. Sherlock blinked, eyes looking quickly towards his bedroom.
“I was just going to…”
“Come here, Sherlock.” John repeated, bringing out every nuance of Captain Watson that he remembered, feeling pained on bringing him back after he had worked so hard laying him to rest.
Sherlock hesitated.
“Unless you aren’t interested in spending time with me today,” said John, keeping his voice even and crossing his arms - which had the added benefit of helping to hide the tremble in his limbs.
Sherlock blinked again, glanced one more time at his bedroom door, but then walked slowly over to stand a foot in front of John. He clasped his hands behind his back, stood straight, and appeared to be listening attentively. He was obviously trying to work out what was going on, though John knew he would already have some idea.
Alright, step one was complete. What was next…
Safe, sane, consensual.
“Do you want to play with me today, Sherlock?” John had spent some time on his word choices earlier. He had wanted to say, ‘Do you want to have some fun?’ but Sherlock didn’t treat sex as fun so that wasn’t going to make sense. ‘Play’ seemed like an odd word to John in this context, but he knew he had to let that go - it was part of BDSM vocabulary, so he put the right inflection on it to get his point across.
The familiar furrow appeared between Sherlock’s brows, and he looked John over once again, before giving a small, sharp nod.
“Use your words,” John said sternly, trying to keep his gaze hard. That did get a reaction - Sherlock looked momentarily surprised.
“Yes,” Sherlock said, face flushing.
“Good,” John said, nodding, beginning to feel, if not comfortable, then at least that he might be taking this in the right direction. “From now on, if I ask you a question, you have to answer verbally, do you understand?”
“Yes,” the detective repeated, flush deepening but voice stronger. John nodded again.
“Alright, take your jacket off and lay it over the chair,” he said, gesturing. A moment’s pause, and then Sherlock did as he was told. The listlessness was gone, his lean muscles seemed rigid under his dark blue shirt, which was hanging looser than it should have been. Almost mechanically, he folded the suit jacket once and laid it over the back of one of the chairs, then came back to stand in front of John again. He was still blushing, hands in position behind his back.
“Good,” John said, remembering from his reading that he should make sure Sherlock knew when he had done something right. Sherlock didn’t look pleased though - his face was still empty, though he did blink rapidly for a moment upon hearing the word.
“This is what we are going to do,” John said, forcing himself to hold eye contact and fighting his own embarrassment. “I am going to take you upstairs where I’ve laid out some things for us to play with. I’m going to tell you what I want to do with each of them, and you’re going to agree or disagree.” He paused then, frowning internally at how business-like this was all coming across. He decided he needed to say something sexier, or he wasn’t even going to be able to perform once they were up there. “Then I’m going to use my toys, my hands and my lips on you, and I’m going to make you come so hard that you forget everything there ever was to know about Sherlock Holmes. Do you understand?”
Sherlock was beginning to look a little shell-shocked, the blush intensifying high over his cheekbones and down his long neck.
“Yes,” he rasped, swallowing again and wincing apparently at the sound of his own voice. Was that arousal? It was still so hard for John to tell.
“Good,” John repeated, then he pointed at the space in between them. “Kneel down.”
Sherlock cocked his head, there were more blinks, but he didn’t question the order. He took one step forward and slowly sank to his knees. From here John could see that his eyes were getting red, and see the pallor of his forehead. He must be really exhausted, John thought with sympathy. Hopefully a round of… of play, would help him to sleep.
John reached both hands around his back, removed the collar, and brought it around in front of Sherlock’s face.
Sherlock’s breath hitched, once, twice, before it seemed to stop all together. The blush that had been staining his cheeks literally drained away in front of John’s eyes, leaving him looking grey and limp. His red-rimmed eyes were fixed, unmoving onto the collar and chain in John’s hands. Warning bells started to chime loudly in the back of John’s mind, and his skin began to prickle - but this was what Sherlock wanted…
Wasn’t it?
“I’m going to put this around your neck, then lead you up the stairs,” he said, fighting a losing battle to keep his voice even. “Do you agree?”
Sherlock kept staring at the collar, a twitch appearing on one cheek.
“Sherlock - do you agree?” John pushed, beginning to sweat himself.
Sherlock breathed in sharply through his nose, and closed his eyes. His lashes seemed damp…
“Yes,” he whispered, mouth barely moving.
Foreboding washed over John. This wasn’t right. Shouldn’t Sherlock be elated at this turn of events, shouldn’t he be panting with lust and eager to begin? But then… ‘should’ hardly ever applied to Sherlock, and he had said yes…
The detective’s eyes were still closed when John stepped forward, undoing the collar, the chain clinking against the buckle. Sherlock was frozen in place, and as John nudged his shirt aside with one hand, he could feel how cold the skin there was. He might have been touching an alabaster statue - a beautiful copy of a beloved body, but without a trace of life within.
No.
He took a sharp step back, conscious and unconscious mind at war with each other, but a primal instinct telling him that this situation was all kinds of wrong. He took another step back, and another, movements ungainly and clumsy. He tossed the collar away, and it landed with a thunk on their wooden table.
Sherlock startled at the sound, eyes finally opening again, and for a moment he just looked confused at how far away John now was. He looked from the floor where John had been standing, looked at John’s feet, looked towards the table to find the source of the noise…
And then Sherlock… crumbled. There was no other word for it. Tears rose up and over his eyelids as John watched, aghast, the liquid streaming down the pale cheeks, and for a heart-stopping moment he just stared at John, desolate. Then his eyes closed, and his whole face screwed up in misery. He didn’t make a sound at first, just dropped back to sit on his feet, spine curved, hands coming around to cover his face, elbows digging into his knees.
John stood there gaping, unable to process what he was seeing, until the first hitched sob came from the tangle of limbs now shaking on their living room floor.
“Sherlock!” he gasped, jumping forward and sinking into a crouch on the carpet. His hands hovered over Sherlock’s shoulder and arms, afraid to touch, terrified of doing the wrong thing, all false bravado and assumed authority gone. “Sherlock,” he cried again, but he got no response at all, aside from the figure curling impossibly even tighter. Sherlock’s hitching breaths sped up, and John’s own heart rate spiked upon hearing it. “I’m sorry,” he said, desperately. “I’m sorry!”
Sherlock shuddered at that, curls shaking back and forth furiously under the arms now folded across his face, a thin wail emanating that made tears well up in John’s own eyes. Sherlock sounded… devastated. Like something precious had just died in front of him.
Was it… was it the collar? He was so upset because John had backed out?
“Do you… do you want the collar?” John asked timidly, then fell backwards at the explosion of movement in front of him. Sherlock uncoiled like a spring, knocked John off the balls of his feet and clung to his waist, face pressed into his stomach. His grip was so hard it hurt John’s ribs, but as he struggled to sit up, he heard Sherlock babbling at high speed.
“No no no, I’m sorry Jaco... John, I’m SORRY, please no… please please PLEASE no, I’m sorry please don’t use the collar I can’t I can’t I CAN’T…”
The words continued, a steady stream of unevenly stuttered syllables flowing into John’s shirt, in amongst the hitching shallow breaths that were getting faster and faster and faster… John felt a tear slip down his own cheek, and began to feel a deep fear of what was happening. He wrapped his arms as much as he could around Sherlock’s body, but this just seemed to make the stuttering movements and sounds come out with more force.
“Sherlock,” he said, voice breaking. He tried to breathe through the upset, but the mounting hysteria coming from Sherlock and the intensity of emotions on display were almost overwhelming.
“John, no, please I can do better, I can, just don’t leave, please I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”
“Sherlock,” John said again, trying to reign in his plummeting feelings and reaching for the doctor side of himself who was watching the scene unfold, appalled. He tried to remove Sherlock’s grip so he could get them both into a sitting position, but this caused Sherlock to shake his head rapidly again and hold on even tighter, entire body trembling like a leaf. “Sherlock, you have to let go…”
“NO! No, John, I… I can’t, I.. John …”
John cursed as the body on top of him began to go limp; Sherlock’s breathing pattern slipped into something completely erratic, his grip disappeared, and his voice dropped to be barely audible.
“John… John, help me…”
Able now to move and embracing his medical training, John got Sherlock off him and rolled him onto his side, efficiently arranged his limbs into the recovery position, and struggled to tamp down his rising desperation.
“Sherlock… Sherlock, you are having a panic attack and we need you to calm down or you’re going to pass out,” he said, peeling back one of his friend’s eyelids and checking for awareness. To think that he had contributed to this…
Stop! Help him now, beat yourself up later!
“Sherlock?” John dropped down to lay on the floor next to him, not touching but close enough that Sherlock hopefully knew he was there. Sherlock’s breathing was still off, but now it was like he was trying to be quiet, eyes far away. He made John think of a child playing hide-and-seek, stifling the sounds of his breathing from behind a door... It was eerie and wrong. There was no recognition in his eyes, no flicker of acknowledgement, and his curly fringe was plastered to his head with sweat.
Deciding to risk it, John reached out to stroke up and down his friend’s side, debating with himself if he should be calling an ambulance right now. As far as he could tell, this wasn’t a purely physical problem, and the A&E was not the place to deal with the more delicate matters of the mind. Sherlock was freezing, the cold apparent even through his shirt, and John jumped up to grab a blanket from the couch. He draped it over Sherlock slowly so as not to startle him, but there still was no response at all. John lay down again, cheek against the carpet, getting as close to Sherlock as he dared and letting the little finger of his hand just graze Sherlock’s ever-so-slightly. His breathing was thankfully evening out, but the change from hysteria coupled with desperate, gasping words to this dissociative and silent state was stark.
“Sherlock, you’re safe. It’s just you and me. I’m not going to touch you, I’m not going to do anything to you. We’re here in Baker Street. See the carpet? Can you feel it with your hand? Remember what colour it is, what it smells like when we vacuum? You’re safe, nothing is going to hurt you…”
John continued, mumbling on and on, his words flowing over each other, sounds almost meaningless after a while aside from their soothing tone and promise of safety. He kept on, though his shoulder started to seize, his leg started to cramp, and the cold of the floor seeped into his bones. Sherlock lay there, placid, the occasional slow movement of his eyelashes the only indication that he was awake at all.
After a long time and just when John was starting to think he would need that ambulance after all, there was a change. There was a tiny movement in Sherlock’s hand, fingers moving against the carpet. He blinked again, and something in the eyes changed as they became more aware. The little finger resting against John’s twitched, and Sherlock blinked again, the lax expression becoming confused. One more blink, and he looked over his hand and at John’s face, as if just noticing him for the first time.
“...John?”
It was a whisper that hardly moved the air, but the knot of John’s insides began to relax slightly in relief.
“Hey,” he said, voice and gaze full of desperate worry and affection. “It’s me. You’re safe.”
Sherlock’s eyes moved around a little more, and he shifted his body slightly, perhaps testing the weight of the blanket draped over him.
“Where…?”
“We’re in the flat, in the living room. This is our carpet, see?”
“... on the floor?”
“Yeah,” John said, aching to reach out and stroke Sherlock’s arm in comfort but not sure if it would be welcome. “You weren’t feeling very well, so I laid you down here. How are you feeling now?”
Sherlock appeared to consider this.
“Tired,” he said at last, voice still soft as a feather.
“OK,” John said, smiling in encouragement. “That’s OK, Sherlock, that’s good. But it’s not good to sleep on the floor, yeah? Can I help you get to your bed?”
More consideration. Sherlock was looking at John as if unsure who he was, and the worry that John had momentarily set aside came roaring back to make it hard to think.
“Bed?” Sherlock questioned. There was something… innocent, about him, about the way he was acting. Wary but trusting, confused but hopeful.
“Just to sleep, Sherlock,” John said to reassure him, but his throat suddenly began to close again and his eyes blurred with tears, taking him by surprise. He sniffed, trying to keep the tears at bay. Sherlock peered a little closer, and then he moved his hand slowly from the carpet, sliding it over until it covered John’s. John had to hold back a sob, and despite his best efforts one tear ran down his cheek to spread among the fibers of the carpet.
“Why are you crying?” Sherlock asked, with childlike curiosity. John sniffled a bit more, his lip trembling, worried that if they didn’t get up soon he was going to have a full-on meltdown himself.
“Because I’ve hurt you, and you… you’re… you’re not well, and I don’t know how to make you feel better,” John admitted, guilt an almost visceral thing in his torso, and he closed his eyes and slid his head over until his forehead was resting against the edge of their hands, cheek protesting against the rough carpet.
Sherlock hummed something soothing, and he squeezed the back of John’s hand.
“Are you tired too?” Sherlock asked softly, and John pressed his head even harder against their fingers.
“Yes,” he said, voice cracking, and he realized that it was true - he was exhausted. The stress and anxiety not just of this afternoon but of the last month, every dark and insecure thought, the case, the care home, the broken sleep… he had been concerned about Sherlock’s failing health and hadn’t even noticed his own.
What a mess.
“Then let’s go to bed,” Sherlock said, squeezing his hand again. He started to sit up, and John pulled back, momentarily surprised at the movement after so long in the same position. Wasn’t he supposed to be the one getting Sherlock up off the floor? He swallowed down his tears, rubbing a hand over his face, and scrambled to his feet. He put his hand down for Sherlock, and was so, so grateful when Sherlock took it without a second thought. The light from the window had changed, fading to dark blue, and John realized they must have been on the floor for an hour or more.
He pulled Sherlock to his feet, the blanket falling to the floor, and he intended to stop there and stand back - but Sherlock moved forward with a tired echo of his usual grace, wrapped his long arms around John’s back, and crouched slightly to tuck his head onto John’s shoulder. He did it like it was natural, like they had always done it - like they always should have been doing, John thought to himself as he encircled that thin, treasured body in return, astonished to be granted such a chance once again. He rubbed his hand up and down Sherlock’s curved back, eyes welling up again as Sherlock sighed in contentment against his neck.
“Sleep, yeah?” John asked, sniffing. Sherlock nodded against his neck, then pulled back. His eyelids were already drooping. “Come on,” John said, and he knew that all of the love he felt for this man in his arms was right there in his voice - and he didn’t care. He nudged Sherlock in the right direction, and they walked together to Sherlock’s room. Sherlock opened the door and pulled John gently along with him, moving directly to the bed. John pulled back the covers and gestured for Sherlock to get in. He did, still in his suit trousers and blue shirt, but it didn’t matter. He slid across the mattress and stared at John, eyes huge in his head, and when John also got in he looked so, so relieved. John turned to look at him, mirroring the way they had been laying on the carpet.
“Stay?” Sherlock asked, then yawned the way a child would yawn - big and unselfconscious.
“Of course,” said John, and he reached again for Sherlock’s hand. Sherlock linked his fingers with John’s giving a shy, tired smile. John felt wrung out from all the emotion, but yet again he felt a lump forming in his throat. “I missed you,” he whispered, saying it again as he had in the kitchen, days, years before.
“I’ve been right here,” Sherlock whispered back, and though he was still far from himself, his eyes were warm.
“I know,” said John, and it sounded like an apology. “But… I think I didn’t see you,” he added quietly. “I see but I do not observe.”
“I observe, but I don’t see,” said Sherlock, and his eyes closed for a moment before he dragged them back open tiredly.
“It’s alright, love,” John said, endearment slipping out but unimportant, as the impulse to pull Sherlock close and never let him go became almost too hard to ignore. “May I hold you?” he asked, and the faint glimmer of happiness in Sherlock’s eyes let him know that he might be finally, finally doing the right thing.
Sherlock didn’t answer, but he unlinked their hands and reached for John, like a wilting flower turning towards the sun after a long, long night. John got one hand under him, the other loosely resting on his waist, and Sherlock folded so that his head rested on John’s chest, calves tucked between John’s knees, long arms around his shoulders. The hum of contentment Sherlock emitted made John’s heart pound, deep and strong, ready to do whatever it took to hear that sound again. They lay there quietly, and John began to lose track of his thoughts.
“John?” Sherlock whispered, just as John was drifting to sleep.
“Hmm?”
“What’s going to happen next?”
John hugged him a little tighter against the thread of anxiety he heard in the quiet question. He roused himself slightly, knowing that this was extremely important.
“Next, we’re going to sleep, and sleep, for as long as we can. Then, we’re going to eat something, and we’re going to talk. I’m going to tell you all about me, things I’ve never told anyone, things that’ll make you happy and some things that’ll make you sad. And I hope that you’ll tell me all about you, too.” He paused, weighing his words. “I think maybe, we’ll need some help so we can say some of these things. We can talk about getting some help, if you want?”
Instead of a tired rebuttal, Sherlock just hummed, an affirming little sound that John felt vibrate against his ribs.
“I’m not good at talking,” Sherlock agreed, like he was telling a deep secret. “Help would be… good.”
John smiled into the pillow then, and it felt like the first genuine smile that he’d had for weeks.
“Yes,” he said, and he leaned down on impulse and pecked a quick and gentle kiss against the tangled curls under his chin. “It’ll be good,” he promised, the words fading away as he fell into a deep sleep.
John dreamed of calm waves on warm shores, sunshine bronzing his skin. He dreamed of walking with a cool hand held in his; palm to palm. He was feeling hopeful as he dreamed, as he walked on, feet sinking in the sand and skin singing in the sun.
He was was feeling hopeful because he knew: they were on their way home. |
Lena moves her hand around while she gives Kai a tour around L-Corp. She had long planned to take one of her children with her someday, though she used to think it would be Rose. Kai is nine years old now and the summer break recently begun, which means her children have a lot of free time. Her son still clings to her the most, despite the fact that her wife is Supergirl. Sometimes when she looks at Kai, she sees Lex, but not in a bad way. In the way Lex used to be when he was younger, before he turned evil.
“So this is your office, mama?” Kai asks while he curiously looks around.
“Yes, this is my office,” Lena answers, confirming that her son is right. She could have brought him here before, but he was so young and well he still is, so she didn’t until now. While she’s watching Kai she’ll work a bit and meanwhile Kara is watching their daughters.
“I want to run a company of my own someday,” Kai says with a serious tone. “Do you think I can?”
“You can do anything you put your mind to, as long as your heart is in it,” Lena answers, giving her son a smile. “Someday this company might be yours,” she says, considering she’s a teacher anyway and her wife might get busier with the DEO, making it possible that someday neither one of them would work here anymore.
“I will work very hard,” Kai promises.
Lena knows that her son means it and he already has been working hard. Given his age, Kai should be enrolling fourth grade next year, but because he’s been working hard he was able to skip a grade, meaning he’ll be going to the fifth grade instead. She’s proud of him, though she can also tell he has been struggling to keep his grades up.
“Do you want to sit in my chair?” Lena asks, happy to see her son nodding enthusiastically. “Go ahead,” she encourages. “You can spin it if you like,” she suggests, since she wants Kai to still be a kid rather than a mini-adult.
Kai plops down on the big leather chair. “Can you spin it for me, mama?” he asks sweetly.
“Okay, hold on tight,” Lena replies, gripping the sides of her desk chair. She’s spinning the chair fast when she hears a knock on the door. “Enter,” she calls out.
“I apologize for disturbing you, Miss Danvers,” Jess says as she walks in. She stops in her tracks and stares at the spinning chair. “Miss Grant is here to see you.”
“You may let her in,” Lena says, waving her hand to dismiss Jess.
The chair stops spinning and Kai climbs out of it to stand next to his mother, his hands clasped behind his back. “Mama, can I?” he asks with hopeful eyes.
“Yes,” Lena answers, curious to see how her son will do.
Cat walks in puts her sunglasses up in her hair. “Hello,” she says coolly.
“Hello, Miss Grant,” Kai says, holding his hand out to her. “Welcome to L-Corp, how may we help you?”
Cat looks down at Kai and shakes his hand with a small smile on her face. She’s relieved that after the whole incident two years ago, she hasn’t been chewed out by Astra and the rest of her family. Not that they were happy either, but they understood her motive.
“The new utensils for the science lab are ready,” Lena says, knowing that’s the reason Cat is here. She’s been working on creating new tools and such which students at college will be able to use. Any and every contact she has with Miss Grant is always strictly professional and kept to a minimum. “I will have Jess bring them to you tomorrow.”
“Would you be interested in lunch?” Cat asks Lena. “I was about to grab a bite. Kai is welcome as well, of course.”
“No thank you,” Lena rejects politely. “I am swamped with work,” she says, which isn’t a lie. “Will that be all?”
“Yes, I will be going now,” Cat answers, tense.
Lena nods and watches Cat leave. Most of her family may have forgiven Miss Grant, but there was another way for Cat to handle things two years ago. When Cadmus took Carter, Miss Grant could have asked them for help rather than selling them out. Trading one child for another doesn’t make a wrong suddenly right.
“Hey, sweetie,” Kara says, hugging her niece. “You’re growing up so fast,” she says, hardly believing that Jamie is four years old already.
“You’re telling us,” Maggie says, agreeing that Jamie is growing up fast.
Kara smiles and steps inside the apartment with Rose and Faye. Her daughters have been growing up a lot as well. Rose is sixteen now and about to be a junior in high school next year. Faye is six years old, about to be seven soon and she recently got through the first grade.
“Hey, munchkin,” Maggie says to Faye, moving to hug the little girl.
“Hi, auntie Maggie,” Faye replies, smiling while she hugs Maggie tighter.
“I will get everyone some drinks,” Alex says while she lets them take place on the couch. “It’s good to see you again, Kara,” she continues, happy to see her sister who has been so busy lately. She knows Kara has been busy, flying around with Astra, helping to train Lyra and running L-Corp.
“It’s good to see you too,” Kara replies, biting her bottom lip for a second. “I know that it’s been a while,” she says, aware that they hadn’t met up in about a month, which is like forever for them. She’s distracted when she catches Rose smiling at her phone and that’s been happening a lot lately. Her oldest daughter doesn’t seem to give her phone a rest for five minutes, always attached to it.
Alex smiles when Faye hugs her legs. “Hey, kid,” she says, crouching down to give her niece a proper hug. “I’m going to make hot cocoa, does that sound good?”
“Yes!” Faye answers eagerly. “Chocolate is my favorite.”
Kara chuckles because that’s true; up until now on mother’s day, Faye licks the chocolate off of the cookies. It’s really sweet and she doesn’t mind, neither does her wife. She thinks about Lena, who must be in her office right now with Kai. Years she’s been trying to bond more with her son, but in the end he always leans towards her wife.
“Mom, can I go out?” Rose asks while her fingers stay trained on her phone.
Kara is still getting used to the fact that Rose calls her mom now instead of mommy, though she understands why her oldest daughter does that, being a teenager and all. In the past she wouldn’t have guessed that at age twenty-eight she’d have a teenage daughter. In a few months she’ll be twenty-nine, but still. She made the right choice with Lena though, to not let the agency separate Rose from her siblings.
“Mom?” Rose asks impatiently.
Kara snaps out of her thoughts and looks at Rose. “Out?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. “With who and where?”
“With Austin,” Rose answers. “To a party and I’ll be back home tomorrow around noon.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Kara replies as she is processing the information. She’s not keen on the idea of her sixteen year old going out all night. “Okay, first things first, how old is Austin?”
Rose sighs and drops her phone in her lap, assuming her mother is going to be difficult about this. “He’s twenty-one,” she mumbles. “He’s in college and I really like him, so don’t embarrass me.”
“Twenty-one??” Kara repeats, shocked. “Rosalind Danvers, you are sixteen years old. You should not be hanging out with a young man who is old enough to drink.” She wonders how her daughter even got to know Austin if he’s in college and that’s probably an answer she doesn’t want to hear.
“Mom,” Rose groans, making annoyed squeezing gestures with her hands.
Alex glances at Maggie, feeling everything in their apartment tense. She knows Kara is being serious when she uses Rose’s full name and she has to say she agrees that it’s not a good idea to let a sixteen year old go out all night with someone who is twenty-one, a guy no less.
“The answer is no, Rose,” Kara says sternly, putting her foot down. “You are not allowed to go out all night, especially not with a man that age,” she continues, not planning to change her mind. If she lets her oldest daughter go to that party she’ll probably end up drinking and oh Rao, more might happen that really doesn’t need to happen.
“This is stupid,” Rose grumbles angrily. “Who are you to say no to me anyway?”
“I am your mother, that’s who,” Kara replies calmly.
“My mother who is twelve years older than me,” Rose sneers. “All my friends at school think you’re my older sister rather than my mother and you don’t even look twenty-eight, so I bet it won’t even take long before they’ll think we’re twins.”
“My age is irrelevant, Rose,” Kara says, not wanting that to get in the way. She’s a bit taken aback that her oldest daughter is using her age against her, though she should have expected that. “I said no and that’s final.”
“Your mother is trying to look out for you,” Alex says softly to Rose while she puts hot chocolate on the table in front of the couch. “College boys should not be going out with high school girls because that often doesn’t end well. If Austin likes you, then he’ll wait until you’re older and if he doesn’t then he doesn’t deserve you.”
“But, aunt Alex,” Rose sighs. “Everyone is against me. Nobody in this family understands me,” she says, feeling like they just don’t get it. “You didn’t wait to graduate to marry mam,” she points out to Kara.
“That was different,” Kara replies, sighing now as well. “I was a legal adult, old enough to drink and such while you are a sixteen year old girl,” she explains and she could add that she couldn’t get accidentally pregnant, but she doesn’t.
“Fuck it,” Rose mutters.
“Language, young lady,” Kara reprimands. She doesn’t want to hear those curse words when Faye and Jamie are nearby, who don’t need to repeat Rose.
“Austin is going to hate me now,” Rose says while she picks her phone up again, “all because of you.”
“I’ll live with that,” Kara replies, it’s a price she’ll risk paying. If Austin would really dislike or hate Rose because of missing a party then she’s sure he’s not the right guy for her daughter.
“Ugh,” Rose huffs. “Why do you hate me so much?”
“I don’t hate you,” Kara answers. “I love you and I care about you, which is why I have to say no because I’m doing what’s best for you. Right now you don’t realize that, but someday you will. The last thing I need is for you to end up with a spiked drink and deliverer a baby nine months later.”
“Oh my god, mom,” Rose gasps, shocked. “Austin is a good guy, he would never…”
“Your good guy can wait a few years.”
Lucy stretches her arms out and frowns when Alura and Mayara copy her, those cute little devils. She makes a face, pursing her lips with her cheeks full of air and sees that her daughters do the same. “Little copy cats,” she says, amused.
“Little copy cats,” Alura and Mayara reply.
“I see how it’s going to be,” Lucy chuckles.
“I see how it’s going to be,” the twins repeat like parrots.
Lucy thinks it’s absolutely adorable that her four year olds seem to take pleasure in that copy game. She smirks and crouches down in front of them. “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious, try copying that,” she says teasingly.
“Supercalifrali,” Alura tries, knitting her eyebrows together.
Mayara tilts her head, staring at her sister and then at her mother.
“There is my smart mouth again,” Astra says affectionately as she walks into the room.
“I’m allowed to tease them a bit sometimes,” Lucy replies, snaking her arms around Astra’s waist. It should be illegal how good her wife looks and how Astra hardly looks older than her, even though she’s twenty-eight while her wife is thirty-eight.
“Ewww,” the twins say when their mothers kiss.
Lucy laughs and turns to ruffle their hair. “I think I liked the copying thing better,” she whispers. “So kisses are ewww, huh?” she asks while she winks at her wife.
Before the twins can blink, they’re being scooped up by their parents and have their cheeks littered with kisses.
“Mommy, I’m going to walk Krypto,” Sirius says, showing up with their dog and a leash.
“Not by yourself, sweetie,” Lucy replies, uncomfortable with the idea of letting their seven year old walk Krypto by himself and she knows her wife doesn’t like that either. “I’ll go with you after lunch.”
“Lunch is ready,” Astra announces, already having prepared it.
“Girls, lunch’s ready!” Lucy shouts up the stairs so Lyra and her best friend can come down.
Lyra is chuckling as she runs down the stairs with Lily. She takes a seat at the table, right next to her best friend.
Sometimes Lucy wonders why Ivy never mentioned having a little sister, but then again, they were never that close and they were only friends through Harley. She’s happy that Lyra has such a good friend to spend time with. Neither she nor Astra had objected when their oldest daughter asked if Lily could stay over for a few days.
When lunch is over, the twins go upstairs to go play in their room. Sirius is out for a walk with Krypto, along with M’gann who had just dropped by.
Lucy can see that Lyra is nervously wringing her hands together and she’s not sure if she’s ever seen her so nervous. Then again, it’s the first time their daughter flunked. She knows Lyra is five years ahead in school, which means she went through her senior year in high school, but she failed it.
“What is on your mind, my little darling?” Astra asks, composed. She can see something has been bothering Lyra and though she is not pleased that their daughter has to repeat her senior year next year, she’s not angry or upset either. Perhaps she has been putting too much pressure onto Lyra’s shoulders by having her skip five grades, though their daughter is smart enough.
“I flunked on purpose,” Lyra blurts out.
“Oh, little angel,” Lucy replies softly. She looks briefly at Lily, who is fourteen and about to be a freshman in high school next year. “Does this have something to do with Lily?”
“Yes,” Lyra answers, fidgeting with her hands. “I don’t want to go to college without her,” she admits. “Maybe I shouldn’t skip so many grades.”
Lucy knows that Lyra is still four years ahead for her age now and three years ahead of Lily. “Sweetie, you already went through your freshman, sophomore and junior year of high school,” she explains calmly. “We can’t place you in the freshman year with Lily.”
“Okay,” Lyra sighs sadly. “Can I go to my room now?”
“Yes, you may,” Astra answers. “We will speak more later on,” she says, not quite done yet.
Lucy stands up to pull Lyra into a hug, feeling her shake a bit. “Hey, my little angel,” she whispers softly, kneeling down a bit. “What’s the matter? You can tell us.”
Lyra sucks her lips into her mouth and stares at the floor. She doesn’t resist when her mother coaxes her chin up to look at her. “I don’t know how to say this,” she whispers nervously. She glances at Lily and ducks her head away when her best friend smiles at her.
“Okay,” Lucy whispers softly, resting a hand on Lyra’s shoulder. “Lily, can you go upstairs for a bit? Lyra will be right up in five minutes.”
“Okay, Miss In-Ze,” Lily replies, nodding as she runs towards the stairs.
Lucy walks towards the couch with Lyra and her wife to sit down, placing their daughter in between them. “You can tell us anything,” she says, not wanting Lyra to be so tense. She already knows what their daughter is going to say because she’s not blind.
Lyra doesn’t know where to put her hands to keep them from shaking. She thinks about Lily and how she can make flowers grow out of her hands and how she puts them in her hair, and the sweet way Lily smiles and her pink lips which look very soft and, oh Rao. “I like Lily,” she admits shyly.
“She is a likeable girl,” Astra says matter-of-factly. “Polite as well,” she adds.
“Star,” Lucy whispers, shaking her head. “Stop teasing our daughter when she has her first baby gay crush.”
“We do not label,” Astra replies, considering on Krypton there were no such things as gay, bisexual, straight and such. Nobody needed to come out on Krypton because nobody would even blink upon seeing a woman with a woman or a man with a man, but earth is different. Certain things about earth are tough to grasp, such as why people who are interested in the same gender need to come out and might be turned down whereas being into the same gender is seen as normal and the norm. Humans are so very strange.
“Alright,” Lucy says, “stop teasing Lyra when she has her first crush.”
“It’s not just a crush, mommy,” Lyra corrects. “I love Lily because um, I do.”
“Oh no, it’s starting,” Lucy says, closing her eyes. She thought she’d have a few more years before the whole love boat would begin, even though Lyra is a young teenager now. “So have you and Lily um… done anything that friends don’t do?”
“You are being oddly specific today,” Astra teases.
“They’ve been sharing a room,” Lucy whispers, although that’s futile because Lyra can hear her.
Astra stares at the obscene gestures Lucy is making with her hands behind their daughter’s back, gestures she can’t quite understand.
“All I did was kiss her cheek,” Lyra says earnestly. “I want to go out with her this weekend. Lily said Harley and Ivy will go with us, sort of like a double date.”
Lucy can’t say she’d blindly trust Harley and Ivy because when it comes to those two, they’d probably hand Lily and Lyra keys to a private room or something. “You can go, but we will be there as well,” she decides, wanting to keep an eye on their daughter.
“That’s not fair,” Lyra pouts. “Mama would eavesdrop.”
That’s what makes it so perfect, Lucy thinks. “Yes or no?” she asks, definitely not going to let Lyra alone with Harley and Ivy as babysitters for her first date.
“Yes,” Lyra answers as she stands up from the couch. “I’m going upstairs now, Lily is waiting for me.”
Lucy chews on the inside of her cheek while Lyra flies upstairs. “Star, do you have ears on this?” she asks quietly. It’s always been fine when Lily stayed over, but now she can’t help but wonder if the girls are keeping everything friendly and Lily has a year on Lyra.
Astra nods, already on that. She can hear Lyra gushing to Lily about flowers, which makes her smile.
|
The celebration at Ichiraku's goes on for a long time, and after everyone finally departs, Sakura decides it's time to go home for the first time since she left to look for Shisui. Walking along the streets in the dark, Sakura takes in the twinkling stars above her, and the calm streets, quiet except for faint laughter and speaking coming from different homes as she makes her way towards her parent's house.
Everything seems so peaceful here, on the surface
This is the Konoha that Sakura wants to fight for, a Konoha that can be calm and quiet, but without the sinister underbelly going on underneath the city. She turns her thoughts to Root, and wonders how they're dealing with Danzo's death, and Sakura secretly hopes she can find Sai or Tenzou sometime soon, seal free and in the regular ninja population. She tries to imagine a Sai who hasn't had to watch his brother die yet, a Sai who has free expression of his emotions and art, but she can't imagine it. Sakura hopes she won't have to imagine it for too much longer, and that she'll see a Sai like that sometime soon. Seeing her home, Sakura notices the lights are off, and bites back a little disappointment.
I thought for sure my parents would be home. Weren't they worried about me? I thought someone sent word to them?
Perhaps her parents had been farther than they thought. After all, they were merchants, they can't run at ninja speeds across the elemental nations. Opening the door and seeing that the house is indeed empty, Sakura tries to shrug it off, knowing they'll be back soon. When they do, she knows they'll have been worried sick about her, and she should prepare for a little, no, a lot of coddling. Climbing the stairs and falling into bed, Sakura resolves to get back to training, tomorrow for sure.
She wakes from a nightmare half way through the night, and gives sleep up as a lost cause. She'll just have to sleep through class again today. Sakura feels a little bad for sleeping through all of Yukiatsu-Sensei's lectures, since it isn't his fault she already knows everything. She remembers how engaged she was in his class in her other life, when she was a brand new student excited to be a ninja. She trains through the remainder of the night, right until the sun rises and she can start the day off, as if she hasn't already been awake for several hours. She's midway through breakfast when her brain finally catches up to her enough to remind her,
Sasuke should be at school today
Remembering their last interaction, where they'd fought, and Sakura had knocked him unconscious for two days and left him in her house under a genjutsu, she shudders a little at seeing him again. On one hand, she had prevented Danzo from getting to Itachi, so even if a massacre does occur, it wouldn't be Itachi, or would it? Would someone else step up to take Danzo's place in manipulating Itachi? The whole thing makes her head hurt. Sakura hates political moves and intrigue. She'd much rather just punch her way through every obstacle, but Tsunade had trained to her to be at least aware of political ramifications, even if Tsunade herself often recommended punching your way out. Well, okay, at least Danzo won't get to Itachi, so they'll just have to keep an eye out for anyone else doing it.
Sasuke's going to be so mad about Itachi's imprisonment, though...
Sakura hopes they'll release Itachi soon. Itachi had of course known about the plot by the Uchiha, but he'd also been attempting to play double agent, and Sakura hopes they see that Itachi is loyal to the village, and let him go soon.
He's still just 11 years old...
So, maybe the future is a little muddled at the moment, but Sakura had killed Danzo and saved Shisui from death, so hopefully Sasuke will forgive her.
Yeah, cause Sasuke is SO good at forgiveness.
Shaking her head to clear herself of her thoughts, Sakura cleans up the dishes from breakfast and heads towards the Academy. She will just have to face Sasuke and see what happens from there.
Her morning classes go about as expected. A "surprise" pop quiz that covers the material that Sakura, Choji, and Shikamaru had skipped because they'd ditched the back half of school yesterday for the Hokage tower, which Sakura decides to ace perfectly just out of spite, then spends the rest of the class sleeping on her desk. When lunchtime rolls around, Sakura begins to feel a little nauseous, but before she can come up with an excuse to duck out of going to the lunchyard where she knows Sasuke should be, Choji grabs her wrist and says,
"Yes! Lunchtime already! Let's go see Sasuke and EAT!"
Sakura sometimes wonders why Choji can still find joy in eating when he literally eats all day every day,
Doesn't he ever get tired of it?
but she allows Choji to pull her along to the lunchyard, Shikamaru trailing lazily behind. They enter the lunchyard to see practically every student in the Academy surrounding Sasuke, asking him how he is and why he's back at school. Sakura groans, this is the absolute worst cast scenario. Sasuke hates being the center of attention like this, and she does not envy any of those people who are about to receive the wrath of Sasuke. She hears Naruto shouting,
"Sasuke is fine! If you want to talk to Sasuke you have to talk to me first, ya know!"
Sakura had never considered that Naruto was aware enough of his general hatred by the village to actually weaponize it in a social situation, but it works, and all the students except their friend group practically flee from Sasuke's side, not willing to risk being the person seen talking to Naruto. Sakura notices Ino whispering into Naruto's ear, and Naruto blushing and giving her a thumbs up.
Ah, so it was Ino's plan. Nice one, Pig
Sakura can't call Ino pig to her face anymore, but she still fondly thinks it sometimes. It might be worth instituting again, Sakura sort of misses the familiar "Forehead!" from her friend as well. Finally alone, Sakura and her friends finally sit together again at lunch. Sakura can't seem to quite meet Sasuke's eyes, and everytime she catches a glance at him, he's not looking at her either. It would probably be awkward, but between Ino and Naruto talking Sasuke's ear off, and Kiba and Choji ravenously devouring lunch, it's not actually too bad. Finally, Sasuke speaks up a little, aiming his words at Naruto.
"I heard that you guys stormed the Hokage tower yesterday, and that's why the compound isn't under lockdown anymore."
Naruto pumps his fist,
"Yeah, we told the Old Man, ya know! Sakura told us we needed to rescue you and your brother and cousin, and so we all went and skipped school!"
Sasuke shoots Sakura a look, and she can't quite meet his eyes, but she nods all the same. Kiba, never one to let Naruto be the only one to get a word in, pipes up,
"Yeah, my big sister Hana went with us too! I've never been in the Hokage's office before, and the Hokage talked to us, and Sakura and Shikamaru like wrote a law or something and we all signed it! The Hokage even let Akamaru sign it!"
That was true, the Hokage had graciously allowed Kiba and Hana's ninja hound partners to place an inky footprint on the agreement. Ino throws her shimmering hair over her shoulder, smiling sweetly at Sasuke,
"It wasn't a law, Kiba. It was an agreement from clan heirs, like myself, to free Sasuke from the lockdown."
Sasuke nods at all of this, and to Sakura's surprise, Shikamaru speaks up, asking Sasuke the question Sakura has been wondering this whole time.
"How many of your clan have been let out from the lockdown? Did your brother or cousin or parents return home?"
Sasuke's face turns stormy, what Kakashi-Sensei had always fondly referred to in the past as Sasuke's "murder face".
"All the civilians and children in ninja school have been released. All active police, the village elders, and my parents and Itachi, are being held at T&I for questioning."
Sasuke turns his gaze onto Sakura, and she meets his eyes for the first time since their fight. They are angry, vindictive, and there's some slight hidden satisfaction there, as if he knows a secret Sakura doesn't.
"Shisui is no longer an Uchiha."
Sakura gapes, and Naruto asks, through a mouthful of potato chips Choji had offered him,
"Why is that? That doesn't make sense. If you're born into a clan, you're part of a clan."
Shikamaru speaks before Sasuke can, probably to make sure Naruto gets a fair answer instead of an Uchiha "hn".
"Well, actually-"
Ino interrupts him, and Sakura feels sure she's trying to woo Sasuke with her knowledge of clan affairs.
"Naruto, you can get kicked out of a clan, disowned, for breaking clan laws, remember? We learned this in class already! They usually kill their members instead of disowning them though, for breaking clan laws or other clan reasons."
Choji nods thoughtfully through his chips, but Naruto still looks confused.
Sakura takes her chances, and asks Sasuke herself,"Why, Sasuke?"
Sasuke gives her the tiniest smile, and it's so vindictive, so full of pleasure at the pain Sasuke is sure he's going to cause her, Sakura flinches.
"My Father disowned Shisui for giving away clan secrets. He will never be welcome in the Uchiha compound again."
Sakura's mind races.
Why does Sasuke think it's so painful that Shisui isn't a Uchiha, I mean of course it's terrible, but if the Uchiha start a revolt anyway, it'll actually end up good in the long run. Sasuke wouldn't be happy about that, so why..
The bell rings, and they all head back inside for the last part of the day. Shikamaru comes alongside Sakura, and answers her question without her even voicing it.
"Disowned family members are not allowed to speak to anyone back in the clan, and no other clan will usually talk to them or even work with them out of fear of clan retaliation, so they usually commit suicide to free their name and family from the shame. Additionally, with no clan to politically back them up, and without the anonymity of being civilian born, disowned Shinobi are basically free game for foreign Shinobi."
Sasuke thinks Shisui is going to be murdered, or kill himself... He's also now homeless and isn't allowed to talk to Itachi and Sasuke anymore, and has a good chance at not being a ninja ever again.
Sakura sinks into her blackening thoughts through the rest of the lessons, and it feels like a heavy cloud is hanging over her head. Was this any better than being dead? Being alive but an outcast through most of the village? Losing your friends and family and work, could anyone survive it? Sakura thinks for a minute it probably would have hurt Shisui less if she had let him die by Danzo's hand, then she immediately gets rid of that thought. She has to fix things, she has to have a plan. The second the final bells rings, Sakura wants to sprint to the hospital and talk this all out with Shisui, so she gives her apologies to her friends for not training that day, not that she's even willing to see Sasuke right now, and books it towards the hospital. When she arrives, she asks the front desk for Shisui's room number, and is told he isn't in the hospital.
They really just let him out of T&I and turned him loose?
Sakura goes to T&I next, as it's very close to the hospital, and sees the receptionist again, and asked him where Shisui went after his release.The receptionist flips through his papers, then looks up, confused at her.
"Why would Shisui be released, he's being held on suspicion of treasonous knowledge?"
Sakura shakes her head impatiently,
"No, the Hokage told us that everyone who had no proof of treasonous plans would be released."
The receptionist nods condescendingly at her, as if she's stupid.
"Yes, that's right. All Uchiha who are found clear of plans were released. Shisui is no longer an Uchiha, and thus, was not released."
Sakura gasps and stumbles, it all hitting her at once. This is what Sasuke meant. This is the sort of political nonsense the Hokage can use to get around any agreement. Shisui is still here, still in prison. Still being mistreated, even tortured. What cards does Sakura even have left to play? She has no power, very few connections, she's stuck in a child's body. She falls to her knees, failure overcoming her, and screams.
When she finally stumbles out of T&I, being practically pushed out by the receptionist, Sakura finds Shikamaru leaning against the wall, casually.
"Shikamaru, why are you here?"
He shrugs."I figured out the trick. They kept Shisui, right?"
Sakura nods, not trusting herself to speak.
"Troublesome... Well, let's go then."
And with that, Shikamaru stands and starts walking. Despairingly, she calls after him,
"Go? Go where?"
Her friend turns his head to look back at her, but doesn't stop walking.
"To your house, of course. We have plans to make."
He continues ambling down the road, in the direction of Sakura's house. She latches onto his words like a drowning man.
Shikamaru is going to help her.
Running forward, she throws her arms around her friend, so grateful that after everything, Shikamaru has stood by her. He lets out a grumbling, "troublesome", and he and Sakura make their way to her house, ready to plan. She wants to talk about any plans right now, this very second. But she knows that she can't. There's too many people, too many ninja ambling about as if they don't hear every single piece of gossip that goes through the village gates. Her house should be safe enough, and she speeds up her pace a little. Shikamaru matches her, but barely, and Sakura knows he will refuse to run and she will just end up waiting for him if she does, so they walk at a somewhat brisk pace through the city towards her home. Sakura, who only last night wished her parents would be home, now wished the opposite. Her parents couldn't hear any of the things Sakura and Shikamaru were about to discuss, and Sakura knows she needs to tell Shikamaru everything.
When they approach her door, she doesn't hear any sounds of her parents, so she nods to Shikamaru and throws open the front door, ready to plan. Nothing in Sakura had prepared her for the sight that greeted her inside. Her parents had made it home at some point, because they were now swinging from the ceiling, twin nooses around their necks, and they had been gutted, from neck to stomach, blood and organs spilled out into the entryway of her home. Only Sakura's previous Jounin training stopped her from immediately screaming and wailing, or just passing out. Shikamaru had no such training, and before Sakura can stop him, he enters her home, catches sight of her parents, and sways, passing out on the spot.
Mechanically, Sakura catches him before he can hit the ground, throwing out her chakra sensing to see if there's anyone still in the house. After a thorough search of chakra, she finds none, and Sakura knows whoever was here had left. She forces herself to see her parents as strangers, compartmentalizing herself into medic mode, so she can remain somewhat calm, though her body is already on fire, nerves frayed. She gently leans Shikamaru against the doorframe and goes to check on her father-no, the man's, body. He doesn't appear to have been tortured, so whoever did this thought Sakura was a child and wouldn't notice signs of torture, which she's grateful for. A quick death, staged to make Sakura afraid, to send Sakura a message. But who, and why? Who would so callously kill two civilians to scare a child?
These people-
her parents she shoves that thought away, trying to stay calm and compartmentalized,
These people didn't deserve to suffer for choices Sakura had made. Trying not to disturb the bodies too much, Sakura notices that both of their mouths are hanging open, so, retrieving a chair from the kitchen, she stands on it and looks into the mouth of the female. There, on her tongue, is the tell-tale seal mark of ROOT. This, is the message, Sakura knows.
ROOT isn't dead, and they know I killed Danzo.
I am not safe.
|
--- --- ---
Chapter 39
--
Korra's POV
***Three weeks after the talent show. Exams and classes have ended. It's Saturday, and they’re having their end of year dance to celebrate the end of school. 4 days until graduation***
I'm thankful it's warm again, otherwise I'd be freezing. We all would, in our dresses. I'm standing quietly in my circle of friends, all
accompanied by their dates. I'm the only one who came alone, much to Song and Kori’s disapproval. Both tried to pair me up with one of their boyfriends’ friends, but I insisted and with Jinora's help, managed to wiggle my way out of being set up with anyone.
I sip my punch and look around. It's strange to see all the familiar faces of the students in my year out of their uniforms and in designer dresses, their hair done up and their faces covered in makeup that make them all look years older.
My eyes are looking for someone in particular. I haven't seen her yet tonight. I know she's one of the teachers chaperoning, so she should be here. Somewhere.
The last time I spoke to her was backstage at the talent show. That was three weeks ago.
I'm wearing a blue dress. Not dramatic blue, soft blue. Song and Kori picked it out for me, with white high heels. They have a better fashion sense than I do, so I trusted them.
Jinora did my makeup and Yue did my hair, so for the most part I sat back and let them do all the hard work.
Everyone is laughing, smiling and overall rather bubbly and excited. To some extent I share their happiness. After all, I've practically finished school. Graduation is in a few days and then University starts in a few months. But the main point is school is over.
Song is chattering about how excited she is to move to the US
together with her boyfriend to study at NYU, Kori is talking about going to culinary school in France, Jinora is discussing her plans for studying in Canada to Yue who’s off to study in Washington. Like me, they're all eager to move on to the next step in life, with more freedom.
I look up as Jinora nudges me.
"What?" I ask her. I notice her eyes are looking over my shoulder, so I turn, my eyes landing on Asami.
As always, and to no surprise, she looks breathtaking. Her raven hair, in perfect waves falls over one shoulder. Her white dress makes her skin glow, and her legs look athletically sculpted from her heels. She's not wearing much makeup, mostly because she doesn't need it, not that anyone needs it, but there's little about Asami that could possibly be perfected.
"You okay?" Jinora whispers to me, pulling me out of my haze.
"Y-yeah," I say breathlessly, throwing her a small reassuring smile. She gives me a slightly skeptical look but says nothing.
I turn my gaze back to Asami and watch her walk around, greeting all her students and making small talk, along with greeting the other teachers on chaperoning duty. My heart flutters in my chest at every small movement she does, like how she tilts her head back when she laughs, her dimples forming at the corners of her lips.
You can't blame me for not being able to tear my gaze from her. She stands out to me in the crowd like a full moon on a dark night.
Eventually her eyes move up and lock with mine. For a moment her smile falls, but it forms again, her gentle brown eyes softening. She excuses herself from the group she was standing amongst. She maintains eye contact with me as she walks across the floor assigned for dancing later on.
I get a flash of deja vu, remembering how she walked towards me months ago at the art exhibition.
I step away from my friends subtly and watch as Asami nears me, my heart pounding in my chest. She comes to a stop in front of me, her smile creeping across her face.
I've always loved her smile.
"Hi," I breathe out.
"Hello," She laughs softly, glancing down, a light and hardly noticeable blush on her cheeks. She knows how in awe I am of her. Shit, is it that obvious?
"You look beautiful," I say quietly, so that only she can hear. Her eyes sparkle.
"So do you," She says softly. I melt a little inside and I have to remind myself of where we are and that I can't jump forward and kiss her.
I glance around, looking for Mr. Fire.
"He's not here," Asami says.
"What?" I ask, snapping my eyes back to her.
"Mako isn't here," She says, "he is picking up his fiancé from the airport"
"Oh," is all I can say. What does this mean?
She laughs softly again and bites her lip, shaking her head slightly. I catch my breath as she steps forward and moves to speak in my ear.
"Come to my room at 1 a.m.," She whispers, her breath igniting goosebumps. Her hand brushes mine, making my skin tingle from where she touches. She draws back.
Slowly she steps backwards, keeping my gaze before she peels off and walks over to greet the next cluster of students.
I remind myself to breathe and I look around to see if anyone noticed what just happened, but it seems like no one did, except Jinora. Slowly an uncontrollable smile creeps onto my lips, and for the first time in a while true happiness and excitement spreads through me.
"What was that about?" I turn at Jinora's question. She notices the wide smile on my face and raises an eyebrow.
"She wants to talk later, after the dance," I say.
"About what?" Jinora asks.
"Not sure yet," I shrug. Before Jinora can ask anymore questions, her attention is called for by Yue.
My eyes find Asami again, and a smile flickers to my lips again. I raise a hand to my lips and I trace them, my heart beating far too fast.
Her room... be alone with her for the first time in over a month. Finally I'll be able to talk to her, tell her everything I've wanted to these past few weeks. And I'll be able to kiss her. And touch her.
My eyes find a clock and I let out a frustrated groan. It's only 8:30 p.m. Four and a half hours.
And of course it happens to be the slowest passing four and a half hours I've ever experienced. Every five minutes feels like half an hour.
Song and Kori sneak off with their dates at some point to drink the vodka they snuck in flasks. Jinora also sneaks off at some point to hook up with her date, and Yue and I spend most of the night dancing and looking after our tipsy friends. The dance is enjoyable, and I might've had more fun if I wasn't so focused on the ticking clock on the
wall.
I've been craving Asami's touch, not only her touch in a sexual sense, but how I feel when she tucks a stray hair behind my ear, or how she caresses my face when she kisses me and how her fingers feel between mine.
My skin crawls with anxious anticipation that grows stronger as time nears l a.m.
Throughout the night Asami and I occasionally catch each other staring and hold a shared longing gaze before we both break away, hiding smiles. I can tell by the look in her eyes that she too is eager for time to pass. Her eyes shine with the same hunger that burns me.
Finally at about 11:30, the music stops and the chaperons take control, herding all the dates out to their cars and rides in the parking lot before chasing the girls back to their dorm houses. I help Jinora get the still tipsy Song and Kori into their beds. Jinora also heads off to bed, and I make my way to my room. As soon as I walk in, I find Yue passed out in her bed. After hours of dancing I don't blame her for feeling exhausted.
I check the time and see it's 12:30 a.m., so I lie down on my bed, my stomach twisting with butterflies that in just thirty minutes I'll hopefully be falling into bed, tangled and naked with Asami. That's if that's what she wants.
My heart falls at that thought. What if she just wants to talk? What if she wants to tell me she's over me? Or that she realizes I'm not worth it?
No. That can't be it. She was smiling. Excited. I saw the longing look in her eyes.
Finally, l a.m. rolls around and I sneak out the room and down the staircase. The dorm house is for the most part silent, and anyone else still awake doesn't notice me as I sneak down the stairs and down the passageway that leads to Asami's room.
I knock lightly and the door opens immediately. She pulls me in and shuts the door in one fluid movement, locking it before she shoves me up against it, crashing her lips onto mine. I fall into the kiss instantly, kissing her back with a shared passion, my eyes closing and my hands moving up to cup her face as her hands grip my waist, flushing herself against me. My heart sings, and I let out a bliss filled moan. I've missed this.
"Oh god I've missed you," She whispers against my lips between kisses, her hand sneaking up my shirt and pushing it up, the feeling of her hand on my bare skin sending tingles over my body.
"I've missed you too," I whisper back, feeling myself tremble. She pulls back and rests her forehead against mine, raising a hand and letting the tips of her fingers trace my jaw.
"I'm sorry I haven't spoken to you," She says, "trust me, I wanted too, so badly-"
"Asami, it's okay," I interrupt her, pressing a finger to her lips, "I wanted to talk to you too, but I knew it was too risky. If Mako even thought for a second you hadn't broken up with me, he would've gone to Hou-Ting, or the police."
"You looked incredible tonight," She whispers with a gentle smile, "so beautiful..."
I blush, which only makes her smile widen, her eyes glistening slyly.
She moves forward and kisses the corner of my mouth softly, her talented hands trailing up my sides.
"Did anyone see you come here?" She whispers in that low seductive voice of hers, her lips placing tauntingly soft kisses to my jaw. I feel myself shiver as I lose control under her.
"N-no," I stutter, "I was very careful."
"And Yue? Will she notice your absence anytime soon?” She breathes into my ear, kissing under it.
"S-she’s passed out from exhaustion," I manage, squeezing her shoulders and my eyes fluttering closed as her lips turn to my neck.
"Good," She growls, and I let out a soft moan as she scrapes her teeth across my skin ever so gently. I follow her lead as she directs me away from the door and towards her bed.
She pushes me down onto her mattress and straddles me, directing me to kiss her, and I do so gladly. her hands find the hem of my shirt and tug it up. I raise my arms to allow her to pull my shirt off before I move my hands to pull her shirt off. She pushes me down and returns to kissing me deeply, tapping my bottom lip between her teeth and tugging, causing me to arch upwards and moan.
"We need to be quiet," She whispers into my ear before she bites my earlobe playfully.
"And here I was thinking of all the ways I could make you scream," I mutter before flipping us around so I'm on top, making her gasp in surprise.
"Did you touch yourself these past few weeks?" I whisper against her lips between kisses as one of my hands trails to her breast, running my thumb over her already erect nipple. She whimpers, wrapping her legs around my waist and pulling me closer.
"Y-yes," She admits.
"Did you think of me?" I murmur as I kiss down her neck. She tangles her hands in my hair and tugs lightly, moaning again, the sound firing me up even more. I missed that sound more than I thought.
"Every time," She breathes out before moving a hand to cover her mouth as I turn my mouth to her breasts, flicking my tongue over her nipple and sucking softly.
I trail my hand down her stomach, brushing her skin and loving how she shivers against my touch, how her heart beats so fast I can hear it, and how her chest rises and falls, her breaths shallow and uneven.
I move my lips across her chest and to her other breast as my fingers find her weak spot in her hip and press into it, make her gasp and squirm slightly. I leave a hickey on her breasts as my fingers find their way under her underwear, finding her bundle of nerves and applying light pressure. She whimpers and grinds her hips upwards, obviously desperate for more friction.
Slowly I rub her clit, driving her crazy as I kiss down her stomach, smiling to myself as I watch her bite her lip and toss her head back onto the pillow, her hands taking fistfuls of the sheets.
I tug her underwear off and toss them to the side before I hold her legs open and turn my mouth to the place she wants me to pay attention too. My tongue works slowly, teasing her as I savor her taste and the sound of her desperately suppressed moans.
As I apply more pressure and target her clit she squirms more under me, her legs shaking and she has to turn her head to the side and bite the pillow. Watching and feeling her orgasm under me is both the most purely raw and satisfying feeling I've ever experienced.
As she gasps for air, her body shaking and trembling, I kiss back up to her lips, my hands memorizing every curve and corner of her body. She's still in a haze as I kiss her, but she kisses me back as best she can. She wraps her arms around me and holds me close to her. I close my eyes and allow myself to get lost in her arms, burying my face in the crook of her shoulder and neck.
I smile as her delicate fingers trace my naked back, her finger tips drawing absentminded patterns. I draw back and meet her soft brown eyes. We stare at each other for a while, not saying anything, both comfortable in the silence between us.
"I'm going to Edinburgh," I say softly. She needs to know. She nods slowly, processing the information as her fingers dance up my arm and across my shoulder to my neck.
"Mathematics?" She asks and I nod. She smiles. "Are you excited?" She asks.
"Yes and no," I say after a few moments of contemplation. She cocks her head and waits for me to elaborate.
"I don't.. want to end us, and I feel if I move we'll have to end..." I say finally. I turn my head slightly to kiss the palm of her hand as she cups my face.
"Well..." She says slowly, a smile underlining her expression, and frown, wondering how she could possibly be smiling even when knowing we may have to split when I go to university.
"Well what?" I ask.
"I have news too," She says, hardly managing to maintain her excitement.
"Is it to do with you resigning?" I ask.
“You heard about that?" She asks, surprised.
"There were rumors," I say, "are they true?"
She nods, tucking my hair behind my ear.
"But that's not the only news," she says, pursing her smiling lips.
"Well, tell me," I say, tickling her sides to try to get it out of her, "stop prolonging it, spit it out!"
She laughs and tries to wiggle out my grasp.
"I'm publishing a book!" She bursts out amidst her laughter. I freeze, mid tickle.
I sit up, and she sits up with me, studying my reaction.
"I wanted to tell you," She says, "but I couldn't. Not with Mako watching our every move..."
"You're publishing a book?" I ask, the information finally sinking in. A smile creeps onto her lips as she nods. I practically lunge at her, kissing her roughly, and she laughs against my lips, sliding her arms around my waist.
"That's fucking amazing!" I yell, and she has to clasp her hand over my mouth and hushing me, reminding me of where we are.
"Sorry," I chuckle, removing her hand from my mouth, "I'm so fucking happy for you babe, I know this has always been your dream... can I read it? What's it about?"
She laughs at my excitement, pulling me onto her lap so I'm straddling her.
"I'll give you a copy to read," She says, snaking her arms around my waist, "But what's more important is that in a couple of days we'll both be done with this school, which means we can be together. Publicly. And..."
She trails off, chewing her lip and looking a little nervous about whatever else she wants to say. I wait for her to continue.
"...and, if you want,
I
can move with you. To Edinburgh." My mouth drops open at her words.
"Y-you would do that? For me?" I stutter, completely flabbergasted.
"I have nothing left here. No job tying me down, I can continue my writing from anywhere in the world," She says, before adding in a soft yet serious voice, "Plus, my love, there's very little I wouldn't do for you."
All I can do is kiss her, any vocabulary I have is utterly useless in forming sentences that could possibly vocalize and explain the intense feeling of happiness and love I feel.
"I love you," I whisper, desperate for her to hear me.
"I love you too," She whispers, "more then you will ever know."
She falls back and I follow her, allowing her to turn to my body, showing her love through her fingertips and lips as our bodies become more entangled in her sheets.
|
Severina stood in front of the darkened path. The cold breeze swept through the darkness and sent icy chills through her skin.
“Severina," came his voice through the darkness. She knew whose voice it was.
“What do you want from me?” She asked desperately.
She stared into the blackness and her eyes strained, sensing something moving toward her from the dark but nothing emerged or took shape. Still, she knew it must be him— the Dark Lord. Her heartbeat rapidly, her pulse pounding in her veins. She wanted to scream, she wanted to shriek but she was frozen.
The breeze turned into a torrent of icy air that cut through her bones and swept through her hair, she could feel it on her neck and freezing her spine. Then it stopped and he stood in front of her. So close she could see the blacks of his eyes— darker even than the path in front of her. So close she could feel his breath on her face— colder than the torrent of icy air that had cut through her. His breath was on her lips, freezing them and his eyes were on her eyes, arresting them.
“You.”
Her eyes opened and she wondered when she had closed them. She sighed into her pillow and sunk into the soft comfort of her bed. Her room at the Potter’s filled with the warm and cheerful sunlight of her happy summer.
Strong arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her back into a solid chest. Severina smiled,
“James,” she murmured, letting love fill her.
She felt his nose nuzzle the hair on the back of her neck and lips press softly into her tresses. Severina chuckled, reaching for the hand that was raking up her ribs. Her fingers reached his. She looked down to raise his knuckles to her lips and violently threw the hand away from her. It wasn’t James’s hand.
A cruel laugh— high and nasal, shook against her back, rattling her ribs. The hand she had thrown away from her, grabbed her shoulder and jerked her onto her back and he looked down at her. He smiled but his eyes were empty and cold, blue as ice.
“No.” Severina gasped out in a choked whimper.
“No?” The Dark Lord repeated smoothly, “No, no, no, no, no.” His lips spread widely, showing all his teeth and his laugh grew louder and dipped into a deep rumble. “Oh, Severina,’ he shook his head, ‘Do you really think I’ll take no for an answer? From you? From anyone?”
His eyes were intense and piercing, there was a wildness growing in them that unsettled her deeply.
“What do you want from me?” She asked shakily.
His hand came up to her face, his fingers brushed across her brow and his nails felt like claws raking against her skin, making her hairs stand on end. When he reached her temple, the pad of his thumb swept over the tender skin there and carried away a tear that had tried to escape. His fingers wrapped around her jaw and his thumb brought her tear to her lips and pressed down firmly, roughly and Severina wondered at the lack of pain as her lips were forced into her teeth and salt from her tear slipped between her lips.
“What do I want from you?” The Dark Lord asked huskily. “Why should I settle for less than everything? From you or anyone? No one has ever refused me and lived. You and your friends don’t stand a chance against me. Enjoy your time with them while it lasts, Severina,’ He bent his face to the side of hers and spoke into her ear, ‘it won’t be long now. A lot can happen in two years.”
Severina woke, feeling like she was choking. She gasped and sat up. She was surrounded by Slytherin colors, the curtains around her bed were drawn and the green sheets of her bedding were tangled around her legs. She wiped her hand across her eyes and wondered why she wanted to cry.
———
James threw his leg over the bench-seat at the Slytherin table so that he was facing Severina.
“Morning, Love!” He said as he grabbed a biscuit from her plate. “Have you missed me terribly?”
“I saw you last night before curfew. It’s only been a few hours and I was asleep for most of them.” Severina stated blandly, taking a sip of tea while looking intently a the book she had open on the table.
James was having none of that and leaned forward to nuzzle her neck softly and murmured against her neck, “I missed you. I’ve missed you every night. I always miss you when you’re not with me.”
He felt her sigh and lean into him and he imagined her eyes closing and giving into his words.
“James...” she breathed, “Of course I’ve missed you.” She turned her head so her lips brushed near his ear and whispered, “I miss falling asleep to the sound of your heartbeat and the warmth of your arms.”
James closed his eyes at the smooth sound of her voice and warmth of her breath. He wanted to tell her that he missed her body. He missed how he felt whole and complete when he was inside of her. Gods he missed being inside of her. He missed the feel of her around him, so soft and hot and slick and gods, how she’d moan and cry his name when she...
“Eckhem...” someone cleared their throat beside them.
James and Severina separated and looked over to find several Slytherin stood looking at them, most notably Mulciber, Avery, Rosier, and Regulus Black. There were also a few Slytherin girls... Severina thought they looked off... like they had all used too much hair potion that morning.
Mulciber spoke, “Good morning, Miss Snape, Mr. Potter. We hope you had a pleasant summer.”
James narrowed his eyes and his fist clenched around his wand handle. Severina placed a staying hand on his arm and answered in a polite and formal tone,
“Thank you, Mr. Mulciber, we did indeed have a pleasant summer.”
Avery spoke next, “May I say, Miss Snape, you looked lovely at the Malfoy wedding.”
James raised his eyebrow toward Severina in a silent question- ‘What is going on?’
She ignored him and answered Avery, “Thank you, Mr. Avery.”
Rosier spoke, “We’ve come to assure, both you and Mr. Potter, that the Slytherin House had nothing to do with last year’s most horrific treatment of you, Miss Snape.”
“You didn’t help stop it either if I remember correctly.” James accused.
Severina fought rolling her eyes. She knew that James was not as slow as he seemed at times. The issue here was, he didn’t really understand Slytherins. Noninterference is a Slytherin form of “helping.” Also, Mulciber didn’t refer to their summer and Avery hadn’t brought up the wedding just to be polite, they were explaining why they were standing here talking to them at all. The Dark Lord’s attention to her at the wedding had changed their tactic and if James could bite his tongue then she might find out what the new tactic was.
Of course, the rest of the Marauders would come over just then, suspecting trouble. Severina observed the strange procession of testosterone-filled posturing with mild fascination.
“What do you lot want?” Sirius asked, crossing his arms and tapping his wand against his bicep.
Remus stood beside him, eyes alert and wand in-hand. Peter stood, eyes darting around at everyone and his hands twitched.
“Calm down dear brother, we are only here to assure Miss Snape of her safety and offer her our assistance if need be.” Regulus said.
“She doesn’t need you. She has us.” James said.
“You can’t be around all the time. We have classes with her. Miss Snape will always have an escort and the Slytherin ladies have agreed to dismantle anything malicious in the girls’ bathrooms.” Avery said while gesturing toward two sixth-year and the seventh-year Slytherin girls who inclined their heads.
“The girls’ bathrooms?” James asked with concern looking at Severina.
Severina waved him off. “The gesture is appreciated. I will think about your offer of protection. I suppose you wish to be removed from certain ramifications that the school is currently suffering?”
Mulciber’s lips pulled in a flash of a smile but his eyes were hard. Avery pinched his lips and Regulus’s nostrils flared a bit and he looked like he was biting on his tongue. The girls bit their cheeks making their lips puff out and cocked their heads.
“It would only be fair.” Avery stated.
Severina smiled wickedly, “Of course, because we Slytherins are all about being fair,” and huffed in amusement. “You need to work on your ability to negotiate. I’m almost disappointed.”
“Watch your mouth, Snape.’ Mulciber snapped, “You think you can defy our Lord and walk away unscathed, but I say its only a matter of time before…”
James was on his feet, the tip of his wand digging into Mulciber’s neck. Black’s wand was on Avery’s nose and Remus’s pointed toward’s Regulus’ chest. Peter’s was out but seemed reluctant to point it at the girls who only looked at him with arched unimpressed eyebrows.
“Before what?” James asked, a warning in his voice.
“Before your Dark Lord tires of Sev’s rejections? Bit sad chasing a sixteen-year-old girl, but I suppose if you lot are his alternatives, I can see why he’s so desperate.” Sirius taunted.
Severina sighed and stood lazily. The gang of Slytherin were taunt and ready to snap.
“How far Slytherin House has fallen,’ Severina said in a mimicry sadness, “is our house not one of ambition and pride? Where have your ambitions gone? Have you none of your own? I denied the Dark Lord because my ambitions are my own and worth more to me then I am willing to sacrifice at the feet of another’s. When will you realize that to follow him is only to feed his own ambition while he sucks the life out of yours?”
Mulciber looked enraged. Avery twitched a little and looked uncertain. Regulus’s eyes drifted down in thought and his brow wrinkled. The girls looked at her like they were seeing her for the first time, which maybe they were because Severina could hardly recall their names, only knowing she’d seen them in classes before.
The owls came in a thrum of beating wings. The gang of Slytherins and the Marauders remained unmoved in their standoff while a black-barn owl landed at Severina’s elbow. It nudged her hand with his head. Severina turned nonchalantly and took the letter from the owl and stroked his feathers. The owl flew off and the gang of Slytherin watched it with their eyes and then at the letter in Severina’s hands.
Severina opened the letter and briefly scanned it. Then she turned it around so the gang could see the Dark Mark on the parchment. She folded the letter again and held it loosely in her fingers, holding it up and chuckled through the tension that grew heavy around them.
“He’ll not have my ambitions. He’ll not have my soul. Those are my own.’ She took a deep sighing breath, ‘Maybe it’s time to start thinking about your own. If you decide you’d rather not sacrifice yours, let us know.”
With that, Severina took James’s elbow and they walked away, the Marauders stayed long enough to stare down the gang of Slytherins. Before following, Sirius turned to his brother and said softly,
“You have other options.”
“What? Like, Dumbledore?” Regulus scoffed.
Sirius regarded his brother and wondered at the hopelessness that flashed through his brother’s eyes. He wanted to pull Reggie into a hug but Regulus had always pushed him away; eventually he had stopped trying.
“No,’ Sirius said, ‘Me and Sev and everyone else who’d rather not fight in other people’s wars.”
Sirius couldn’t help but reach out and squeeze his brother’s shoulder quickly before following his friends.
———
“So what did his Darkness want?” James asked Severina, holding her hand through the hall and escorting her to her first class.
“Just… wanted to share his thoughts on a potion that was featured in the Potions Journal this month. Wants to know my thoughts on it as well and says he’s sending me a book, not potions related, says he believes it will be of interest to me and hopes I’ll accept it. He assures me that it is not a courting gift.”
Severina thought about what the Dark Lord had written, how it invoked more curiosity than suspicion,
As much as I might like to offer it in courtship, I do not think I could bear your rejection in this.
“Courting gift?” James asked, stopping abruptly in the middle of the hall.
Severina smiled and tried not to laugh. She pulled him to the side.
“It’s just what he calls it. For those, he intends to bring into his inner circle. To take the Dark Mark, it's a lifetime commitment to him. So, he courts them, sends them gifts, and singles them out. Usually seventh years. He likes to secure them young. At least, that’s what Lucius said.”
James stared at her, “Should I be worried?”
She did laugh then and lifted herself to kiss him gently on his lips, “Never about us. Worried that the Dark Lord will kill us sooner than later? Yes. Worried that Dumbledore will eventually expel you for your pranks? Probably, yes. By the way, why wasn’t I supposed to shower this morning?”
James smirked, “Haven’t you notice? Look around.”
Severina did. Student after student passed by grumbling, their faces twisting in thinly veiled disgust. Everyone was hunched a little, touching their hair self-consciously. Everyone’s faces seemed to be a bit… shiny. Their hair lay flat against their heads with a visible sheen.
“Everyone is,’ Severina bit her lip and looked at James with a growing grin, ‘… greasy.” |
Cangse Sanren joined the Rebellion years after it was formed. She burst through the doors of one of their Qinghe bases like a whirlwind, using the Force to freeze any blaster shots aimed her way and interrupting what had been a tense meeting of the Rebellion leaders. Jiang Fengmian was impressed, Lan Qiren was horrified and a young pilot named Wei Changze – who had been quietly repairing his ship when she had blasted her way through the doors – was smitten. Cangse Sanren had been trained by the legendary wanderer Baoshan Sanren. While not technically a Jedi, her incredible mastery over the Force and her galaxy-wide travels quickly earned her a place in the Rebellion.
She gleefully stole away an unresisting Wei Changze as her pilot and together they became the Rebellion’s most daring – if sometimes erratic – reconnaissance team, wandering the galaxy and touching base with the Rebellion leaders only when necessary. Their partnership rapidly deepened into something more and soon their son was born.
(‘Wei Ying, my little one. You will be incredible.’)
Things changed slowly for Wei Wuxian on the Shuanghua.
He felt at time like his mind was caught in molasses, desperately trying to move forwards but struggling for every step. His first few weeks on board were marked with bland repetition, eerily similar to his time at the space port. Get up, work, eat, sleep, repeat.
Xiao Xingchen, as Wei Wuxian had discovered within hours of boarding his ship, wasn’t actually a captain. The crew of the Shuanghua was closer to an odd nomadic family of three with each member having an equal say in every decision. However, the rest of the crew swore by Xiao Xingchen’s instincts and had a tendency to follow his gut without question.
‘It’s why we were in that shitty port,’ A’Qing, a sharp young girl with odd pale eyes, told Wei Wuxian. ‘He felt like we needed to pick someone up.’ She gestured to him pointedly.
Wei Wuxian didn’t know how to feel about that and tried not to think on it too hard. He lived apart from the rest of the crew, limiting himself to his bunk and the engine room only, unwilling to encroach into the space of this odd group.
Song Zichen, the third and final member of their crew, was also the main pilot. He was the only one to be wary around Wei Wuxian – likely because he was fiercely protective of both Xiao Xingchen and A’Qing. Despite this, he was also the one to bring Wei Wuxian food when he cloistered himself in the engine room and to drag him out so he could get some rest.
It was because of this self-imposed isolation that Wei Wuxian discovered embarrassingly late that Xiao Xingchen was blind. In his defence, Xiao Xingchen operated perfectly comfortably without his sight.
‘The Force guides me.’ He had explained serenely.
Wei Wuxian had flinched before coughing to cover it up. ‘Does it.'
Xiao Xingchen had just smiled and patted him on the shoulder. ‘Yes. It does.’
Wei Wuxian would have lived out the rest of his life as a ghost on the Shuanghua, interacting only with Song Zichen when the man brought him food but he had not accounted for the actions of the crew. Song Zichen got fed up and started dragging him away from his work for the evening meal. A’Qing followed suit and tricked him into attending ‘family game nights’. Xiao Xingchen started dropping by the engine room at least once a day.
Little by little, Wei Wuxian found himself making small repairs all over the ship; the caf machine could be more efficient, the old holo-player could be fixed, a light bulb needed changing. He realised several months in that he no longer struggled to leave his bed. That he had been humming as he worked. That he had smiled at dinner when A’Qing had called him ‘Hey-you’ and poked fun at him again for not sharing his name. His world had expanded from the engine room to the entirety of the Shuanghua.
His days lost their previous monotony as he wandered the Shuanghua at all hours, half-heartedly searching for his next project. A fog that he had not been aware of was lifting from his mind. He felt like he was breathing for the first time in years.
And then.
Wei Wuxian found himself staring out of the window of the cockpit, gazing at the stars. He had forgotten they could be so beautiful.
Every light in the sky was its own world. Tiny from afar but vast and complex all the same. The stars were older than anyone could truly comprehend and yet, the exact patterns they formed depended solely on the position of the observer. Small but vast. Old but new. Constant but transient.
‘I miss seeing them,’ Xiao Xingchen said softly from behind him.
Wei Wuxian did not turn around.
‘I still feel them, of course,’ Xiao Xingchen continued, walking forwards to stand next to Wei Wuxian, ‘but beauty is perceived differently by each sense.’
‘I’d forgotten that I could look,’ Wei Wuxian said, voice rough. ‘I’d forgotten there was something to see.’ His eyes felt hot.
‘Sometimes, our troubles can drown us. They can be so great that seeing past them is impossible. There is no shame in that.’
Wei Wuxian gave a bitter laugh. ‘It’s so… big.’ He blinked rapidly, not wanting the tears to obscure the view. When that failed, he rubbed an angry hand over his eyes. ‘I’d forgotten, but the universe is… It’s so damn big. Everything in comparison is so...’
Small.
And yet.
Complex, immense, important.
Wei Wuxian cried, eyes fixed on the stars, Xiao Xingchen by his side.
Things changed slowly for Wei Wuxian, but they did change.
He started coming to dinner unprompted, he found himself curious about their next destination, he left the ship when they docked at ports and took joy in exploring each new world. He no longer made the distinction between the crew and himself. He belonged on the Shuanghua. For the first time since the destruction of Yiling, he had a home.
There were good days and bad days and he was glad that the crew of the Shuanghua never pushed.
They did not comment when he had started crying when eating a spicy dumpling that had reminded him of those found in Lotus Pier.
The woman who had sold it to him had given him an understanding look. ‘My husband is from Yunmeng,’ she’d said sympathetically. Wei Wuxian had nearly bought up her stall and A’Qing had quietly helped him carry the bags.
They had let him flee the room when a broadcast announced the celebration of the five years since the founding of New Yunmeng. As he left, the voice happily speculated on whether Jiang Yanli’s child would be accompanying her to the event. He had started sobbing there and then. He had not known she was alive.
They did not judge him for having dropped a datapad after reading the words ‘Hanguang-jun’ in a news report. Song Zichen had simply picked the pad up and walked away with it.
The crew of the Shuanghua never pushed, never questioned and he loved them for it.
He was finally able to start looking back on what he had lost. He grieved privately for Yiling and the Wen, crying for them in the evenings before he slept. He mourned his siblings and the people of Yunmeng, glad that they were alive but knowing he would never see them again.
He missed Lan Zhan even though he had no right to.
For months, he woke every morning with eyes red and gritty but a little more at peace than when he had fallen asleep.
‘I need a name,’ he told A’Qing one morning, as they ate breakfast together in the small cluttered kitchen.
She snorted into her caf. ‘Hey-you, you have a name.’
He rolled his eyes. ‘No. Seriously. I need a new name.’
A’Qing gave him a confused look. ‘Don’t you remember your old one? I thought you were just trying to be all mysterious and shit.’ She considered this. ‘You suck at it, by the way.’
Wei Wuxian sighed melodramatically. ‘Here I was, giving you the once in a lifetime opportunity to name me. But maybe I shouldn’t have bothered. After all, you did dub me the absolutely unimaginative ‘Hey-you’.’
‘Laying it on a bit thick,’ A’Qing said, scornful but clearly interested, ‘but you got me. Give me a day.’
A’Qing held true to her word. That evening, during dinner, Wei Wuxian introduced himself to Xiao Xingchen and Song Zichen as Mo Xuanyu.
As they all retired for the night, he took a flask of the best sake he could scrounge up to his quarters. He stared at himself in the tiny, cracked mirror, a twisted and faltering smile on his lips.
Wei Wuxian rose the flask in a salute.
‘To the Yiling Sith,’ he whispered to himself, ‘long may he stay dead.’
|
--- --- ---Chapter 36--Mako Fire's POV
After the last period of the school day ended, Mako made his way to the library. He entered and made his way to the back classroom, knocking on the door and entering when no one answered. He looked around for Asami and saw nothing but an empty classroom.
He made his way to Asami's desk, deciding he'd wait for her to return. She probably went to the bathroom.
She had left her phone on her desk, and he noticed she had recently gotten a new, clear phone case. Her phone was face down on the desk, and he frowned as he spotted two small squares, possibly photos, in the case. He reached over and slid her phone out of the case, emptying the two phones into his palm and turning them face up.
Sure enough, both photos were of Asami and Korra, in a photo booth, looking very much like a couple.
"Mako…" Mako turned to see Asami in the entrance of her classroom. Her eyes moved to the photos in his hand. The realization sunk in her and slowly she closed the door.
***
Asami's POV
"Mako..." I say, and he turns. My eyes fall down to the photos in his hand, the ones from my phone case from the photo booth in Brighton. My heart sinks in my chest. He knows.
Slowly I close the door.
"What on earth were you thinking Asami..." Mako sighs, not sounding angry or disgusted, just disappointed.
"I don't know what to say," I say honestly.
"A student Asami?" he says in exasperation.
"I like her, Mako."
"Asami, it’s illegal," he sighs. I feel the tears forming. This is it. This is what I feared. I knew, deep down, that at some point this would happen. Someone would find out. I was foolish to think otherwise.
"I know," I say, taking a seat, my fingers finding my temple.
"Then why on earth did you think it would be a good idea to get into a relationship with her?!" he exclaims.
"I knew it wasn't a good idea, Mako," I snap, "it's far more complicated than that."
He sighs and runs a hand over his face, clearly thinking.
"Listen," he says after a pause, "I care about you, a lot. You're a good friend to me, who's been there for me through a lot. And I care about Korra, she's a talented student with a good heart and lots of potential. The last thing I want is for something bad to happen to either of you."
I look up, surprised. Yes, Mako is a friend and an understanding guy, but I was sure he would turn me in.
"However," he says. Ahh, there it is, the ‘however.’ He continues, "you've got to understand that I can't sit back and let this happen. It's not right, you know that. It's illegal and wrong. If things were under different circumstances, I'd be more than happy for you, but she's your student."
I nod. I understand where he's coming from.
"You need to end it with her," he says firmly, "break it off. If you don't, you leave me no choice but to go to Misses Hou-Ting, and I really don't want to do that."
"I understand," I say softly.
"Good," he says, setting my phone and the pictures down on my desk. He walks to the door, pausing to say, "I'm sorry Asami, I really am."
He leaves, closing the door behind him, leaving me alone. I let out a shaky breath, clutching the nearest desk for support as I purse my lips and shut my eyes to hold back any tears.
Shakily I make my way to my desk and sit down heavily. I reach over to the two photos, my fingers tracing them, feeling my heartbreak, a tear slipping from my eye and falling down my cheek slowly.
"This isn't the end," I tell myself quietly, wiping the tear away, "I'll figure this out, I'll figure this out"
***
"Korra?" I say, knocking on her room door. Yue opens the door.
"Hi Miss Sato," she smiles.
"Hello Yue," I greet back with a smile, "is Korra here?"
"Yes, I am," Korra says, and Yue opens the door, stepping aside. Korra sits up from her bed, her face falling as if sensing I'm not coming with good news.
"May I speak with Korra privately for a few minutes?" I ask Yue.
"Sure," she says, throwing Korra a puzzled look. She steps outside and closes the door.
I take a seat on Yue’s bed across from Korra, and she waits for me to speak.
"Mako knows," I say finally. Korra’s face pales. I continue, "I'm not sure how he figured it out, but he knows."
"Shit," she says, looking panicked, "w-what’s going to happen?"
"Nothing, as long as we break it off," I say, unable to meet her eyes, feeling the tear in my heart.
"W-what?" she breathes out, shocked and confused.
"He says he won't go to Misses Hou-Ting as long as we end it," I say, trying to keep the tears back. I need to be strong for both of us.
"Are... are we ending? Is that it, we're done?" she asks. I close my eyes and purse my lips, taking a deep breath to steady myself, pushing back the stabbing sensation in my chest
"Korra, if he goes to Hou-Ting she will call the police. I will go to jail. I will be convicted of sexual assault for sleeping with a minor," I say steadily.
"Okay," she takes a deep breath, "I understand, of course."
Her voice cracks. Of course, she understands, but that doesn't mean it's not breaking her heart just how it's breaking mine.
"I'll figure this out. This isn't the end, Korra," I say quietly, having to physically hold myself back from moving forward and kissing her. She nods, unable to look at me, and I can see how hard it is for her to stop herself from crying.
"I'm guessing we go back to how we were the last term," she says, keeping her voice as steady as she can, "keeping our distance and stuff."
"Yes," I say. She takes a deep breath.
"Okay," she whispers, "Is that all Miss Sato?"
"I'm sorry Korra," I say quietly as I get up and leave, trying to keep myself together all the way downstairs and to my room.
I shut my door and slide down it, finally letting the tears fall.
***
Korra’s POV
It's 2 a.m. and I'm sitting in front of the fire in the common room. Well, it's not really a fire anymore, but the coals are still burning red.
I can't sleep. I can't stop thinking about how this is all my fault. I shouldn't have sketched those drawings. I should have left them in my sketchbook. I shouldn’t have left my sketchbook where someone could find it.
If I hadn't done those things, then maybe everything would be fine. None of this would have happened. But because of me, Mr. Fire found out about Asami and me. It's because of me that Asami and I had to split.
I don't know what's going to happen. Asami said that it's not the end, that she'll figure something out, but maybe she's figured that this is for the best. Maybe she'll realize that I'm not worth all the trouble she'll get in. Maybe she'll realize how much better she can do than me.
I don't at all blame her for ending things, she didn't have another choice, but it still hurts like hell. I'm terrified that this is it, that the past two weeks was all I was ever going to get with Asami.
I bang my head, cursing myself for not being more careful.
I don't know how I'm going to cope in Asami's classes. I don't know how I'm going to be able to look at her without having my heart broken again.
***
A week later.
"Jin and Song are really concerned, you know," Jinora says, taking a seat across from me at the table I'm working at under the trees, "so is Yue."
“And?" I ask blandly. Jinora sighs.
"We're your friends, Korra, let us help you, you know? Cheer you, take you out, etc." she says. I don't respond.
"I know you're torn up over Asami, but there's literally nothing you can do," She says softly. Again, I remain quiet, doodling in the corner of my math textbook absent-mindedly.
"Yue is talking about auditioning for the talent show coming up," Jinora says, changing the topic.
"She thinks you should audition with her..." she adds. Still nothing.
"Maybe it'll take your mind off Asami? Music is healing, isn't it?" she says. I shrug.
"Okay, well give it a thought okay?" Jinora finally says, getting up slowly and leaving me to myself. I know she's just trying to help, and that she's worried about me. I've hardly eaten much this past week. I've also stopped hanging out with them, mostly keeping to myself.
Asami has to act okay, but I know she's hurting too and missing me.
As for Mr. Fire, I've spotted him watching me, looking a little guilty. I don't hate him, nor do I feel angry towards him. He did what he thought was the right thing. Really, I just appreciate he didn't go straight to Misses Hou-Ting.
I feel so helpless. I know it's best that I keep my distance from Asami, the last thing I want is for Mr. Fire to think we didn't actually break up and then go to the police. However, it's still frustrating not knowing what Asami's planning. She said she'll figure things out, but how?
Another frustrating thing is that I really should be studying. Finals are coming up, and even though I’m well prepared for math, English, literature, and art, I still need to be preparing myself for biology and French, but my mind had been such a busy place that I've really struggled to focus on anything.
Maybe I should audition with Yue for the talent show. It will offer a distraction, along with convincing my friends that I'm okay so that they can get off my back.
I pack all my books into my bag and make my way up to the dorm house. As I walk my hand subconsciously moves to fiddle with the pendant hanging around my neck. I haven't been able to take it off, even though it constantly reminds me of every single moment Asami and I shared over the holidays; our night together on Christmas eve, her telling me she wanted to try us on Christmas day, her asking me to be her girlfriend in the kitchen of her apartment...
Those memories make me feel both happy and cause a painful pang in my heart. I pray to the heavens that those memories won't be the only memories I’ll ever have of us.
"Hey," I say to Yue as I entire my dorm room.
"Hey," she says, smiling. I haven't been very verbal for the past seven days and I can tell she's surprised.
"So," I say, putting my bag on my desk and climbing onto my bed, crossing my legs, "the talent show is coming up and I was wondering if you wanted to audition? With me?"
Her face lights up.
"Seriously?" she says excitedly. I nod, smiling too now
"Omg yes! I was actually going to ask you the same thing!" she squeals.
For the next hour or so we talk about possible songs we could sing together and who would do what instrument and who would sing what part. Eventually, we settle on "Photograph" by Ed Sheeran, agreeing I’ll play guitar while Yue plays the piano.
Immediately we start practicing, and Jinora was right. Music is healing. Especially Ed's music.
***
Friday night, auditions for the talent show.
"You nervous?" I whisper to Yue. She nods, gulping.
"Dude we've been practicing for hours this week. We rock. We've got this,” a bump her shoulder, giving her a small reassuring smile.
We're right after this coming up act. There have been two group dancing acts, one solo dance, one instrumental group of string instruments, a solo cello act, two martial arts acts, two solo singers, and a standup comedian. So far everyone has been incredibly talented, which surprises me. I thought high school talent shows were supposed to suck.
I glance over to the judges' table. Mr. Fire, Mr. Omashu, and Asami are the judges. My eyes linger on the beautiful raven-haired woman seated between the two men. Mr. Omashu says something to Asami and she laughs, sending butterflies in my chest into a frenzy, accompanied by the butterflies in my heart, which sinks, stinging as it does so. I tear my eyes away from her.
The only thing I'm nervous about is having to sing while Asami watches. To make things more difficult it's a love song. I hope I'm going to manage to keep things together and not start crying.
Soon it's us, and Yue and I make our way up onto the stage. Yue positions herself at the piano, adjusting the microphone. I pluck the guitar up and settle on the stool stationed near the piano.
My eyes glance up at the nearly completely full auditorium. The entire school is here, along with some parents. My gaze meets Asami's, and everything else fades away. I can see the sadness, lingering longing, in her soft green eyes.
Yue clears her throat, pulling me out of my trance and indicating that she’s ready to begin.
"And what might you ladies be doing for us tonight?” Mr. Omashu asks.
"We'll be singing 'Photograph,' by Ed Sheeran," I say, and ripples of sounds of approval echo quietly through the auditorium.
"Well ladies, whenever you're ready, take it away," Mr. Fire says.
I glance at Yue and she nods. I start strumming the first chords, and she joins in with the piano. She starts off with the first verse, and I join in at the first chorus, just singing backup vocals. Smoothly I take over with the lead voice, singing the second verse, Yue occasionally throwing in some backup vocals when needed. I can't help but meet Asami's gaze as I sing, not able to look away. She's all that matters in this room of over a thousand people.
She's all that matters in this entire world to me.
I'm grateful I manage to hold myself back from crying, even succeeding in stopping my voice crack as the result of the emotions surging through me as I see a lone tear slide silently down her cheek. She purses her lips to stop them from trembling.
We end the song, and the entire audience erupts into cheers and applause, jumping up into a standing ovation. I don't care about the applause. All I want is to rush forward and kiss her, tell her I love her, tell her how much I miss her.
Quickly, Asami wipes her face, and forces on a smile before giving her score out of 10 with the other two judges, three 10 out of 10s. Not that it matters much to me.
Yue and I return to our seats, everyone hugging and high-fiving us, telling us how amazing we were. I however just want to be alone, the image of that lone tear running down Asami's face repeating itself in my mind.
She's hurting just like me, and I hate it. I hate this whole situation. I hate myself for fucking up.
"Thank you so much to everyone who auditioned," Mr. Omashu says after the last act, "if it were up to me, I'd say all of you should perform in the talent show next Friday, however only 10 acts can go through. The 10 qualifying acts will be decided over the weekend by me, Mr. Fire, and Miss Sato and will be published on the noticeboard on Monday morning. Remember to buy your tickets for the talent show and invite all your friends and family! All the money will be donated to a nonprofit charity!"
Slowly we all stand, and everyone files out, everyone around me chattering excitedly about their favorite acts.
I peel away from my friends while they're detracted, making my way back to the dorm house, my heart and mind numb.
***
Asami's POV
I type in the last full stop and push myself away from my desk, feeling tremendously satisfied with myself.
After I was forced to break up with Korra, I needed to find something to distract me, something to help me deal with my feeling and emotions.
That something is writing. I did something I hadn't done in a while, I found my old works and unfinished novels and stories from years ago. I found one that stuck out to me more than the others, and I started writing again.
The story itself has allowed me to not concentrate entirely on Korra, although I still think about her constantly.
I'm still at a loss of what to do. I know, with every cell in my body, that I want to be with her. I cannot imagine loving anyone but her.
But our situation is complicated. Difficult.
Now that Mako knows of us, I can't risk doing anything but what he says. I am thankful that he didn't immediately go to the police, but I know if he catches us together again, he will turn me in. I can't risk that. If I'm in jail, there is no way I'll be able to be with Korra. Besides, Korra would never forgive herself if I ended up in jail. I know she'll blame herself.
I don't know what to do, and it frustrates me. The only thing I can think of is waiting until after Korra graduates. But even then, what if Kyoshi Academy or the authorities somehow finds out that Korra and I dated before she graduated?
Her audition with Yue for the talent show really hit me deeply tonight. It was like she was singing to me directly, and it broke my heart as I was reminded, she isn't mine anymore.
No, she is yours. And you're hers. just because you're being forced apart right now doesn't mean you don't love her, or that she doesn't love you
I move forward again and pull the newest, and last, a sheet of paper out of my typewriter. The typewriter Korra brought me.
I slide it under the stack of papers that contain the remainder of my now complete story. I smile.
And then my smile falters as an idea trickles into my thoughts. Slowly my finger traces the front page, the idea growing through my mind like ivy. |
Blue Diamond watches Steven and his family from a distance. It seems easiest that way. Certainly, there is a pride that bubbles within her, that suggests a Diamond should have to make room for no one - even less so when they are guests in her palace. Yet, she knows that this is not the time to indulge it, even if that means tolerating each and every one of Steven’s… friends.
She still has no idea how to relate to these people, particularly when everyone is in such a tense mood. With most, she has only a passing familiarity. She saw some of them more often than others - the Pearl most of all, who would sometimes join Steven on his visits. Even then, he was always the mediator, and the mutual connection they all shared.
Without him around, their interactions are terse. Some of these so called ‘Crystal Gems’ insist on goading her at every turn, and she can’t help but feel a tiny rush of self satisfaction when she holds herself above their attempts to sew conflict. Steven would be proud of her, she thinks. It’s one of the few things that soothes her, given his current state - especially when his gem half has been primarily hostile.
It’s daunting, to see that familiar gem with such a look of displeasure towards her.
There is a shortage of Diamond-sized seating, even in this part of Homeworld, and so Blue has had to content herself with peering over the pillars and walls that separate her from Steven’s treatment chamber. She’s summoned a suitably large and ornate cushion to rest on as she keeps watch, waiting for news from the Iolites, and the other members of her court.
What she wants right now is information. Information on his condition, and information on their shared enemy.
It’s been thousands of years since they last heard word of the reptiloid species, and she hoped that it would remain that way. However, them returning from seeming oblivion is not without precedent. For organics, they have been impossibly hard to eliminate, and have had the tendency to unexpectedly rise from the ashes of ruin if given even a few thousand years to recover.
She and Yellow had thought that they were finally rid of their menace, after the reptiloid homeworld was targeted and overwhelmed. Yet, they were wrong, and now they have paid dearly for their mistake.
White Diamond will not be pleased. Yellow went to speak with her a few hours ago, and Blue has not heard from her since. Part of her worries, despite herself.
It’s not supposed to be like this anymore.
Things had finally been getting better. Even with Pink lost, Steven had been guiding them towards a better future. She felt more at ease with her duties and her court than she ever had, and even White Diamond was beginning to reintegrate with their civilization. Yellow was more relaxed than she had been for eons, with the weight of colonization removed from her shoulders. Sometimes, it really felt like they could now be truly happy - in a way they had never even considered before.
As painful as it is to see Steven like this, the inescapable truth is that it could represent the swift and brutal end to this new era that was still only emerging. A Diamond, attacked and stolen away from his colony. A Diamond, tortured at the hand of the enemy. A Diamond, the symbol of the strength of Homeworld, broken and returned to them as a shadow of himself.
It is a humiliation that cannot go unanswered. Blue knows this, even as it fills her with weariness and dread. In a time not long ago, she would have craved nothing but retribution, and the destruction of all who would stand against the Authority.
Now… she doesn’t know what she wants, besides for Steven to wake up and come back to them. Maybe he would have an answer.
In the distance, the gates of her laboratory open, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps. Blue stands, her gem glowing in soft anticipation. Yellow Diamond has returned to her.
“Yellow!”
Blue meets her in the entrance way, falling into an embrace. Yellow stiffens, not quite returning the gesture, which concerns her. When she looks up, Yellow is not meeting her gaze.
“… I’m sorry, was that too much?” Blue asks, uncertainly. Hugging is a recent development in their relationship, brought on primary by Steven’s influence. Maybe she had taken it too far. “It’s just that… I was worried. I knew you were speaking to White, and…”
“It’s fine,” Yellow says, cutting her off. The discomfort is definitely with more than just the physical contact. Blue pulls away.
“What did she say?” she asks.
“That we can’t carry on the way we have been,” Yellow says, waving a hand and moving past her. “I have to admit, I agree with her on that.”
“In what way…?” Blue doesn’t like the implication, though she senses the inevitability of it. “She isn’t… she couldn’t be thinking…”
“We let this happen, Blue. We let Steven run wild, and left our borders unchecked… we practically asked for this.” Yellow is trying to hold steady, but there is a guilty agitation there that Blue can’t overlook. “All it took was for one enemy to see our weakness and seize the opportunity.”
“We couldn’t have known they would come back, let alone that they would know to find Earth,” Blue argues, though without much heart. It’s so easy to see their failure in retrospect - all things are much easier to see when they are unchangeably in the past. “Yellow, it’s his home.”
“Yet, we left it without proper defenses. We left our Empire without defenses. I don’t know what I was thinking. We have invaders on the borders. We have gems unaccounted for! I had assumed all of this was anarchist rebellion coming from our own people, and I let Homeworld’s greatest threat slip right through my grasp.”
Blue crosses her arms around herself. “And so what do you suggest?”
“I suggest we destroy them!” Yellow snaps, smacking her fist against the wall hard enough that the structure rattles. “We can do nothing else. They’ve made a direct assault against a Diamond, and now…” She looks in the direction of Steven’s bed, scowling bitterly. “Now I don’t even know what is left to be salvaged.”
“Steven is alive, Yellow,” Blue insists. “His body is breathing, and his gem is whole. They are just… separated.”
“His gem is-” Yellow makes some vague gestures, trying to articulate her meaning. “-it’s defective! I had thought I understood his… situation, but I didn’t think that meant that the Pink Diamond was ruined.”
Blue looks away from her, as if struck. Yellow freezes, realizing she’s gone too far.
“It… It isn’t ruined.” She doesn’t want to believe it is. Certainly, in the past she had imagined that perhaps Pink’s gem had been wiped of its memory, that it had learned to function with a human body and become something new, but to know that it has been reduced to a state that is so formless and empty…
It’s a cruel reminder that Pink is gone, and gone forever. The Pink Diamond is nothing like it used to be, and by all indications, it never will be again.
“...Steven is everything that Pink wanted him to be,” Blue says, tentatively breaking the silence. There is a fondness in her voice that she can’t avoid. “Neither gem nor human… nor the two of them simply working side by side. He’s both, at once, and without all of himself…”
She trails off again, and Yellow’s shoulders slacken, staring at her. Blue moves towards her, reaching out to rest a hand on her shoulder.
“Repairing him must be our priority,” she says. “To begin another war in his name… he may never forgive us.”
Yellow’s hesitation ends. She shrugs off Blue’s hand.
“What I intend to do is protect him,” she growls. “Without opposition, we could have afforded these luxuries. But, if the reptiloids have returned, we must meet them head on - as we have every time before. What use is his forgiveness if our Empire is in ruin?”
“Uh…”
From so high up, it can be hard to hear average sized gems, let alone when you are in the thick of something like this. Still, the sound of someone awkwardly clearing their throat meets Blue’s ears, mostly because in the heat of the moment she had almost forgotten that they were somewhere they could be easily overheard. Steven’s family is not far away.
Now, there is a gaggle of them lingering nearby. First, there is the Bismuth and Lapis Lazuli, and further behind is Spinel, as if she had been following them at a distance. They all look a bit caught on the spot to have both Diamonds glaring at them from a place of heightened emotions.
“I don’t know too much about these snakes… seems like it might be before my time,” the Bismuth continues, awkwardly. Blue thinks that is only appropriate that she feel awkward, considering how rude she has been at every opportunity. “But… you guys are really trying to change how you run things, right?”
“I am,” Blue says, stiffly. She looks away. “Not that you seem inclined to believe me.” Yellow, for her part, just huffs and crosses her arms, barely tolerating the interruption.
“I know I’ve been giving you a hard time, but, like… you gotta realize, this is the first time any of us have ever got a say in anything.” The Lapis’s eyes are darting around nervously as the Bismuth speaks, though the latter continues unabated. “Any time before now, and you would have just ignored what we said and then probably shattered our gems for the trouble.”
“I don’t do that anymore!” Blue insists, clenching her fists with boiling frustration.
“I’m willing to reconsider,” Yellow snarls, and the Bismuth immediately takes a step back. The Lapis spreads her wings, grabbing the Bismuth by the shoulders as if prepared to fly her away at a moment’s notice, only to be stayed by the Bismuth’s hand.
“See? That’s just your problem,” the Bismuth says, afraid and angry all at once. How this gem just keeps on talking despite all indication that she should quit is beyond Blue’s comprehension. “Someone pushes you even a little about the way things used to be and you don’t wanna hear it. You talk a big game about making a change and doing things different, but then you wanna throw in the towel the second you gotta work for it!”
“Bismuth…” the Lapis pleads.
“Anybody can be peaceful in peacetime!” Bismuth growls, just getting louder. “But Steven - he tried to make it work even when people were out to break him! People who never even gave him a chance. People like me! People like you! People like every other gem for this damn rock that came to Earth just to ruin the day of some kid that never hurt anybody.”
Blue Diamond is stunned to silence, and to her amazement, Yellow is too. Even since Steven came to them, they have never heard something like this. Off behind them, Spinel is watching and visibly sagging, her stretchy arms wrapped several times around her own torso.
“He didn’t stop trying to find a better way. No matter how many people tried to shatter him, no matter how many came for his home turf.” The Bismuth thrusts a finger at Yellow in particular now. “And now… now you’d try to tell yourself that you can throw all of that away on his behalf?”
Yellow finally snaps, clenching her fists as lightning crackles around them.
“How dare you!”
It’s obvious that the Bismuth is terrified of what might come next, but it doesn’t stop her.
“You can do that. You… you can poof me, you can shatter me… whatever you want.” The Bismuth’s eyes are watery with emotion. “But you’d be giving up on yourself as much as you’d be giving up on him. On his ideas. On the future he saw for Homeworld that none of us ever could.”
Blue can’t take it anymore. She reaches out to grab Yellow’s hand, pulling her attention even as the electricity burns its way up her arm.
“Yellow, please,” Blue whispers, trying to meet her eyes. Yellow scowls back at her, holding on to her anger. This feels all too familiar to a moment not long ago - are their actions truly becoming so circular?
“My… My Diamonds.”
Blue and Yellow turn to see Spinel speaking to them, her arms bent into the customary pair of diamond shapes. She clearly doesn’t want to speak up, but she’s doing it anyway.
“I think, uh… maybe… they’re right? About it being hard.” Spinel tries to straighten up, but she’s glancing nervous away. Blue had thought that she was comfortable with them, but her fear in this moment seems to suggest differently. “Trying to be better is hard because it means you have to think about all the wrong stuff you did before. Or, uh… you have to try to even admit you were wrong in the first place.”
“Spinel…” Blue says more softly, trying to make sense of her companion’s fear. Does Spinel really think that they’d hurt her? Should she think that?
“When I met Steven, I was, uh… dealing with some pretty heavy stuff. And I thought that… the world had done such a bad thing to me, I should be able to be bad to everyone else. But… I… I was wrong. I couldn’t just make everything worse, I had to be better. He told me I could be better.”
Spinel carefully moves closer, looking back to them. Her expression is soft and vulnerable, in a way that makes Blue feel like she may break if she were to be struck in that moment.
“And… maybe… maybe it’s the same for you. Maybe you can try to do something different, this time?”
Blue has nothing to argue. She can’t. She can see moments replaying in her mind, of all her mistakes. The ways she hurt Pink, and the ways she almost lost Steven before they’d even found him. She wipes the tears from her eyes that are now freshly falling, willing the emotion to stay inside her, and to not harm anyone else.
She can’t let her pain hurt others. She made a promise, and she remembers that now. She looks towards Yellow, searching for meaning within her expression.
Yellow pulls her hand away from Blue, turning to stare into the distance. It takes her a moment to speak.
“I don’t know how I put up with all of you,” she says, but her voice has softened. Down on the ground, Spinel relaxes. Blue does too. The moment is short lived, though. Before any more sensible words can be said, the Peridot is running towards them, hollering.
“Guys… guys!” She throws up her tiny green arms, almost tripping over her own feet.
“Peridot?” Lapis asks, alarmed.
“The Stevens are awake,” Peridot says. “And they are freaking out.” |
Louis had fucked up, he knows he took the spanking too far. Harry was in his ear, but overall he is the one to blame, he made Zayn pee himself, and he spanked him with a brush, which was not what Liam wanted to happen. It was suppose to be a simple spanking, but Zayn was pushing it, he was being really naughty, and Louis knew he needed to do a little more, so that Zayn got it.
Louis lays back on a shitty pullout couch. “Fuck,” he whispers.
I really fucked up. I don’t know how, or what to do to fix this.
“LOUIS! LOUIS! LOUIS!”
Louis snaps back to reality to see his mate Thomas, standing in front of him with a bottle of Vodka.
“Thomas what the fuck. Why are you screaming my name?” Louis asks, while rubbing at his head to try to get rid of his headache pain.
Thomas smiles, he tosses the Vodka at Louis, who catches it with his stomach, Louis groans from the unexpected pressure of the bottle.
Louis grabs the bottle, and sets it aside. “I’m not drinking Thomas.”
Thomas groans loudly, and pouts. “No, no Louis, mate, you got to drink, I don’t want to be the only one drinking,” he pleads.
Louis sighs, annoyed. He was in no mood to drink, and he knew getting plastered would not help him.
“I said no. You can go get drunk, but I’m not joining.”
Thomas frowns, he really wants to get drunk with someone, but the rest of his roommates won't, because they were busy, or something about how it’s 3 P.M. on a Monday.
Thomas thought Louis of all people would be down to drink after whatever happened to him.
“Fine, I’ll just go get drunk with T.J.,” he says, while pouting like a five year old.
Louis smiles, he’s suddenly amused by Thomas' antics. “Who’s T.J.?”
Thomas stops walking up the stairs, and turns around. “If you want to know, then you have to follow me!”
Louis rolls his eyes, but gets up anyways. “Where are we going to?”
Thomas smiles. “You’ll see, just move faster.”
He groans. “I’m coming.”
------------
Liam thought the day wasn’t going to bad at first, because breakfast went by without a fight, except Zayn just repeatedly told Niall that he doesn’t want a pacifier anywhere near his mouth. After that Liam had set up some finger painting, and Zayn wasn’t amused. He didn’t start a fight, but he sure was mouthy. Things really started to heat up when Liam decided that Zayn needed a bath, and Zayn didn’t think he needed one. In the end Zayn lost that fight, and had to take a bath, then had another time out. Liam hadn’t wanted to, but he couldn’t allow that behavior, it was another five minute one, so it wasn’t that big of a deal, or at least that’s what Liam thought.
Now Liam, Niall, and Zayn are all in the living room.
“I have a really fun idea guys, let’s play a board game,” Liam suggests.
Niall smiles. “Yeah that’d be so much fun Liam!”
Zayn hasn’t looked up from the floor since he was placed there. He zoned out again, because he really isn't in a good mood to do anything. He doesn’t want to fight, or talk back, or even attempt to amuse them. He wants to take a hot shower, or sit outside and smoke, but he can’t, and he doesn’t want to try to either, because he knows it’s useless trying.
Liam is really struggling, even after the visit. Trying to get someone to do things that they don’t want to can be really stressful, so Zayn not responding, and being vaguely interested is hard to deal with.
Liam knows he has to do something that Zayn won’t like.
While Niall continues to try to get Zayn to pick a game to play, Liam steps out of the room.
Liam goes up to his room, and grabs two new items he got at the store.
He puts them into his sweater pocket, and makes his way back downstairs.
Nothing has changed since he left, except maybe Zayn moved an inch.
Liam goes over to Zayn. He sits down in front of him with a smile, Zayn doesn’t respond.
“Or we can play Monopoly-”
“Niall we’re not playing a board game anymore. Go sit down on the couch.”
Niall quietly says,“Oh okay.” He then puts the game back, and sits on the couch.
Liam sets his hands on Zayn’s covered legs, he doesn’t move, or tell Liam to get his hands off him.
Liam stares at the boy waiting for him to look up, but after two minutes Liam takes one hand off Zayn’s leg. He takes that hand to push the boy’s chin up, Zayn lets him, but he shuts his eyes.
Liam is a bit annoyed, but he isn’t giving up. “Zaynie I want you to open your eyes right now,” Liam demands.
Zayn doesn’t, but slightly grins.
Liam doesn’t find this funny at all, he finds it frustrating.
Why can’t Liam leave me alone? I get he wants to make everything better by doing twenty different things in one day, but it’s not making anything better, it’s honestly making it worse. And now he won’t even let me sit in peace.
Liam keeps asking Zayn to open his eyes, but Zayn doesn’t.
Fine he doesn’t need his eyes open for this.
Liam pulls out a paci with a strap. “Baby if you want to continue to ignore me, Niall, or anyone else, and decide not to talk anymore, then fine by all means go ahead.” Liam pauses looking at Zayn.
Zayn is slightly smiling. Finally I beat him at his own little game. Something's finally going my way.
Liam knows that smile will disappear in seconds. He gets up off the ground, then waves Niall over.
Niall gets up, and sees what Liam has, he nods at him in understanding.
Liam is standing behind Zayn, while Niall is sitting in front of him.
“The boys and I didn’t realize how little you actually are, so we are so sorry that it took us this long to give you what you really need.”
Zayn is confused by what he means, but then he feels something pushed past his lips, Zayn’s tongue touches it, and he immediately taste rubber.
Zayn’s eyes shoot open in rage. How dare they!
Zayn attempts to spit out the paci to yell at them, but he finds that he can’t. He keeps trying, but to no avail.
Liam notices him struggling, and decides he needs to tell him why.
“It’s not coming out sweetie. I’m sorry I have to do this to you, but you’ve officially lost the ability to talk for now.”
Zayn screams into the paci, but it’s muffled, he keeps yelling and screaming, but it makes no sense.
Liam frowns, he feels bad, but he couldn’t allow Zayn to continue behaving the way he was, so if he doesn't want to talk, then he gets a paci.
After five minutes Zayn gives up, and begins to quietly cry. He feels so little now that he can’t use his voice, his hands, feet, everything. He feels like a child, and it is an awful feeling as an adult.
Zayn lays himself flat on the mat, his tears instantly start to soak into the foam.
Liam sighs. He didn’t think Zayn would be this upset, but he should have expected it.
Liam walks over to the crying boy, he leans down to comfort him, but stops when Zayn turns his tear stained face. He looks up at Liam with hatred in his eyes. Zayn hates him; he hates him so much for putting him in this situation, and for continually forcing him to do this.
Zayn screams into the paci. He pushes himself up, then starts hitting Liam with his mitten covered hands, which isn’t accomplishing anything that Zayn wants to happen, yet he continues to hit at him.
Liam grabs at Zayn’s wrists to stop him, but Zayn continues to try to hit him.
“Baby please stop this nonsense. This will not help you in this situation, it will only make things worse. I think it’s time for you to take a nap.”
Zayn screams, and tugs his arms away.
“I DON’T WANT A FUCKING NAP! I DON’T WANT A FUCKING NAP!” Zayn screams, but all that actually came out was a muffle of words that made no sense. Zayn knew this yet he continues to scream it, while Liam picks the young boy up.
“Shh, Zaynie, it’s time to calm down love,” Liam comforts. He continues to whisper things to the baby until he reaches the nursery.
Zayn decided to stop attempting to get out of Liam’s hold, and to chill it on the screaming, because nothing good will come from it, he knows he’s just hurting his throat by continuing to yell his gibberish.
Liam lays Zayn down in the crib. He then quickly reaches over to Zayn’s diaper to feel if he has wet, and to not much surprise Liam feels that it is indeed dry.
Zayn turns slightly redder, he's angry and embarrassed that Liam has just done that. He wants to yell again, but stops himself. Remember your throat will thank you for not shouting. I know, but he just touched down there, and I couldn’t even same anything. I feel so small, and incapable.
While Zayn was lost in his head Liam had went, and grabbed Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone.
“I’m going to read to you the first chapter of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone. I know it’s one of your favorites, so I hope you enjoy it. I know not being able to use your voice is hard, but sometimes you need to learn a tough lesson Zaynie. I still love you, and this isn’t permanent alright.”
Zayn turns his head away from Liam, he doesn’t want to hear anything from him. He does love Harry Potter, but he’s not really in the mood to hear Liam read it.
Liam sits on the carpet, and starts to read.
“Chapter one, The Boy Who Lived. Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much,” Liam read.
Liam had continued to read until he got to page seventeen. During that time Zayn had found himself wide awake, he was still quite upset, and a bit in disbelief at the events that occurred downstairs. He couldn’t believe that Liam would force a disgusting rubber down his throat, and make him keep it in for not speaking to him, it was absurd.
As time went on rather slowly Zayn decided to actually listen to the book. It was one of his favorites, and it was finally something not childish. Zayn found himself lost in the world of Harry Potter as Liam continued to speak, until he said the last word of the chapter.
“And that’s the end of chapter one, wasn’t that a great start? If you want I can read another chapter in the future, but for now it’s time to sleep,” Liam says. He gets up off the floor, and looks down at baby Zayn, who is completely out, Liam smiles. He looks so content and peaceful when he sleeps.
Liam blows Zayn a kiss, then departs from the room.
The door shuts, and Zayn’s eyes fly open. He almost had fallen asleep, but he forced himself to stay awake, because he needed something.
Zayn moves his body, so that he is on his stomach, then he shoves his face into his pull case, and he immediately finds that familiar smell, the only thing that was getting him through these past seven days.
The unlit cigarette.
Zayn found himself smelling it, and other nights even gnawing at it, which seemed to help Zayn, but now it was getting hard. He wants to actually smoke it, he needs it, the withdrawal has caused Zayn’s anxiety to fly.
Normally Zayn can handle his anxiety with weed, or having a cigarette, but now that he can’t have either his anxiety has been heightened to a crazy high level. Some days are better than others, but today out of the past seven has been the worst.
Zayn moves back onto his back. He looks up at the beige ceiling, and he remembers staring at it the night the boys changed everything exactly a week ago. He remembers being so confused, and terrified, but as he laid there, and looked up, he found comfort in the one thing that the boys hadn’t changed.
Now Zayn feels that same comfort, but now that he realizes that it’s been a whole week, he doesn’t feel as comforted anymore.
I can’t believe it’s been a week. It feels like it’s been years. I didn’t think last Monday that my ‘friends’ would ever do this to me, but here I am. Completely stuck in this prison. Sigh. And it just keeps getting worse. I feel like everyday something more terrible is done to me, and I can’t stop it. I want to leave so bad, but it feels like the boys won’t ever let up. I don’t know what to do. I just feel awful, and my thoughts are getting so annoying. I need the drugs to numb them out.
Zayn moves onto his side, the pacifier is bothering him on his back. He closes his eyes, and tries to sleep, since it’s better than thinking about all this.
After fifteen minutes Zayn falls asleep.
He never use to have this problem, because when he would smoke those thoughts would disappear, and he would be able to lay down, and pass out. Drinking was a bit of a different story, but Zayn could often shut his mind down if he got drunk, and if his anxiety was coming back he knew he was getting sober, so he would start smoking weed to get rid of it.
Now from the withdrawal he can’t do anything, but lay in bed, until he eventually passes out.
|
“Clint.”
“Hey, morning, how’d you sleep?” Barton asked, looking up from the stove where he was cooking breakfast. “Hungry? Tony’s got a really wicked gym downstairs and I went ahead and did my workout, but if you want to spar later, I’m up for it.”
“Clint, slow down,” Coulson sighed. “You need to get some sleep.”
“I’ll nap with Tony later,” Barton said with a shrug. “I know he’s supposed to be hidden away with SHIELD, but do you think we could get away with the beach later today?”
Coulson stepped up behind his lover and wrapped him in a hug. “Maybe. You need to get the jet to a pick-up point before we do too much else today,” he said.
“I can’t, the engine’s dead,” Barton said. He wiggled loose and moved to the fridge. “I checked it this morning and it won’t go. Fury’s not really happy about it, but he’s sending a crew down. They’ll get it working again and out of here.”
“Which means people are going to know we’re here, at least, and probably figure out Tony’s here too,” Coulson said. “I suppose we can adjust the story to bring in his lab here. That shouldn’t be too hard, we just need to keep Pepper out of the way for another week or so.”
“Do you think Tony’s going to tell her the truth or say he’s just worn down from working?” Barton asked. He slid the eggs onto plates that already had bacon on them. “Toast?”
“Sure. Barton, what did Tony say to you last night?”
Barton paused for a brief second. “We talked about a lot of stuff, I don’t really remember too much of it, other than telling stories about work,” he said. “Why?”
“Because you went prowling last night and you never do that unless you’re upset about something,” Coulson said. “You were fine between going to bed and when I joined you and I know you didn’t have a nightmare because I would have heard that, so logic dictates that Tony said something to you to throw you off your pace a little.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Clint, don’t shut me out, please?”
“Seriously, it’s nothing. I just needed to think and you know I like to move when I can,” Barton said. He set up a tray with a plate of toast, a tea pot and cups. “Is Tony awake?”
“He wasn’t when I left him, but JARVIS said he’d keep an eye on things for a minute or two,” Coulson said. “Are we eating upstairs?”
“I thought it’d be easier on Tony. We’ll start small on the walking and see if we can get some strength built back up for him,” Barton said. “Can you grab my plate? I couldn’t find a larger tray anywhere in here.”
“Yeah, I’ll be right behind you.”**“Where’s Clint?” Tony asked later in the day. “I haven’t seen him since he finished eating and ran out of here.”
“There’s a crew from SHIELD here working on the jet and he’s down with them,” Coulson said. “It turns out that he was right about that right engine and the plane should have been in for service, not flying.”
“Huh, so that means he left you to help me start walking again?” Tony said. “I don’t like being trapped in bed, I need to be out moving. I want to get better.”
Coulson smiled. “I know you do,” he said. “So why don’t we start with walking around the room and see how you feel after that?”
“Yeah, sounds good. How are we going to do this?”
“I’ll support you from the back and hold onto you so you don’t over-balance,” Coulson said. He helped Tony up out of the bed and settled in behind him. “This okay?”
“Yeah, feels good, actually,” Tony said. He leaned into the hug for a minute. “Can we test and see how strong my upper body is later? Like maybe get me a walker or something so I can get around on my own?”
“We’ll see,” Coulson smiled. “Step with your left foot first. Don’t shuffle, pick your foot up and put it down again. That’s it. Now your right. Slowly, Tony, it’s not a race.”
“Hey, you’re up,” Barton said as he came into the room. “Phil, they got the engine working again, but they need me to go along to listen. Seems that Fury trusts my ears more than he trusts the mechanics and their equipment.”
Tony looked back over his shoulder. “Vision and hearing, Barton?” he asked. “You got any other super skills you’re keeping quiet about?”
“Yeah, but you won’t get to know about them until you’re better,” Barton replied with a wink. “You guys want me to bring anything back for supper?”
“Don’t even start,” Coulson said. “Tony’s getting soup and we’re having pasta. There will be no junk food in this house until everyone is feeling a hundred percent.”
“Spoilsport,” Barton grinned. “I’ll be back in a few hours. You guys have fun.”
“Okay, now that was weird,” Tony said. “Didn’t that seem weird to you, Agent?”
Coulson sighed. “Barton was prowling last night, Tony,” he said. “Step with your left again. He only prowls when he’s upset about something, but he won’t tell me what’s wrong.”
“What happened? He was fine when we went to bed last night. I didn’t kick him or something, did I? I don’t remember a lot of last night.” Tony stepped forward again and paused at the window. He could just see the jet lifting up off the sand, Barton in the pilot seat. “JARVIS will be able to tell us what happened. He records everything, just dumps most of it when the day is over because it’s not needed.”
“Agent Barton asked me to keep a secret for him, Sir,” JARVIS said. “He doesn’t wish to stress you unduly whilst you are recovering.”
“Yeah, well screw that,” Tony said. “I told him I didn’t want to be treated like I was going to break and if I made a mistake then I want to know it. He shouldn’t be hiding things just because I was attacked again.”
“Back towards the bed,” Coulson said. “Take it slowly. This is how Clint is, Tony. He’ll hide everything away and never tell you anything. I’ve learned his tells, but it’s taken me so many years to get through all his layers to who he really is. Natasha managed it too, but I’ve never seen him let anyone so close so fast as he did with you.”
“We have a lot of things in common,” Tony said. “I think that’s the basis for a lot of it. Hell, I’ve got a tower full of people and you and Clint are the only two I really want to have around. Well, other than Bruce. He’s my science brother. Anyway, the point here, JARVIS, is that you are part of the whole treating me normally and you know that I don’t know how to mind my own business. Tell me why Barton is so flighty today when he was fine yesterday.”
JARVIS almost sighed. It was a remarkably human noise for the AI to make, one that never failed to make Tony grin. “Your comment to him last night when he was carrying you to the bathroom, Sir,” JARVIS finally said.
“I called him a romantic, that couldn’t have been all that bad,” Tony said. “Can we try to walk over to the bathroom, Agent?”
“Sit for a minute and rest, then we’ll see,” Coulson said. “Calling Barton romantic wouldn’t be enough to trigger a prowl. He likes doing things for people he considers friends, and he really seems to like carrying you around.”
“I believe it was less that he was being considered romantic and more your comment that you were unsure how he attracted Agent Coulson’s attention, Sir,” JARVIS said.
“Shit,” Tony said. “I did say that, didn’t I? Damn it.”
“That would do it,” Coulson said. “It’s not your fault, Tony. You didn’t know that anything like that is enough to set off one of his triggers. He’s really not comfortable in our relationship and it’s something I probably should have talked about with him before this.”
Tony flopped back onto the bed. “He said you guys have an open relationship, that he’d watched the two of us together.”
“It’s not open, not exactly,” Coulson replied. “There are times when SHIELD agents might have to sleep with a target or an informant in order to gain their trust. Barton never has, his skill set is different, but I’ve had to. I’ll admit there have been a few people that weren’t work related, but that was at the beginning when I still wasn’t sure what he wanted from the relationship. Ever since I worked out how much it bothers him, I’ve stopped. Even the assignments. You’re the first one I asked about, and he’s admitted that he wouldn’t be against trying for more with you, Tony. Not now, not when you’re recovering, but some day. When you feel ready.”
“What it really sounds like is the two of you need to sit down and talk,” Tony said. “Think who this is coming from. I hate talking about feelings. Why do you think I’ve never had a steady partner? Even with Pepper, I’d say things that weren’t appropriate and that’s what led to that fight right before everything fell apart in New York. You missed that fight, you were on the helicarrier. Even JARVIS commented on that fight. It was epic. Almost more epic than Hulk taking Loki out in my living room.”
“He’s the king of deflection,” Coulson said. “Come on, we can try for the bathroom now. I tried to get him to talk to me this morning and he insisted he was fine and didn’t want to cause stress while you were getting better.”
“If I may, Sir, Agent Barton commented to me last night that he is numb most of the time from all the pain he has faced in his past,” JARVIS interjected. “I am unsure if he means he doesn’t feel pain or if it just gets added on to whatever he has felt in the past. I attempted to gain his approval to summon you, Agent Coulson, but he said Mr. Stark needed you more and that he would be fine.”
Coulson sighed. “Yep, that’s Clint. Thanks for routing all of that to me last night, JARVIS,” he said. “He doesn’t know you did that, does he?”
“No, Sir.”
“He’s my AI, of course he’s sneaky and can get around rules,” Tony said. “I mean, come on, I programed him to think outside his casings. Okay, knee trying to give out here. Ow.”
“Maybe some bed exercises are better to start with,” Coulson said. He picked Tony up and carried him back to the bed. “I’ll see what I can come up with from all the times Barton’s been on bed rest for more than two weeks. I’m sure I still have a few of the files from medical.”
“That sounds good, yeah, maybe walking was a bit more than I can handle right now,” Tony said. “I’ve never been out for that long before. How much muscle have I lost?”
“Not as much as you would think,” Coulson replied. “It just seems like it because you’re having to get strength back in limbs that haven’t been working for a while. Normally we would have had you up and walking the whole time you were healing, but with you being catatonic, there was too much risk involved.”
“So, what’s happening at the Tower?” Tony asked. “I mean, I’m sure Fury’s got something going on back there, otherwise we’d probably have a lot more people around than we do right now.”
“Are you sure you want to hear about this, Tony?”
“I managed on my own last time, with just JARVIS to help out. I’m kinda playing it by ear here, Agent,” Tony said. “I don’t know what’s going to hurt or be a problem until it is because I’m not sure about my triggers.”
“That worries me more than it probably should, but if you want to hear, well, you proved on the jet that you aren’t going to break apart if we tell you something unpleasant,” Coulson said. “Thor’s back and he told Fury he could help. They’re going to do something with magic to Rogers, something that will either erase everything or bury it down deeply enough that we won’t have to worry about him trying to attack you again.”
Tony blinked a couple of times. “Right. Super soldier. Project for the good of the planet, we can’t just kill him off or lock him away forever,” he said. “Too many people would ask questions.”
“Especially as we’re not releasing the details of what happened in your lab,” Coulson said. “I’m fairly sure the rest of your team knows, but Fury won’t have told anyone at SHIELD or on the council about this. It’s not our place to tell anyone, Tony. Talking about the attack and rape is for you to choose the time and place, and people. If you want it kept secret for the rest of your life, then it’ll be kept secret. We have to figure out a way to keep Rogers on the team, with the team, and make everything seem normal when you guys are out fighting. We can move him back to the SHIELD apartments he had before if you want, but Thor seems to believe that he can clear the whole incident from Rogers’ mind.”
“Has anyone worked out why he did this?” Tony asked. “I know it wasn’t me. I did everything I could to get him away from me, not try and bring him closer in. I didn’t lead him on or tease him. At least I don’t think I did. JARVIS?”
“Your interactions with Steve Rogers were always blunt and to the point, Sir,” JARVIS said. “At no time did you give one of the numerous social indicators that would have shown you were interested in pursuing a sexual relationship with him.”
“Rogers told us why,” Coulson said. “I didn’t want to believe it, but Fury found notes backing the story up. Before you ask, Tony, no; I’m not telling you today. Give it a week or so. Rogers is going to have medical tests done once we’re sure he’s not going to talk to the wrong people and then we can talk about it more. You need to nap and I’ll see about finding some exercises for you to do in bed. When Clint’s back the two of you can swap stories and I’ll cook dinner.”**Barton tried to sneak in, he really did, but JARVIS spoiled it. “Welcome back, Agent Barton.”
“Damn it, JARVIS, what if Tony is asleep?” Barton asked.
“For the record, I’m not and I wasn’t,” Tony called from the living room. “I already had my morning nap, Barton, so get in here and entertain me. I can’t find anything fun on the TV and Agent won’t let me work.”
“Hey, you’re out of bed,” Barton said. He flopped down in a chair near the sofa. “How’d walking go?”
“Lousy and I don’t want to do it again. I’m just going to be delicate the rest of my life. You guys can carry me everywhere I need to go,” Tony said. He twisted around so he could look at Barton. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you got laid while you were out.”
“He must have seen the prototype for the new jet Fury just approved,” Coulson called from the kitchen.
“You get that excited over planes?” Tony asked.
“It’s not just a jet, Stark,” Barton replied with a grin. “This baby is going to be epic and I’m the test pilot for her. Fury said that he needs someone with good sight to take her up on the first flights and I’ve got the best eyes in SHIELD. It does mean I’m going to have to go back to New York sooner than I thought I would. Are you going to be okay with just Phil around?”
“We could go with you,” Coulson said, appearing in the doorway. “When does Fury want you to report for training and specs?”
“End of next week,” Barton said. “They’re still working out a few bugs and the tech manuals won’t be ready before then.”
“What do you think, Tony?” Coulson asked. “Do you think you’d be able to go back to the Tower by then?”
Tony shrugged and pushed up into a sitting position. “We won’t know until we try,” he said. “I’ve got protocols on my penthouse that JARVIS can put into place so no one can get near me unless I want them to. It’d be good to have a safe place to run to if need be.”
“We’ll have to get you up to running then,” Barton said. “Phil, did you take him down to the pool at all?”
Coulson knocked his head against the wall. “I didn’t even think about it.”
“That’s where we need to start,” Barton said. “Working in the pool will be better than working on dry land for the first couple of weeks. Remember when I had surgery on my lower leg and they wouldn’t let me walk unless I was in water? That’s your key, Tony.”
“Why’d you have surgery on your leg?” Tony asked.
“Go ahead and tell him,” Coulson said. “It’s not like that Op isn’t used for teaching ‘What the hell to do in case of double agents 101’ anyway.”
“No,” Tony said. “No, I flat out refuse to believe that SHIELD has a class called that. No, it’s too silly. Wait, what am I saying, it’s probably Fury’s idea isn’t it? What the hell to they teach you in a class like that anyway?”
“Now that is classified,” Barton grinned. “You have to be a level six or higher, or a handler to take the class, but yeah, this one Op I was on went to hell so fast they use it as one of their teaching aids in the class. It was back before Natasha was with us and Phil and I were still feeling each other out.”
“Not like that,” Coulson said before Tony could open his mouth again. “Dinner will be ready in ten minutes, Clint. We’re going to watch a movie while we eat, so keep this brief.”
Barton watched him leave. “I bet he’s already got the movie picked out and ready to go too. Hey JARVIS, any hints?”
“No, Sir.”
“Spoilsport,” Barton said. “I was over in India, Tony, up north trying to get into Russia without anyone knowing where I was except for Fury, Coulson and a couple of informants I had in the city. I made it to my drop point and found an entire group of Russian soldiers waiting for me with some of the nastiest guns I’ve seen around. Turned out one of my informants worked for the Russian government and was pocketing fees from both SHIELD and the Russians. I managed to take out all but three of the men, I had the advantage of a mountain at my back and I can climb better than most, but one of the holdouts got a shot off and hit me in the leg. I fell, broke the same leg, and thought that was it when Coulson showed up. They got me extracted and into surgery, and I spent the next month healing up.”
“He’s neglecting to mention the broken arm, cracked ribs, ruptured spleen and concussion,” Coulson commented blandly from the doorway. “Clint, you want to come help me carry things in here?”
“Sure.” Barton hopped up and headed towards the kitchen.
“It’s good to see you in a better mood, even if I think you need a nap,” Coulson said softly when they were alone.
“I napped on the flight back,” Barton said. “Fury’s got the helicarrier in the Midwest for some training involving tornadoes or something. I wasn’t paying too much attention to what Hill was telling me.”
Coulson sighed. “I’m sure I’ll hear about it when I call in my nightly report,” he said. “Do you think you’ll be able to sleep tonight?”
“Probably, but I won’t know until I try,” Barton said. He put drinks on the tray and looked around for silverware. “Forks?”
“Why would you make Tony eat soup with a fork?” Coulson asked, handing over two and a spoon.
“China,” Barton pointed out, referring to an Op they’d been on where things like forks and spoons weren’t exactly a luxury they’d been able to have with them at the time.
“Tony Stark’s living room is about as far from China as you can get,” Coulson pointed out. “Go take those in and come back for his soup. I’ll have everything ready.”
“You’re going to spoil us.”
“That’s not a bad thing in my book,” Coulson said. “Get moving. The movie won’t wait forever.”
“Given that no one will tell me what we’re watching, I think maybe it should,” Barton commented on his way back to the living room. |
OVER SIX feet of ‘dead inside’ and muscle with the kind of voluminous and shining auburn tresses acclaimed in advertisements. Vanilla Ice was the Brando housekeeper and possible hitman. He moved too quietly. Spoke too little. And DIDN’T SEEM TO UNDERSTAND ITALIAN. Yelling at Vanilla will get him nowhere. Giorno groans and rests his head on the steering wheel. First time he’d ever had sex was a drunken miracle and tonight was supposed to be a romantic rendition. Mista, to the very end, looked enticing. Dinner and dance and cozying up. And in Vanilla’s presence, he was imposing and focused regardless of who he was up against. Especially because of who he was up against.
Giorno exhales and starts his car. Vanilla’s in his own vehicle and follows his charge closely all the way home. Giorno’s twenty years old and has to be brought home like a kid caught after curfew. But what is any parent’s response to a child demanding to be treated like an adult? Move out. Very well. Giorno has the money. Although a good chunk of that would go to paying a mortgage and he doesn’t have a job. And he’s still in school. Not going to stop him from looking into things.
He marches straight into his father’s office. The burly blonde is still dressed in his suit, minus jacket and tie. He, in all his bulk, could crush him and his stare cuts deep, leaving you open to words that could drive you mad in a minute or resurface in a month. Giorno is not impervious to his father’s intimidations. Not yet.
“Father,” says Giorno. An address, not a greeting.
Dio turns his chair a slight to face his son. “Quartieri Spagnoli. He lives in the slums.”
“I fail to understand what the problem is. How many of your flings come from the slums?”
Dio’s brows raise, “Plenty, so I understand why you think there’s no difference between us. You have a very small social circle so I also understand your experiences with this man is novel. He is the same one that kept you company yesterday, correct? Of course. That’s the problem. You insist we’re different and the one time we are, you attempt to fool me otherwise.”
Dio stands and approaches his son. “You can play with the stray, but remember,” he takes Giorno by the shoulders and turns him toward the door, “I don’t like dogs.”
Giorno's shoulders slack when the door shuts behind him. His father is right. If they were the same, this wouldn’t be an issue. Dio has various lovers but keeps no single one, having learned nothing from the circumstances leading to having a son in the first place. Only God knows how many Sons of Dio are out there. Meanwhile, the Son raised by the Father goes to bed early. His heart set on a pauper.
A succession of buzzes has him awake hours later. Giorno contorts and reaches behind his head for his phone. He squints in preparation for the light and it still stings.
Mista: yo, are we still talking?
Mista: sorry for waking you
Mista: If we’re not talking I understand
Giorno requests to see Mista again. On Wednesday, when he doesn’t have too many classes. If he says yes, Giorno thinks they can go—
Mista: TED
Mista: *YES
Mista: where?
Passione. He was there not long ago. Cozy little spot of fair distance between his and Mista’s homes. But he receives no response. Maybe Mista put away his phone as soon as he read the location. Giorno does the same but only gets a few minutes of rest before he gets a response.
Mista: I work there. Which is fine, but I told my coworkers about you ^^'
Giorno can’t help but be a little more awake. They agree on Passione but now he hopes to make amends as well impress a restaurant’s crew. It was rare for him to feel apprehension about being introduced to strangers. A businessman was a businessman. What mattered was what they controlled. These friends of Mista’s, while they controlled little, did have a bit of sway.
I’m friendly enough, why wouldn’t they like me? That may sound a bit arrogant but this is no time to be humble. What if they find out I don’t have friends of my own. That looks suspicious. In my defense, I keep to myself. But what if they think I’m taking Mista away? How do I answer that?
The first employee he sees inside is tall and slim, handsome, fair and white-haired. Black lipstick marks his frown. A manager, given the button up and hot-pink tie. Those pale blue eyes tell Giorno that he’s already failed but the blonde’s escorted to a table for two without word. Lifting his eye from the menu, Giorno catches glimpse of the waitress, Trish, heading to the back. Four heads soon poke out from the room divider in the back. Pink hair, black hair, platinum blonde, and one wearing a hat (Mista always wears hats, now that he thinks about it). Giorno looks out the window and it’s not long before Mista slips into the opposing seat, smiling and face a bit red.
“Afternoon,” says Giorno. He frowns a slight and speaks with a low voice, “Is something wrong with your host?”
Mista leans with folded arms resting on the table, “At all times. Only person he’s actually cool with is our supervisor.”
A nod. “Ah, nepotism.” Giorno, too, leans forward, clasped hands against his chin, “And my deepest apologies–”
Mista waves, “Its fine.”
“It isn’t. I’m studying finance so I can work under my father and ultimately take over the company. Big plans. So he doesn’t want me…”
“…gallivanting with the rats!” Dio spat.
“…with you. He is wary of your wealth and education.”
Mista shrugs, “Got me there. I didn’t do anything past high school. Does you mom hate me too?”
“I don’t have a mother” he gazes out the window and along the table, “My father said keeping me would’ve been her biggest mistake if she hadn’t made the bigger one of taking him to court.”
“He have too much money to lose?”
“She had previous convictions. Unfit parent and all that,” he says swatting away the conversation, “That is more of a cautionary tale. I don’t worry about such things and I will date you.”
“You sound like this a business deal.”
A nod. “I apologize. This is all new to me.”
“Yeah, no shit, why didn’t you tell me earlier? You nearly–” he huffs a laugh and whispers, “You nearly lost it in my hand when we met.”
Giorno’s eyes widen and his ears go red. He does his best to compose himself and an apology. It’s already water under the bridge, what with Mista’s giggling, but Giorno insists on setting things right once he manages to speak. He snaps out of his embarrassment, blue eyes shooting up at an approaching trio.
“Hello~” chimes Trish, “Hope I’m not interrupting anything—here are your drinks with complementary cake—my name is Trish and these are Narancia and Fugo.”
She speaks quickly and almost without pause, carrying a tray of specialty coffees while the cakes are carried, each, by the other two.
“He’s like a goddamn Disney princess,” Narancia whispers to Fugo. And to Giorno, “Yo, how old–?”
Fugo gives him a hard elbow to the side, causing him to bend. Trish takes the slice of cake he carried and places it before Giorno. Fugo delivers Mista’s slice and takes the lead in returning to the kitchen while Trish and Mista keep Narancia back. Giorno, meanwhile, takes a picture of his slice.
“Instagram?” Mista asks.
“No…” and Giorno lowers his phone, “I like keeping a log so I know where to go next time I crave something specific— which princess was your friend referring to?”
He doesn’t bother being subtle about the shift in conversation, but he’s not about to go sharing his blog.
Mista rests a cheek in his palm, “I don’t know. Ariel? Long hair and a dad who sends the housekeeper to spy. Can you sing?”
“Nope.” And Giorno starts on his slice.
“Then Jasmine. You got the ponytail and actual legs,” Mista grins, “She’s so fine...”
“And falls for a guy in half a shirt and ridiculous pants,” the blonde adds.
Mista’s smile expands. Giorno was pleased his comment was taken so well. More pleased with Mista not noticing him taking his cake.
“Uh… my first name’s Guido – call me Mista – and… my birthday’s in a few weeks.”
“Last name’s Giovanna and my birthday is in April.”
Mista squints, “April…?”
A smile. “Sixteen.”
Mista lets out a nervous sigh, which becomes nervous laughter. Elbow propped on the table, he lowers his head and runs a hand over his hat. He sits up straight, hitting the table as his hand falls.
“Alright, let me tell you about an unlucky number.” |
Charles was sitting to one of the patio tables, legs crossed elegantly as he sipped tea and read the newspaper.
“You look almost civilized,” Raven said, dropping into a chair across from him.
The telepath smiled at her, “Thank you. I do try.”
“I put your gift in one of the containment cells in the basement.”
Charles hummed thoughtfully and sipped from his cup, eyes scanning a particular newspaper note. Tony Stark’s glorious eruption back into society and technological development areas. Fascinating. Charles’ personal phone had five missed calls. Probably four of them were Tony, and one was his brand new SHIELD approved assistant, Pepper Potts. Tony kept insisting adamantly that Charles should come work with him. There had also been some sort of invitation to a sexual relationship in there somewhere, he was sure. Unless Tony really did mean to use him as inspiration to design an artificial intelligence unit with a British accent.
Raven looked at him shrewdly. “I think he’d dying, you know.”
“Right now, or in a general stretch of time?” his cornflower-blue eyes, the same color of her skin, flicked up to her face. “In general terms, we’re all dying.”
“Well, while the rest of us reluctantly crawl, I think he’d diving.”
“Oh,” Charles put down his cup. “Alex told me, yes. It’s the brain damage, you understand. Not even someone with his, hm, physical enhancements, shall we call it, can survive too long with that sort of daily treatment. Eleven years is quite extraordinary.”
“Frost is really crude. I thought you said she was very powerful.”
“She is powerful,” Charles folded the newspaper neatly and dropped it on the table. As he angled his head to face her better, the light caught his right eye, like tinted glass. His lips quirked up in a smile. “Very powerful indeed. But she is—coarse. Unrefined.”
“How come, though? I thought she was as old as you are.”
“Let us say I had special training during my early childhood,” Charles smirked. “Say, is the fine Agent McTaggert around this afternoon?”
“She was looking for you.”
Charles arched his brows, “And you, who knew where I was, failed to tell her because…?”
Raven shrugged.
“Right. Well, I assume she wants to speak to me about our ‘joint efforts concerning Lehnsherr’.”
“She does love that phrase.”
“Joint efforts,” sighed Charles, leaning back slightly to straighten his shirt, even though it still looked perfectly fine, tailored to fit him just right.
“Are you going to kill him?” asked Raven.
Charles leaned his chin on his palm, eyes rolling up to stare at a passing cloud. New Mexico in the winter. Cold but peaceful.
“I haven’t decided yet,” he admitted. “I’ll know when I see him.”
There was a moment of silence.
Raven turned her hands in her lap and studied her palms for a moment, blue as the sky above them.
“He seems like a nice guy. He was genuinely worried about me.”
“Nothing about him is genuine,” murmured Charles, eyes flicking to her, cold as ice. “He’s been manufactured to act as he does. Lenient, peaceful, meek.”
She frowned. “How do you know that for sure, though?”
Charles though of the things he had seen in Erik’s mind, or his broken down memories, his leashed temper. His nightmares. “I know.”
“And are you really going to kill him, then? For what he did to you?”
Charles sat back in his chair, lacing his fingers in his lap. He gave her a long, unreadable look.
“And if I said I will?” he asked quietly. “Would you tell me that I am not cold about this, would you encourage me to step away from the anger, would you give me a heartfelt plea for his life, knowing that there was once love between he and I?”
Raven rolled her eyes, hands curling into fists. “I just don’t want you to do something that you’ll regret.”
“Regret is a human emotion.”
“Yeah, well, you’re not completely heartless.”
Charles blinked slowly, thinking of all the different layers in Raven’s mind. Memories, character, reactions, emotions, gift. How easily they would unravel, with just one well-placed pull. People fell apart so easily once you tugged at the seams. Like sand between his fingers. Pluck out one memory, and watch the whole mind disentangle into madness, as easily as tapestry.
“Perhaps not entirely,” he said thoughtfully.
It would not do to let raven believe he cared for her, but her gift, unlike Alex’s was still useful to him. Alex had done his part, played out his role. But Raven, and Raven’s glorious mutation—that he could still use.
“I suppose I ought to see to that,” he murmured, folding the napkin he had on his lap and dropping it on the table.
He rose and nodded at Raven, walking inside the building as he buttoned up his suit jacket. The agents and soldiers he passed nodded at him, respectful but distant, which was just as Charles liked them. He’d tried trust once. It hadn’t gone very well for him.
He sent out one single pulse of telepathy out as he rode the elevator down to the basements, just out of habit. Agent Clint Barton, stationed on the research facility below to overlook some sort of cosmic cube S.H.I.E.L.D. had unwisely decided to play with, still strongly disliked him. No news there. The man had sense. He was coarse and violent, but not without intelligence. Charles liked him well enough. He’d come in handy, perhaps.
Agent Smith wanted Charles to fuck him again. Also no news there. Charles grimaced. That had been a indulgence he would not soon repeat, but it wasn’t severe enough that he could justify damaging the man’s mind by erasing the whole incident. If he did, the little scar he’d left in the back of his neck would be difficult to explain.
The doors opened and Charles strolled out into the basement corridor. The first thing he was faced with was a frowning agent Moira McTaggert.
“Moira,” he smiled pleasantly. “I hear you’ve been looking for me.”
“Thank you for deciding to stop ignoring me,” she sighed. “We have Lehnsherr in custody, though I’m sure Raven told you already.”
“Indeed.”
Moira crossed her arms as she lead him down the corridor to the containment cells. “I know you probably want to see him immediately, but Charles, maybe you should wait. We took precautions, but his physical state is—precarious. We didn’t dare give him another dose of the suppressant. His mutation might come back at any moment. It would be dangerous for you to go in now.”
“Oh, you mustn’t worry for my safety. I can suppress his gift directly.”
Moira stared at him. “You didn’t tell me you could do that.”
“Did I not? It must have slipped my mind.”
They stopped in front of a closed door, and Charles knew they had arrived at their destination. He could sense Erik’s mind at the other side of the wall, broken and jagged like shards of glass. It made his teeth hurt, the dissonance of memories and character.
“Yes. I’m sure that’s precisely what happened,” said Moira, voice flat. “If you insist on seeing him now, can I ask you what precisely you’re going to do?”
“Why,” Charles gave her a mild look. “I intend to fix his broken mind, just as I have said.”
“Yes, but how?”
Charles showed his teeth. It couldn’t be called a smile.
“By bringing down the barriers in his mind, of course.”
Moira raised a hand to stop him, but Charles ignored her and, wrapping his hand around the doorknob, he pulled the door open. As he crossed the doorway, Baskerville materialized at his side, flames licking up his wolf-life frame.
Charles let the door closed behind him, standing still just inside the room. As it closed, displaced air brushed down the back of his neck.
Erik lay on the floor, afforded apparently not the smallest courtesies. Alex’s preference, most likely. He was on his side, hands cuffed behind his back. Charles’ brilliant eidetic memory threw a memory of the man the last time he had seen him, to compare with what was behind him now.
Well. Erik certainly had deteriorated. He had to have lost several pounds, and since he had nothing to spare even then when we were together, that had most likely been muscle weight. He looked miserably thin and wretchedly pale. His hair was shorter than ever. Charles stared at him for a long time.
Baskerville moved closer, sniffing the air. Ah, blood. There was none on Erik’s face, but someone might have done him the courtesy of cleaning his upper lip. Before dumping him on the floor in a cold cell. Small favors.
The hound growled slightly and sent out a pulse of telepathy that jarred Erik’s mind awake. Charles gripped the back of the chair by the wall and moved it in front of the metallokinetic. Just as he did, he reached out with his mind to interrupt the link between mutation and conscious mind—only to find it, to his surprise, frayed almost entirely to nothing. What had once been a healthy, shining link was now nothing more than a decaying thread. That gave Charles pause as he set the chair down. A pang of—what was that?
Pity, probably. Erik had had a glorious gift. Charles wondered if he would recover it, once his mind healed. If it healed.
Erik’s eyes blinked open. He was, as always, immediately lucid.
“This,” Charles said, sitting down on the one chair and crossing his legs. “is pleasantly symmetric, don’t you agree?”
Erik didn’t answer.
“I’m just saying,” Charles continued. “Tit for tat, old friend.”
It took a long moment for Erik to answer. He wouldn’t look up to Charles, choosing instead to continue staring at the floor, as if the sight of the telepath might prove somewhat difficult. Which was fitting, Charles supposed, considering how they had last parted. If, indeed, parted could be the term applied to it.
“Are you going to kill me?” Erik asked at last. He sounded tired, voice rough.
Erik closed his eyes, pressed his face to the cold cement of the floor.
“Then why not do it already? One bullet, clean death—I gave you that much, Charles. You owe me.”
Baskerville’s growl nearly drowned any other sound in Charles’ head. He had to cut a harsh glare to the hound, and have him simmer down. The creature, rage and hate caught aflame, walked slowly behind Charles’ chair and sank down to the floor, head on his crossed front paws.
“Oh, yes,” Charles said softly, silkily. “One bullet—I remember. Three years of my life, gone. Yes—I owe you so much.”
Erik gritted his teeth, struggling to sit up, an impossibility given the way he was tied up. Charles felt his mind struggle to find his gift, and fail. Surely Erik knew by now that he could not access it freely anymore. To seek it out now was pointless. Still, Charles supposed old habits died hard, and hope—the most pointless habit of all—died last. Erik struggled for a moment, mind nearly unhinging, and finally surrendered.
“I never took away your powers,” he said tiredly.
Charles blinked. He hadn’t taken away Erik’s gift. Certainly he would have, if he had still had it, to ensure his own safety, but that had not been the case. Erik seems—confused. Unfocused. Charles wondered just how fractured his mind was, and did not bother to check.
“I hope you’re not complaining that I’m not treating you justly,” he said, arching a brow. “Because after you shot me in the back of the head, I might just find you slightly hypocritical.”
A long pause.
“I made you into this,” Erik said quietly.
Well. Technically Brian Xavier had made him into this, but. Erik had had a rather key role in making him this angry, this thirsty of violent revenge, so it was not entirely misplaced for him to take on some of the guilt.
“Yes,” Charles nodded thoughtfully.
“There was a time, not so long ago, where you might have found it within yourself to forgive me,” Erik sighed, going limp against his bonds on the floor. He sounded exhausted, as if drained of all energy, and no wonder. He was, after all, dying.
Charles saw Erik’s grey eyes move slowly over him, as if noticing the differences between the man he remembered and the man he now had before him. Charles knew them well enough. Three years in a coma and two years of demanding physical therapy had left him little more than muscle and sinew. He’d never been this thin. It didn’t suit him, he knew; it made his face too sharp and brought out his eyes too much. Made him—remarkable. Charles didn’t like being remarkable.
But what he’d lost, more than weight, more than time or, for a desperately long time, the use of his legs, had been what little mercy and willingness—ability even, perhaps—to forgive he had once had.
He caught it, then—a fleeting image of Erik’s mind, of Charles beneath him in the bead, a smile like a knife and eyes iridescent blue.
“That Charles Xavier is dead,” he said pensively, thinking of that image. “You put a bullet through him, remember?”
Erik closed his eyes.
I’m sorry, old friend, Charles whispered into his mind, caress-soft. But this was a long time coming.Baskerville’s great head lifted as Charles got to his feet. He leaned down and, crouching, he wrapped his hands around Erik’s shoulders and helped him sit up, long legs stretched out in front of him. The metallokinetic went willingly, apparently somewhat grateful that he’d be dying sitting up rather than lying on his side like a vegetable.
“Telepathy, then?” he asked and, unexpectedly dropped his head forward to Charles’ shoulder. The telepath froze. He felt Baskerville waver in and out of existence, unsure. But soon enough he settled, solid, fire black like onyx.
Charles shifted, settling with his knees at either side of Erik’s legs. He brought his hands up to Erik’s neck and pushed him back against the wall, letting his head roll back. Erik stared at him from beneath his heavy0lided grey-blue eyes, and for a moment—thin and broken and pale as death—he looked beautiful.
“Of course,” Charles murmured. He slid his hands up to cup the back of Erik’s head, thumbs against the cold skin before his ears.
Erik inhaled deeply. “Will it hurt?”
But Charles was already half-gone, mind spreading open to wrap like the leather wings of a dragon around Erik’s. To contain, first. And then—raze.
Distracted, careless, he answered only “Yes.” Before he plunged into the man’s mind, slicing through the first layer of shielding, the natural one, the construction of character and temper Erik himself had built. This was familiar enough for both of them. Erik’s breath caught, eyes flying open. Charles pushed aside individual natural defenses and reached down deeper, through wraps of psyche and—there. Implanted memories. Ah.
Baskerville dissolved. Charles felt the surge of his own gift as it returned to him, turning away from the illusion of materialization and into raw power, like a great wave of water overlapping a smaller one. He took the power, turned it and honed it into a blade, and emptied it entirely into Baskerville, inside his own mind. A weapon as powerful as it was volatile, Baskerville knew the construction of the human mind better than Charles’ conscious mind would ever manage.
The telepath inhaled, just as Erik gasped.
Go.
Erik flinched. For a moment, he was still. At last, he started shaking violently, almost coming apart beneath Charles. Blood began running, first a trickle, then a stream, from his nose. Charles ignored it. All physical damage made to his brain would repair itself, given enough time.
Probably.
The man had lived almost one hundred years, after all, and eleven those after constantly inflicted brain damage.
Baskerville burned up the outer shells, turned the frost upon the metal walls to steam, fading fast, and then slammed up against the walls themselves. From fire he turned to beast, and moved along the walls, dragging claws down the metal, shredding like scalpels through tin foil. At last, shedding his playfulness, he sank his claws in, and tore.
Erik convulsed. Charles kept his head steady against the wall, hoping to avoid concussions.
A moment of struggle, as Erik desperately tried to safeguard his mind from the assault. Baskerville paused momentarily, delightedly observing the effort. While weak, certainly it was remarkable.
Charles sighed. Stop playing.
Erik’s mind seemed to shift at the sound of his voice, recognizing it. It seemed, for a moment, as though it strained towards the sound; seeking perhaps, salvation.
Charles let go, pulling back. Baskerville snapped free.
The telepath sat back on his heels, sighing, blinking slowly at the dual vision. Erik’s past, unraveling at some dark corner of his own mind, veiled by Baskerville’s rampant rage and urge for destruction, as the walls tore and crumbled to dust and let loose all that had been trapped. Erik stopped moving, all but his eyes, which moved quickly, as if in a deep, vivid dream.
Baskerville lingered, licking at the images like flames, and only when every semblance of a wall foreign to Erik’s own mind had dissolved did he pull back. The dual images disappeared. Charles found himself kneeling over a very still Erik, eyes rolling blindly.
Blood had stained his upper lip and chin, rolled down his neck to his collarbone, where it had pooled.
Feeling dazed himself, Charles reached out and swiped a fingertip over the blood. He flicked his eyes up to Erik’s face, preternaturally white beneath the blood painted on his face. Beneath the white light his eyes were grayer than ever, long lashes trembling as his eyes moved around quickly, wide open.
Charles rocked forward dizzily and stroked his finger over Erik’s chin, smearing the blood down to the side. He turned his own hand around, glancing at his red-painted fingertips. He blinked at them, followed the one drop rolling down his own palm to his wrist.
What was this? He knew tearing down those flimsy walls could not have taken such a blow to the considerable amount of power he could bring to bear, so surely this dizziness wasn’t a repercussion of his actions. Still, he felt—disturbed. Off-balance.
Erik made a sound, too breathy to be a whimper.
Oh. Shock. That’s what this was.
Charles was in shock. But why? Surely the one that had sustained the worst damage from this was Erik. Charles hadn’t even exhausted himself. Baskerville still shone bright in his mind, perfectly fit. And he was, even now, keeping back all the agents, making it impossible for them to interrupt Charles.
He got to his feet, and found to his surprise that his legs felt shaky. Unstable. Again, he found himself staring at his blood stained hand. With a grimace, he reached into his pocket and took out his handkerchief, wiping his hand with it. Glancing one last time at Erik, sitting insensate where he had left him, he paused.
“Well,” he breathed. “I should think that makes us even.”
And with that, she shook off the odd mood and walked to the door. Standing right in front of it he found Moira McTaggert, standing pale-faced and horrified. She brushed by him as he stepped outside. Charles paused in the corridor, expecting she’d want a word with him, and finished wiping his hand fastidiously until he made sure not a trace of blood was left. Luckily the drop had not reached his shirt cuff.
McTaggert stormed outside, flushed violently with anger.
“What have you done?” she demanded in a hiss.
She was horrified. How quaint.
Charles blinked at her. “Why, I did precisely as I said I would. I brought down the walls in his mind.”
“You said you would—fix him!”
“And I did. Those walls didn’t belong there.”
“He’s bleeding out!”
“Oh, do settle down,” Charles waved a hand at her. “It’s just a nosebleed. He has those about three times a day, it’s nothing new to him.”
McTaggert made a visible effort to conquer calm, pressing his palms together and pushing her fingertips against her lips. What a peculiar habit. Charles watched, fascinated. Oh, she was even thinking to ten inside her mind. She really was quite lovely.
“You—you—what you did to him was monstrous. I know you could have helped him without—without—”
“Breaking his mind open like a shell?” offered Charles, in the guise of being helpful. McTaggert paled.
Charles turned to face her fully, sliding his hands inside his trouser pockets. “I’m curious, Moira, what exactly did you expect would happen? Did you think I would walk into that room, be assaulted by romantic feelings of regret and loss, and automatically forgive the fact he shot in the head?”
“Under duress!” cried out Moira. “Manipulated by a telepath! You knew that!”
“He shot me,” said Charles, silky. “Unforgivable.”
Moira shook her head, speechless for a long moment. “You were planning to do this all along, weren’t you?”
Charles watched her for a moment, contemplative.
“I was always going to destroy him, yes,” he murmured at last, tilting his head. “Moira, do you remember the first thing you asked me when I woke up from that coma? Do you remember what I answered?”
Moira looked as though she had slapped her across the face. “I thought… I thought that was just the anger speaking.”
“Oh, yes, certainly,” Charles nodded pleasantly. Out of the corner of his eye, Baskerville sniffed at the men rushing into the containment cell with medical equipment. “The anger speaks loudest—and harshest, of course.”
He paused, and then gave her the full impact of his direct gaze, nearly colorless in this light, he knew. As he expected, McTaggert did not flinch under his gaze. Few could boast of enough courage to face him directly, let alone after he had obviously tortured a former lover. McTaggert was made of some sort of peculiar, admirable material.
She pulled herself together, from the depths of her horror and shock, and raised her chin.
“So now what happens to him?”
“Now,” Charles took a moment to consider it. Moira stared at him, speechless. “Well, now, he remembers everything he ever lived through,” he grinned. Then he winced. “Or, he dies of an embolism. Either one. I guess we’ll know come morning. Tea?”
If the look Moira was giving him was any indication, tea was a bad idea. Charles shrugged and turned away. He made it to is room without any further interruptions, even though he could tell Raven was dying to meet him and ask how things had gone.
When he got to his room, he was shaking.
Madness. Utter madness. He did not love Erik Lehnsherr. He loved no one. Erik Lehnsherr had been a stupid, naïve mistake, an indulgence, certainly a lot more than he could afford. He’d wound up shot to the head for it, lying dead to the world in a coma for three years, trapped in a wheelchair for another year and a half, and only now was he again master of his own body—and he would be the master of himself. Erik Lehnsherr was nothing.
Charles lifted his hands and stared at his palms. If he thought about it he could still see the path of Erik’s blood on his skin, as if it were branded into it like a tattoo that would never fade.
He tilted his head, rolled his eyes to the side to the wide, clear window that overlooked the compound.
He could feel it under his fingertips like the frail trembling of a newborn pup faced with the cold wind of the world outside its mother. Erik’s mind, tearing itself apart. He’d blocked it from his own, kept it back, but still there it was, like an old movie reel waiting to be dusted and watched. His mind remembered it. He could feel it at the back of his throat, he taste of blood-copper and ash, and the sickly sweet smell of burning flesh, and screams of people dying that he had never heard.
Alles is gut.
“No,” he said, and gritted his teeth, clenched his fists. The walls he slammed down on those memories, foreign and dark and sharp like the claws of a dragon, were impenetrable. Whatever of Erik’s mind had impregnated his own subsided.
“Rot,” Charles muttered, shrugging off his suit jacket. He remembered the flash of pain before dark, the bullet that should have ended it. All of it Erik’s fault. “Rot, and I’ll be glad for it.”
And that, most definitely, would be that.
Even if whatever Charles had left bleeding on the floor of that containment cell survived—unlikely—it would obviously not be Erik Lehnsherr. Max Eisenhardt, perhaps? Whatever was left of him. No matter. Charles’ lover was most assuredly dead.
“And all the better for it,” he murmured, sinking to the edge of the bed and indulging, for a moment, in dropping his head to his hands. He felt scraped raw to the bone, nothing left, nothing left. Despair.
All the better for it, if he was dead and gone. Let him have that peace, if only Charles wasn’t so bloody fucking desperate to live, he would have ended himself and let the world be rid of the plague he was, long ago. But he did want to live He wanted t live with the burning intensity of a hundred thousand stars, and nothing, nothing that ever happened to him—not his father’s torture, not his mother’s suicide, not his twisted stepfather and the violence if his stepbrother, not Erik’s puppet-like betrayal—none of that had even robbed him of that will.
Charles Xavier wanted to live, and let the world burn around him that tried to say otherwise. He would raze it to the ground and salt its remains, and live forever over its ashes listening to its wails—and he would live.
He sighed, shoulder slumping. He hoped Erik’s carcass did die. Maybe he should have ensured it. Built the aneurysm, created the clog. Maybe he should have ended it.
Then again, perhaps it would end itself.
Charles shrugged, got up and finished undressing, and then he got into bed and he slept, dreamless and restful. He woke up feeling much better.
Kurt was back for breakfast.
“I went to the Great Wall of China,” he said excitedly.
“Oh?” Charles smiled, putting aside his book. “Do tell.”
The teleporter went on about it in detail, about how lovely and ancient and imposing it was, and how he would love to take Charles with him whenever Charles felt like it. He was such an earnest, soft child. Endearing, even.
Moira dropped by the table briefly, pale-faced, eyes hard.
“Lehnsherr is in a coma,” she said flatly. “I hope that pleases you.”
“I do appreciate the symmetry,” admitted Charles.
“If he dies, all of this will have been for nothing!”
“Not for nothing, dear,” replied Charles, sipping his tea. “I’ll have had my revenge, which to me, you understand, is quite valuable; and you, Moira, will be rid of one more murdering psychopath. Why, is that not in your mission statement somewhere? Is it?” he asked Kurt, turning to him.
“I did not read it,” blinked the blue mutant.
“I don’t think anybody ever does read those sort of things,” said Charles, thoughtful. “You might consider stop printing them, Moira—oh, she left. Pity.”
The day continued in its usual fashion, or what passed as usual fashion in the New Mexico S.H.I.E.L.D. compound which was, unsurprisingly, not standard military operations.
Two nights later, Charles’ telepathic spider-web flared to life and woke him seconds before Moira was knocking insistently on his door. Charles got up, made himself presentable, and open the door to a face-full of infuriated agent.
“I don’t think staying up late is good for your skin complexion, darling. You look somewhat the worse for wear.”
Moira’s jaw worked. “Lehnsherr is awake.”
“Oh, how nice. Thank you for letting me know.”
“He’s wrecking the facility, asking to see you immediately. I tried to tell him you don’t want him near, but he doesn’t listen. He says he’ll kill every single human in this place unless I let him see you.”
Charles allowed himself a sigh. He went back into his room to put on his shoes and grab a jacket to put over his shirt. Moira followed him in, tense and angry.
“Why did you do this to him?”
“I wanted to,” answered Charles, unapologetic and straightforward. “I wanted to hurt him, and I could, so I did. I never promised you I wouldn’t.”
“I expected more from you.”
“Moira,” Charles straightened, giving her a cold, hard look. “Trust me when I say, regardless of your expectations, you will always get more from me, rather than less. Now take me to Erik so I can put an end to this and go back to bed.”
Whatever had taken possession of Erik Lehnsherr—Charles didn’t think he would correctly call this creature Erik, but he didn’t think he could take the liberty to call it Max, either—had taken control of the entire first sub-basement main control room, which was vast. It had turned into some sort of metallic tornado, with all sort of things flying around the central axis which, presumably, was Erik himself. Charles was quite certain there was a sword there somewhere.
He rolled his eyes and snapped his telepathy forward, forcing the mind at the center of the metallic storm to bow to his own will.
The objects dropped unceremoniously to the ground.
In the center of the ring of wreckage, Erik stood, bone-thin and grim. The harsh white light gave his face a very sharp, hard quality, and his eyes were as grey as the cement of the walls. Something shone in their depths, though, something—unsettling.
“Charles,” he greeted neutrally.
“Mr. Lehnsherr,” Charles smiled. “I hear you’ve been requesting my presence. Now that you demands have been satisfied, perhaps you could dispense with this tantrum, and let us all go back t our beds like civilized people.”
“I throw tantrums?” asked not-Erik, seemingly amused, through his eyes seemed to glitter with hate. “Did you not, just days ago, try to break my mind into shards?”
“I’m so gratified to see it didn’t work,” Charles smiled again.
“Yes,” said not-Erik, flatly. “I am sure ‘gratified’ is the first word that comes to your twisted, deformed mind.”
“Now,” Charles lifted a single, slim finger. “No need to be unpleasant.”
Not-Erik seemed momentarily overcome by the urge to tear Charles from limb to limb—but then, unexpectedly, his face split into a grin. Charles felt a shiver run down his spine. There were mad, burning anger there—and as mad and burning as it was, it was tightly, perfectly controlled.
“To borrow a word from you, perhaps you will dispense,” he said sweetly. “With the humans.”
“I doubt that’ll be necessary,” answered the telepath. “You wanted to see me; you have seen me. I say we call it a night.”
Charles turned around to leave, and one of the decimated metal desks plunged into the cement right in front of him, erupting in metal spikes sharp enough to easily impale a man.
“Get rid of the humans.”
Charles did not like to be given orders, and he did not like people who felt entitled to give them to him.
He turned around and gave Erik a long, cold look.
“I believe we are done here, Mr. Lehnsherr.”
“I believe,” countered Erik, walking casually closer, and the wreckage opened in front of him like the parting of the red sea to let him pass unobstructed. He moved differently, Charles realized; there was a new kind of energy to him, less economic, more fluid. Charles was struck by how graceful he was. “That after shredding my mind to bits just two days ago, you don’t get to say when we’re done at anything.”
He stopped a few feet from Charles, letting his hands rest on his hops, he wore only a thin t-shirt and sweatpants, and he was barefoot, but he looked about as vulnerable as a furious lion.
Moira stepped forward. “Mr. Lehnsherr—“
“Quiet,” murmured Erik, without even glancing at her. “Charles, we are having this conversation tonight. We can have it here, after or before I slaughter every single pathetic human in this facility—or we can have it privately.”
Charles weighed his options. He could push against this new creature, or he could fold with grace and spare himself the bloodbath. He could tell this new and debatably improved Erik Lehnsherr wouldn’t think twice about the slaughter, and Charles had never liked the smell of blood, it turned his stomach.
He spread his hands. “Let’s adjourn to my room, for whatever you may possibly have to say to me appears to be rather private for you.”
Erik nodded his head as if conceding to the point. His entire mannerisms and attitudes had changed dramatically.
“Charles,” Moira laid her hand lightly on the telepath’s arm. “I don’t think this is a good idea. He assaulted five agents; he’s dangerous and—“
“I don’t need to be dangerous to assault five of your sorry agents,” interrupted Erik, suddenly looming right at Charles’ side, eyes wide and smile sharp. “They are pitiable. Remove your hand, or I remove it from your arm.”
There was a moment of stunned silence. Moira withdrew her hand, hesitant. The moment she had moved away, Erik grabbed Charles’ arm and started walking, nearly dragging him along. Charles, all too aware of their height and strength differences and how undignified he would look if he struggled, discreetly tugged his arm away. Erik’s fingers were like iron, and at any attempt to dislodge them, they tightened painfully.
At the third attempt, he pulled Charles in close and the expression he had, inches away from Charles face, could not even affectionately be called a smile. There were, however, teeth involved.
“Show me to your room.”
Charles gritted his teeth. “If you would kindly let go of my arm,” he hissed.
Erik’s fingers tightened. Charles bit back a gasp of pain. He blocked out the entire nerve instead, grim, and started leading Erik down the corridor to the elevator. Once in the small space of the lift, Erik finally did release him—clearly because he felt like it and not because it was giving Charles any sort of discomfort. The message was clear.
Charles could, of course, lobotomize him. But he didn’t. That, itself, was probably telling enough. Charles knew he should be on his guard, but he was intrigued, curious about this new Erik. He wanted to see how he handled himself. And the man was right; they needed to talk, and they would, and they might as well do so now.
“I have to say considering the attitude I remember,” Erik said conversationally as they stepped out into the fourth floor, where Charles’ room was located. “I would expect you to demand better accommodations.”
“This is just temporary, you understand,” replied Charles. “I have no intentions of staying with S.H.I.E.L.D. forever.”
“Of course.”
Charles stepped inside his room first, and what a stupid mistake to put his back to Erik. He was still suffering from the illusion that the old Erik—the Erik that had been a sweet, doting lover—would not hurt him, but this one clearly had no such compunctions.
Charles hit the wall face-first, and gasped when his arm was twisted harshly behind his back.
“This is how this is going to go,” Erik murmured calmly in his ear. “If you call in a single person to interrupt up, I tear them apart. If you try to leave this room before I’m done talking, I break one of your fingers. The second attempt, I break a bigger bone. And so on. Are we clear, Charles?”
Charles gritted his teeth against the sudden, tear-jerking pain.
“Yes.”
Baskerville materialized at their side, hackles rising in a long, thundering growl, and Erik turned his head sharply towards the hound.
“Sit. ”
Baskerville froze, flame flickering. Charles felt fear crawling up his spine as the hounds’ ear swiveled back, uncertain. Erik leaned down towards the creature.
“Away.”
The hound whined, ears flattening down and, in one shocking urge of telepathy that left Charles reeling with backlash—dissolved.
Just like that, Erik was gone, across the room. He paused momentarily, and then started pacing; slowly, looking at things, if only in passing, uninterested glances. It was clear where his attention was pinned. Charles saw the door close and heard the tumblers fall in place—and then steam came out of the keyhole.
“Did you just melt the door mechanism?”
“You don’t need to be out of this room,” answered Erik distractedly.
His eyes, previously wondering the windowsill, pinned Charles to the wall he was leaning back against.
“You told Summers I betrayed you.”
Right down to business, then. Charles straightened away from the wall, because he believed in taking fights, even verbal ones, standing firm on his own two feet.
“You did betray me.”
“Frost twisted up my mind that night and you know it.”
“You put a bullet in me and gave me up for dead.”
“Frost made me believe you were working for this bullshit spy agency all along and passing them information to have us all killed.”
“And you believed her, of course.”
“You say it as if I had any sort of choice,” snapped Erik. “When you know perfectly well that I did not.”
“You could have talked to me,” said Charles. “I don’t know what kind of person you are, but the Erik I took to bed certainly would have stopped five minutes to talk about something before shooting someone.”
“If you liked that Erik so much, then maybe you should have abstained from shredding him.”
Charles laughed. “It doesn’t matter what I did to your mind. I saved your life. If I hadn’t pulled down those walls, you’d be bleeding out through your nose and imitating a vegetable.”
Erik was suddenly on him again, shoving him against the wall, pressing his shoulders to it. His eyes were narrowed.
“How did you survive?”
The abrupt change of direction threw Charles off.
“What is that inside your skull? Is that a titanium plate?”
“You’ll notice it’s right where you shot me,” sneered Charles. “Not a coincidence.”
“I shot you, your destroyed my mind, we both lived,” Erik shrugged. “Let’s call it even.”
Charles was struck momentarily speechless.
“That’s not really what I’ve been thinking about,” continued Erik, leaning closer. “You told me, right before you left that evening, you told me—that you loved me. I don’t doubt that it was true, so don’t bother denying it now, you’ll just embarrass yourself. I know how you’re not fond of making the fool.”
“Ah, well, a lot of things change after a bullet, and three years in a coma.”
“Right, of course.”
“And there is, I hate to point out the little detail, of—“
Erik’s hand cut off his voice, wrapping around his throat tight enough to interrupt him without, yet, choking him.
“You still love me.”
Charles laughed breathlessly. “I’d kill you as soon as look at you.”
“You wouldn’t,” said Erik easily. “Or you would have.”
That sat heavy between them, like the anchor of a great vessel sinking into the ocean. Charles felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
“You don’t hate me,” murmured Erik, almost tenderly, tightening his fingers around Charles’ throat. “You’re not even angry at me. You know Frost outsmarted you, and you hate she used me to do it, but that’s not why you destroyed that little docile Erik you loved so much.”
He leaned in closer, eyes silver in the moonlight. “You should have killed me that night before I put a bullet in your skull. But you didn’t. Because you love me. And it burns you inside, doesn’t it? That you chose me over yourself. That you let me kill you.”
“But you’re not that Erik,” whispered Charles, feeling cold crawl up his spine, and in its tail end, in its wake, came something else. Hot and thrilling.
“No,” Erik smiled, a smile full of violence and poison. “That Erik is dead. Well done. I hope you’re proud.”
He moved away, slowly, slowly, prowling like a feline; anger and power coiled beneath the skin. When he reached the windowsill, he leaned down to look at the small ceramic dog.
“What’s this?”
Charles glanced over, massaging the tingling skin of his neck. He’d be wearing a necklace of bruises come morning. He wasn’t sure he minded.
“Jean gave it to me.”
Erik reached out a finger, tipped the dog over so it smashed into a thousand glittering pieces on the floor.
“I liked that,” said Charles mildly.
Erik kicked the largest fragment beneath the bed. Then, a moment of absolute stillness, and suddenly his face whipped around to glare at Charles over his right shoulder.
“More than my scar?”
“No, Erik,” Charles rolled his eyes. “I’m sure no one will ever give me a scar and a titanium skull plate as handsome as yours.”
Erik made a contemplative noise and crouched down to pick up the little dog’s head. He studied it between his fingers for a moment, and then threw it away against the wall. He stood again, languid and graceful, and smiled at Charles.
He stalked closer again, until he was looming over Charles, settling his hands on the wall at either side of his head. He leaned in, close enough their lips almost brushed. Charles felt the heat coiling slow at the bottom of his stomach begin to grow, like the fanned flames of a fire. Erik’s right hand slid from the wall to Charles’ throat, palm warm and dry against his Adam’s apple.
“You called me a lamb, once,” he murmured.
“You were a lamb, then,” whispered Charles, hands coming up to Erik’s flanks. Almost immediately his left shot to the wall—trapped there by his watch. Erik’s other hand caught Charles’ left, and pinned it to the wall.
“Who’s the lamb now?” Erik smiled, sharp and poisonous.
Charles sneered, lashed forward and severed the link between Erik’s mind and his gift. His right hand fell free from the wall. He went to push Erik off, but the metallokinetic’s right hand tightened dangerously on his throat, close to interrupting his breath. Charles would be speaking in broken threads of voice the next day.
Erik’s eyes were bright this close. “Give it back.”
“Don’t use it against me.”
The man chuckled, mocking. “Very well. A compromise. I don’t use my gift against you, and you don’t use yours against me. Acceptable?”
“Tolerable,” sighed Charles, withdrawing the block so Erik’s gift shone bright, again. It truly was a breathtaking thing, blushing gold and supple across the man’s mind, illuminating every corner. Things the Erik Charles knew had never even though about were thrown in sharp relief under this new light. It was—stunning.
“But as I last remember it,” Erik continued, shifting his hand to drag a thumb down the line of Charles’ jaw, leaning his face close enough that his nose brushed against Charles’ cheek. “You liked me using my gift around you.”
“Just not against me, you dull oaf.”
Erik surged forward, mouth descending onto Charles’ painfully as he pulled him forward and up with the hand on his neck. Charles’ right hand fisted on Erik’s t-shirt, and for a moment stayed there, undecided. Then he was pulling him closer, arching into him. Erik stepped in and crushed him against the wall, kissing him almost savagely, much more teeth than tongue. It was violent and rough, and Charles, who despised being marked in visible places, knew he should stop the brute, but—but.
Erik’s hands released him and sneaked beneath the jacket, pushing it off his shoulders. Charles racked up Erik’s t-shirt and felt the skin on Erik’s flanks, stretched taut over hard muscles. Sliding them up, he found his ribs, pronounced, close under the skin.
Erik pulled back to pull his t-shirt off and throw it away, and then swooped back in to start unbuttoning Charles’ shirt.
“It’s the middle of the bloody night,” he growled, shoving Charles’ hips back against the wall. “Why are you wearing a button-up?”
“I have standards, and they’re a little higher than a shirt and sweatpants.”
Erik smiled sweetly—and ripped the shirt down, sending buttons flying everywhere. Charles slapped him across the face. Erik’s grin was ferocious. He bent down to kiss Charles full on the mouth, and when the telepath bit him, drawing blood, he chuckled indulgently.
“Alright,” he said silkily. He gripped Charles’ arm and shoved him harshly towards the table. Charles braced himself against it, panting. Even attempting to deny this wasn’t setting his blood on fir would have been foolish; he already ached and Erik hadn’t even touched him.
Charles was an omega telepath. He had no limits; nothing could stop.
Physically, of course, matters were different, and that disparity, and the fact Erik could use it so easily, was exhilarating.
Erik wrapped a hand around the back of his neck and pushed him down so he leaned on his elbows, pressed tight chest to back. His other hand encircled Charles’ right wrist, squeezing. Charles’ belt buckle was undoing itself. The light of Erik’s gift raced across his mind like veins of gold, hot and bright. Charles gasped. He was dizzy with it, with how beautiful Erik’s mutation was.
Momentarily dazed, he barely noticed what Erik was doing until he’d pulled back and dragged his pants and underwear down his legs.
“Finish this,” he growled, pushing away to take off his sweatpants. Charles’ arms were slightly unsteady as he straightened, but he didn’t hesitate in taking off his shoes and socks and stepping out of his pants.
Almost at once Erik was on him again, pushing him against the window so the heated skin of his back collided with the cold glass. Charles inhaled sharply and almost choked on the breath when Erik gripped his erection, pumping it mercilessly, too fast and too tight. Charles arched against him, almost, almost, trying to escape. Erik growled and bit his bottom lip savagely, splitting it and licking up the blood. He crossed his forearm across Charles chest and pressed him against the glass, panting harshly against his mouth.
“You better have something to ease the way,” he said roughly. “Because I’m fucking you either way.”
“Bedside table drawer,” managed the telepath.
The drawer yanked open from across the room, presumably controlled by its metal nails and handle, and floated quickly towards them. Erik glanced inside, reached in and gripped the tube of lube. The drawer dropped noisily to the table.
Erik’s face was inches away from Charles’.
“Turn around.”
Charles smiled, “Make me.”
Erik grinned. “My little wolf,” he said fondly, and his hand wrapped around Charles’ neck again. He leaned in close and snarled, “Turn around now.”
Charles felt a thrilled, a rope of heat curling down his spine. Erik released him and he turned around, leaning his forehead against the cool glass.
“And this way everyone can see you,” murmured Erik in his ear, as Charles felt the tell-tale sounds of him slicking up his fingers.
“Nonsense,” breathed Charles, sending out a pulse of telepathy to block whomever might be walking around to block out his window.
Erik’s fingers twisted in his head to pull his head back. The tip of a finger breached Charles, but despite the suddenness, the movements were careful.
“Let them see,” he cooed in Charles’ ear. “I want them to know you’re mine.”
“Oh, fuck you,” Charles wrenched his head away, almost pulling a neck muscle. “I’m not—“
Erik’s fingers were doing something indescribable to him. He couldn’t quite put together the words anymore.
“You are,” growled Erik, and dipped down to bite harshly at the nape of Charles’ neck.
Charles was going to snap at him to stop, but Erik pulled his fingers out and replaced them with his erection, pushing in in one long, sweet movement. Charles’ breath hitched. Erik’s hands fell to his hips, holding them still as he pulled out and pushed in again, setting from the start a demanding, harsh rhythm. Charles braced his elbows against the galls, head dropping forward between them as he struggled for breath. Erik licked the back of his neck, following the line of his spine down as far as he could reach, licking up the salty sweat. Whenever he felt like it, he bit sharply at the places where the bone was closest to the skin, bruising it.
“If you let her touch you again,” he panted against Charles shoulder. “I’ll tear her apart.”
Charles frowned and turned to look at him over his shoulder. “I haven’t slept with McTaggert, you imbecile.”
“And you won’t,” Erik said fiercely, eyes feverish.
“I’ll do whatever I want,” snapped Charles.
Erik sank his fingertips painfully into the skin as Charles’ stomach, then dragged them down to his erection.
“You won’t,” he snarled, thrusting in, unforgiving. Charles had to turn away to struggle for breath. Erik took the opportunity to lick up the drop of sweat rolling down from his temple, and then find his ear and tug as his lobe, almost playful, even as his hand stroked him to whatever rhythm he wanted, which was not the one Charles liked. Except he did like it.
“She won’t touch you again,” Erik insisted.
“She won’t,” breathed Charles, dizzy.
Erik made a sound of pleasure, and straightened, thrusting violently. A moment later; he stilled, curving down around Charles to press his forehead against the telepath’s shoulder, shuddering. Charles felt the wild, white-out flare of a pleasure so deep it was almost painful, as he climaxed. He was left dazed with it, disoriented by its intensity.
He didn’t come down from it until he felt Erik pull out; felt the unpleasant, repulsive feeling of Erik’s semen running down the insides of his own legs.
“Damnit,” he muttered, elbowing Erik away. The metallokinetic paid no heed, establishing a rather disturbing pattern that would most likely not soon be interrupted, and instead trailed his hand down Charles stomach—and found his cock, hard and hot. He made an inquisitive noise as he straightened.
“What do you need to finish?”
Charles made a vague noise of disgruntlement, too busy feeling disgusted by the come rolling warm down the insides of his thighs to listen.
The new Erik did not appreciate being ignored. He gripped Charles by the arm and dragged him to the bed, pushing down on his back unceremoniously before climbing on top, straddling his thighs. Taking him in hand, he started stroking up, twisting his hand up around the head in a ay that made Charles’ knees jerk.
“Well? Are you going to tell me what you want?”
Shut up, sent Charles, piercing like a blade. Erik set his teeth against the pain, but he absorbed it automatically, and grinned.
“Alright.”
He shifted down, and in one easy motion took Charles’ cock into his mouth. Charles was reeling. Erik had no intentions of teasing; he sucked and stroked and bobbed his head like he meant business, all the while thinking a constant stream of filthy, obscene things he meant to do to the telepath.
It didn’t take long before Charles was arching up, twisting his hands in the sheets and coming copiously into Erik’s mouth. The man swallowed without complaint, pressing his hand flat against Charles’ belly to enjoy the tremors of climax, and to make it last longer.
Only when Charles had gone limp and twitchy did he let him fall from his mouth, and then he climbed up to kiss him, smiling. Charles turned his head away, complaining about the taste; Erik gripped his jaw and kissed him deeply, suckling at the cut he’d made earlier with his teeth. Charles decided that surrendering was the wisest option, and humored him, parting his lips and stroking his sweaty flank.
Erik made a sound of contentment and climbed off the bed, bending down to pick up something and returning to kneel between Charles’ spread thighs. The telepath lifted his head curiously.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” he growled roughly, when he realized it was his own shirt.
Erik grinned and industriously used the shirt to clean Charles’ inner thighs, even going as far as perfunctorily swiping at his own cock, before he balled it up and tossed it carelessly to the floor.
“I despise you,” murmured Charles, letting his head drop to the pillow.
“Liar,” Erik chuckled fondly. “You love me, for whatever your twisted love is worth.”
Charles didn’t bother to reply, closing his eyes. Erik moved, and without a single word rearranged him so he could wrap himself about the telepath, chest to back, breathing calmly in his neck.
“I’m hot,” complained Charles, pushing at his arm wrapped like a vice around his own chest.
“I hate the cold,” Erik sighed, burying his nose in Charles’ dark hair. “It was always cold in Auschwitz. Bitterly, wretchedly cold. I hate it.”
Charles sighed. Erik tightened his arm, drawing him even closer to fit into the hollow of his body, and—well. Maybe Charles didn’t mind so much.
“I mourned you,” said Erik suddenly, pushing his forehead against the back of Charles’ skull, where the titanium plate replaced bone. “It was killing me, what I did to you.”
A long pause.
“It’s always Shaw,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “He killed my mother, right in front of me. One bullet to the head. And then—you. But he’s not going to take anything else from me. I’m going to find him, and I’m going to tear him from limb to limb.” |
John was far from idle while the officers were out playing in the woods. Pint of ale sweating against a napkin, laptop buzzing on the table beside it, he found himself easily engrossed in the reports outlining the physical state of the late Charles McCarthy. He took a corner table in the bar so as not to bother the other patrons with close up photos of their neighbor’s corpse. It honestly wasn’t bad; a single blow to the right temporal lobe, a clear strike from a head-on attacker with a blunt object heavy enough to crack his skull. There was a strange interlocking indentation against his cheek just below the large impact bruise but all in all, for a dead man, Mr. McCarthy looked pretty good. With as many crime scenes and corpses as John had been privileged to see, this one rated an easy two on the squick scale. But it was still the face of someone’s friend and he liked to be conscious of that much even if as evidence he was hardly concerned with secrecy. Small town, quaint villages like these, everyone knew everyone and he suspected not a soul was ignorant of so much as a single clue associated with the murder. He wasn’t sure if ultimately that made their job easier or simply convoluted. Whatever gossip and opinion could be said about the circumstances around the murder, John was at least somewhat pleased to be given the one body of evidence that was indisputable. Knowing Sherlock’s methods, he was more than adequately equipped to make several deductive assumptions of his own.
Assumption One – The murder weapon was something brought to the scene of the crime.
John could find no mention of trace flora or fauna reported when the wound was inspected by the coroner. A rock, a stick, any weapon found in the wild would have left dirt or moss or some sort of natural deposit imbedded in the body. The killer brought his weapon into the woods with him, in that case, and disposed of it after—likely in Boscombe pool or in the bush. John couldn’t help but think back to his initial question to Sherlock: where was James McCarthy’s luggage? He made sure to highlight that question to bring up again. He felt sure the missing presence of one was linked to the other.
Assumption Two – The victim knew his killer.
There was no bruising to Charles McCarthy’s hands or arms to denote a physical struggle and to get close enough to strike him head on, there would likely need to have been some kind of relationship--otherwise he’d have turned to escape, the blow landing on the back of his head and not the front. By all accounts, he knew his killer and the strike had come as a surprise. There was a slight possibility that the murder weapon had been thrown at him from a distance but the lack of any such object found at the scene made such a scenario unlikely. Evidence from the field would likely support one conclusion over the other.
Assumption Three – The murderer was left handed.
This deduction was one of John’s own and one of which he felt particularly proud. Standing face to face, a right handed man would swing and strike his opponent on the left—Charles McCarthy’s wound was on the right. While it was possible for a right handed man to swing and hit someone on that same side, it was far less likely outside an opportunistic swipe in a brawl.
James Moriarty was left handed. John itched to know if James McCarthy was too.
While it seemed Sherlock felt the true mystery was how the almost obviously guilty man could possibly be innocent, John was much more concerned with their other purpose in Ross. Being Moriarty was a crime far more heinous than any single murder as far as John was concerned but was unfortunately not one recognized by the justice system. Even though Moriarty was suspected of being the leader of his own crime syndicate, there was no crime to connect him to that could put him in prison. Every illegal thing they had proof of—a list which was embarrassingly small—could be attributed to the dead man on the roof. They needed Charles McCarthy’s murder to send the man to prison for the lives and money that had been lost within his professional capacity. John hated red tape and the thin line of legal prosecution. Even if he couldn’t prove it yet, even as he failed to devise some way of knowing, John could not help but think of James McCarthy as the man he had tried to take down with him at the pool—as his Moriarty. The very least of what that man deserved was a prison sentence. He’d rather him share the fate of Prometheus.
He flexed his hand under the table before squeezing it around the cool glass of his pint, sipping his ale to wash the bad taste from his mouth that always accompanied thoughts of him. He recommenced scrolling down the medical report for any last details, puzzling over the imprints on the man’s cheek when all else seemed cut and dry. If Billie thought leaving him behind with a coroner’s report was akin to shifting him out of the case, she was going to be very disappointed when she came back. He was going to make sure of that.
A second glass of ale set itself on the table, painted nails flashing red in the blur past his reading vision. “Is this seat taken?” the woman asked.
John looked up, forgetting for a moment that he was still sitting in a public place. The tin ale signs against the unfinished oak walls with the black knots brought him back, though. The young woman standing on the other side of the small table wore tight jeans and a ruffled, sleeveless blouse in lavender with a V-neck cut low enough to showcase the shadow of her cleavage and a long gold chain around her neck to make sure you knew where to look. John glanced around quickly to spy several empty tables all around him. He cleared his throat. “Ah, not taken. No. Sort of busy at the moment though.”
The woman smiled demurely, taking her seat across from him. “You’re with detective Holmes, aren’t you? Doctor Watson?” she asked. “They told me you were investigating Mr. McCarthy’s murder. I’m Patience Turner.”
Billie was going to love this. John smiled and cleared his throat again to wipe it from his face. This was hardly the time or place for self congratulations. He closed the lid to his laptop. “You’re the one who found the body,” he said, the name uncommon enough to have settled nicely in his mental log of the case notes.
“Yes.”
“And the one who witnessed the argument.”
Patience nodded, sipping her ale as her eyes scanned the room. “I did, yes. I told the police everything but I thought… well, if Sherlock Holmes is involved, things must be more …complicate.” She took a deep breath, trembling on the exhale. “He’s not going to get Jim released, is he?”
There was fear in her face. John licked his lips, saddling up closer to the table as he leaned across towards her. “Sherlock’s only job is making sure the right person goes to jail for this. Could be Jim; could be someone else,” he admitted, though she was far from alone in her desire for it to be him. “Are you worried something will happen if Jim is released?” It was a leading question but fortunately he wasn’t a barrister.
Her flinch said more than enough.
With a long drink and a deep exhale, Patience settled in with her elbows on the table, clasped hands pillowing her chin. “There’s probably not a single person in this village that doesn’t remember Jim. Not fondly either. We used to play together when we were kids, though. Our properties were close enough that we ran into each other all the time. Practically our own little gang: the McCarthys, the Turners and the Morans.”
John felt his jaw drop with the auditory equivalent of tunnel vision. “Wait, Moran? As in-“
“Sebastian?” Patience smiled. “What can I say? I’ve been following the news from London pretty closely these past few months. That’s how I recognized you, Dr. Watson.” Her smile faltered slightly. “He was a good kid. It was their fault he got mixed up in that sort of thing. James and Jim were... well, they were evil. You’d find dead things in the woods but they wouldn’t just be dead they’d be… and you knew it was them. One of them, at least. James wasn’t so bad sometimes but Jim, he was… he scared me. I’d tell the other boys—Seb and Patrick—but they just thought it was fun. Boys will be boys, yeah? Not Jim. Sebastian went off with James and Patrick to join the army after school, I got married and Jim disappeared but once in a while you’d see him in the wood and you could see in his smile that he was nothing short of the devil himself.”
John glanced around the room, feeling watched and anxious even as his mind called to remind him that this was only news to him. Small village, tight community; everyone knew the score but him. “So you grew up with James McCarthy—you knew Jim Moriarty?”
Patience nodded, another long drink of her draft calming her obvious nerves. “I saw his face once on the news. I’d heard the name before but it didn’t mean anything. I know that face, though. And I remember thinking ‘I knew it. I knew he’d grow up to be a monster’. I thought he was supposed to be dead but then… there he was. In the woods.”
“And you didn’t hear what they were arguing about?”
Patience frowned. “If you were the father of a madman, what wouldn’t you yell at your son for?” She spared a glace around the room, picking at the gold chain around her neck. “He was furious is all I remember. And Jim wasn’t exactly taking it. He’d be all smiles one minute and then shouting right back at him in the next. I don’t think they ever got along but this was.. it was different.”
“So you watched them for a while, did you?” John asked.
“Long enough to prove to myself that I wasn’t crazy. Soon as I saw it really was him, I ran. I was so flustered that I ended up running in the wrong direction though and I had to pass by again on my way back home. That was when I found them—only this time one of them was dead. I got on my cell and… well, here we are.”
“Here we are.” John repeated, licking his lips as he considered. “I’m guessing Jim knows you’re the witness. If he gets out, if somehow it’s proven he didn’t do this—“
“—he’ll kill me,” she finished. “I know he will. He’ll kill me and just up and vanish all over again and this time there won’t be anything left here to bring him out of hiding.”
John nodded, lips pursed. He doubted it would be any consolation to tell her this might not be the same Jim Moriarty as was spoken of in the news. The Jim she was afraid of was the man from her childhood. “Look… there’s nothing I can do but present the facts but right now, I have to agree with the local police officers. I think he did it. But there’s something I need to know and I think you’re exactly the person I need to speak to about it. James McCarthy--the younger brother?--he was left-handed, yes?”
“Oh… now that you mention it, I think he might have been. I can remember playing cricket in the summer. He always stood left of the pitch.”
A right handed person wasn’t likely to shoot himself in the head with his left hand but still John had secretly hoped. “What about his older brother? Was Jim left handed?”
Patience shrugged. “Jim was whatever he wanted to be. I don’t really know that I remember him favoring one hand over the other. Why, is it important?”
“Could be. I can find out through other means, though. Don’t worry about it.”
“Alright.”
The conversation dwindled, silence resting in the limited space between them. John finished his drink and mimed for a pen. “Let me give you my number in case you can think of anything else.”
Patience nodded, pulling her purse off the back of the chair by its long handles. She unzipped the front pocket and pulled out a blue pen, watching as John scribbled his number out on a napkin.
“Any time of day, alright? We don’t normally get much sleep when we’re on a case so I mean it, any time.”
“Got it.” She slipped the napkin in the front pocket with the pen and slid off the tall seat, leaving her own half-finished glass on the table. “I’m sure we’ll be in touch, Dr. Watson,” she said and waved with a wiggle of her fingers as she walked out of the Red Lion Inn.
John sat back in his seat, running his own fingers over his chin, as he ran their conversation through his head to try not to forget a single word.
It was late by the time Sherlock and Billie returned, mud caked onto their shoes and shoulders slightly wet from a sudden rain. Dry, fed on pub snacks, and reclining in comfort in his pensioner’s suite, John let his smile stretch unencumbered across his slightly smug face.
“Have fun did we, then?”
Billie’s face said ‘piss off’ whereas Sherlock had hardly paused as he strode into the room in a case-filled mania. He tossed his jacket on the bed and paced with fingers steepled at his chin while he moved in the limited space. He said nothing though his face was tight with concentration.
“He been like that long?” John asked.
Billie sighed, leaning in their open doorway. “Since we walked back from the crime scene. The whole time we were there he was nonstop but then he just clammed up and hasn’t said a word since.”
John smirked, shrugging his shoulders. “Yeah, he does that.” Maybe it was the fact that she looked absolutely dreadful or that the rumble of her stomach carried right across the room. Maybe it was that he had gotten to speak to the only witness and had been building a pretty good case during the time she’d been sinking her high heels into the mud. Whatever the reason, John felt he owed the women some kindness. “Probably won’t join us in the land of the living for a few minutes more if you want to get changed or grab a bite,” he said. “I promise we won’t solve it while you’re out of the room.”
Billie blinked in surprised regard. “Uh… that’d be great. Stall him long enough that maybe I can get a shower in there?”
“The way he is right now? Probably won’t even need to be stalled. Do what you need to do; we’ll wait here.”
Her face warmed as she stood straight, rubbing at her forearm before pulling her purse around and fishing inside. “Well, while you wait, you might want to watch this.” She held out her tablet, its leather case closed over the sensitive screen. “He had me record the investigation. Good thing too since it rained on us and the footprints probably were damaged afterwards. Probably more of a happy happenstance, though. I think what he really meant was to have a way to have you there.”
John licked his lips as he took it, trying not to smile the wide, too pleased grin begging at the corners of his mouth. “I’ll compare it to my notes from the body. Thanks.”
Billie nodded, smiling as she backed out of the room. “I won’t be more than half an hour.”
“We’ll be waiting,” he promised. Whether he meant it before or not, he was certain he meant it now.
The assistant turned and headed to her own room, yellow flower charm dancing at the back of her key. John pulled the door shut behind her, eyes lost on the tablet to the beat of Sherlock’s steps across the floor. |
“For fuck’s sake, pick up, dad!” Dean shouted at his phone as he nervously paced back and forth through the kitchen. He stopped to look outside, secretly hoping that it wasn’t really happening, but it was. The ASPCA had received a warrant, giving them the authority to take away every horse. Dean had served out a couple punches if it weren’t for Sam to hold him back. The warrant didn’t make any sense, but those people were only doing their job.
He looked at the piece of paper again. It suggested that John had been involved with horse doping, match fixing in horse races and illegal horse fighting. Was that even a thing? It was all ridiculous and simply impossible. John loved horses, he would never do anything to hurt a living thing… Would he?
John had been missing for over two months now, leaving Sam and Dean with huge debts. Where did the debts come from? It didn’t appear overnight. Actually the accusations did make sense. If John had made a couple bad decisions with the betting and match fixing…
Dean shook his head. His father wouldn’t do something like that. Why would he? The ranch was doing okay. It wasn’t perfect, but they had a comfortable life. Why go dark side and do such horrible things to make more money? Money that was gonna be lost anyway. It didn’t help them one bit, it destroyed everything they had. Everything they had built was gone just like that.
The phone must’ve rang over thirty times, but John still wouldn’t answer.
Sam walked into the kitchen with tears in his eyes. “Why would dad do this to us?” He breathed, swallowing hard to keep the tears from tipping over.
Dean aggressively shoved his phone back into his pocket and wiped his hands over his face in an attempt to calm down a little. But it was no use. He looked out the window to see Molly and Casper being lead to one of the trailers. Dean secretly hoped that they would put up a fight, rip the ropes out of the hands of those people and kick them in the nuts. But they were as gentle as they always were. Molly calmly followed and Casper trotted after her on his too long legs.
What if Cas was here? Dean grunted at the thought. No, Cas had left and hadn’t come back. Cas knew where to find him. Cas knew that John would be gone most of the time. And even if Cas were here-
“Dean?” Bobby said calmly.
Dean dropped his arms and looked at the kitchen door. Bobby was leaning against the door post, Dean noticed he wasn’t wearing his worn-out baseball cap.
“Pack whatever you can, you boys can stay at my place for the time being.” He said blankly. There was no pity in his voice, but his face said it all. Eyes full of sadness and a sympathetic smile gently curved his mouth.
And so it went. Sam and Dean moved in with Bobby and helped him with the cows. When Dean wasn’t working he’d be drinking, blowing what little money he had left on booze, and listening to the records that Castiel had bought him for Christmas. It seemed like it was only yesterday that he had woken up to a pair of arms wrapped around him as he lie on the rug in front of the fireplace. And yet those last two months had crept past like a snail over a salt line. Painfully slow.
Love me tender, love me long. Take me to your heart…
“That’s it!” Bobby rumbled as he stumbled upon Dean, hanging on the worn out couch in the living room, surrounded by empty bottles. “You’re going out now! No excuses, you need some fresh air. Don’t make me kick your ass out of here!”
For it’s there that I belong. And we’ll never part…
Usually Dean would’ve gotten off his lazy arse and out of the house in the blink of an eye, but he couldn’t find the willpower to listen to Bobby this time.
The record player made a scratching noise and the faint voice of Elvis singing Love Me Tender ended abruptly. Dean turned his head to find that Sam had turned the device off.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Dean said hoarse.
“Bobby is right, Dean. You have to get out of the house, get some fresh air. Please, this isn’t good for you. You’re starting to look like dad after-” Sam didn’t have to finish his sentence. It was crystal clear. Dean didn’t need another word. He stood up, kicked at the pile of bottles to clear his way and stormed through the kitchen and out the back door. They wanted him out? Fine, he’d go out. He ripped the car keys out of his pocket, stepped in the Impala and raced away, leaving a cloud of dust and sand as he sped onto the road. Dean knew exactly where he was going. He also knew that he probably wouldn’t come home for a while.
About fifteen minutes later Dean walked into the Roadhouse, his heavy boots sounding louder than usual on the worn out wooden floor. It was quiet. Ellen was stood behind the bar, pretending to dry some glasses even though there probably hadn’t been any customers that day.
“What’s up, Dean. You don’t look too shabby today.” Ellen say dryly and tossed him a beer bottle, which he caught effortlessly.
“Don’t wanna talk ‘bout it.” Dean grumbled as he sat down on the closest stool, cracking the bottle open on the edge of the bar top.
Ellen raised an eyebrow. As usual that woman could see straight through him. “Skip the foreplay and spit it out, boy. You know you will eventually, save yourself the trouble.”
Dean just stared at the liquid, sloshing back and forth in the cool, green bottle.
“So still that boy, huh? I gotta say I’m impressed.” Ellen said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean grumbled.
“Whoah, calm down. No offense! I mean I’ve never seen you this upset for such a long time over anything. That Cas boy walks in and you turn into a completely different guy. Which wasn’t a bad thing until he left.”
“He didn’t leave, Ellen! That bastard fired him, threatened to hurt him if he ever came back. And the exact same asshole left Sammy and me with a whole lot of fucking crap! He took everything away, our money, our future, our home… Cas.” Dean growled and emptied the bottle in one go.
Ellen leaned her elbows on the bar and looked straight at Dean. “And what are you gonna do about it?” She asked calmly. “Are you just gonna sit around and drink like your old man used to do, or are you gonna stand up and fight for what you want?”
What he wants… Dean huffed at the idea. It was never about him. It was always family first. The business. Then mom died, so it was all about dad and desperately trying to get the business back when their father was too drunk. Then it was about Sam, putting him through school until he eventually refused to get an education because the ranch was more important. It was never about Dean, until that awkward, blonde boy with blue eyes came along. Then it was about Castiel, but not just Castiel. No, it was about the both of them. For a sweet period of time it was just Dean and Castiel and everything seemed to finally work out. Until-
“What I want.” Dean repeated softly, a sarcastic laughter escaped his throat.
“Look at me, boy.”
Dean lifted his head and carefully looked at Ellen. He knew he shouldn’t be messing with her in any way.
“You are a human being, as far as we know you only have one life. With that life you can do whatever the hell you want. It’s your life. Why waste it on crap you don’t want. You are in control, Dean. Get your shit together and grab it by the horns. Do what makes you happy.”
Dean bit his lip and looked at the , already empty, beer bottle he was mindlessly spinning between his hands. Ellen was right. He couldn’t just sit around and do nothing. He was going to grab it by the horns.
One year later…
His palms were sweaty. Those damn nerves got to Dean every time. Tiny spurts of adrenaline rushed through his body every time he heard the next round was announced. After warming up for the third time in a row to kill the time a bit he finally got the call. Dean quickly rubbed some more rosin on his gloves and made his way to the chute where Big Billie was waiting for him.
He looked up, immediately spotting Sam and Bobby right next to the gate. Bobby had a grin on his face and Sam… Well, Sammy was being himself. Always too worried that Dean would get hurt. Which wasn’t strange. Bull riding is the most dangerous eight second sport on the planet after all. Dean shot them both a small smile and climbed over the fence and on top of Billie.
“And so we meet again.” Dean muttered and gave the black bull a little pat. The animal was tense, like a tight coil and ready to spring free the nanosecond the gate of the bucking chute would swing open. “I know you want to, but please don’t kill me just yet, okay?” Dean chuckled and took a deep breath. Boots, check. Hat, check. Chaps, nice and tight. Gloves, check. He filtered out the cheering of the crowd, stuck his right hand under the bull rope and held it tightly. This was his lifeline for the next eight seconds.
I like to believe you can hear me somehow. What am I doing, Cas? It’s been over a year. Why can’t I just get over you? It was just a fling of a couple months…My first boy… Doesn’t matter. What am I doing with my life. I’ve searched and searched but it’s like you don’t want to be found. I’ve told myself so many times. Oh hell, Sam even told me. Look at me. I’m literally risking my life for a couple bucks here. This ain’t living. Not anymore. Not without you. I don’t even want to live anymore. I’m holding on to Sammy, but meanwhile I’m trying to destroy myself. First I tried booze, but it turns out that alcohol isn’t very rewarding.
“Dean, are you ready?”
Dean opened his eyes and looked up at the man who just dared to interrupt his moment of silence before the ride. This was his thing. His way of preparing for death in some way. Screw this! He took another deep breath, taking in the scent of the rosin and leather, fresh hay and the sweat of bulls. Tunnel vision. Sound is no longer important. It’s just him and Billie now. He braced his right arm and sat tightly.
He gave the nod.
The gate swung open and Billie shot into the arena. As Dean held on to the rope and bounced with every buck, he counted in his head until the buzzer went off, marking he had stayed on top for eight seconds.
1, Cas is gone.
He bounced down onto the back of the raging bull, the impact sending a blow through his spine that made his head fall back.
2, He isn’t coming back.
He had lost his hat. No big deal. It wasn’t a lucky charm or anything. Billie was grunting and snorting, throwing his hind legs into the air. It almost caught Dean off guard.
3, Never.
Keep your left hand in the air, clench those legs, man. You can’t fall off in front of Sammy.
4, Dean?
Cas? No! Keep your head in the here and now. Where has the rope gone? It wasn’t around his hand anymore. He was flying, but there was the ground.
5, Fuck fuck fuck fuuuuck!
Darkness.
“...fractured skull, a broken leg and severe bruising in several areas. But don’t worry, Mr. Singer. With some patience and good care, Dean will be okay.”
“Thank you, doctor. Sam, did you hear that?”
“Huh?”
Sammy? Are Sam and Bobby here? Dean carefully opened his eyes. The bright light burned his eyes and deep fried his brain. He winced and closed his eyes again, immediately being overwhelmed by dizziness and intense nausea.
“Dean?” Sam said softly. “Bobby! Dean’s awake!”
Dean didn’t pay much attention to what was happening around him anymore. His stomach was twisting violently and cramped. In a reflex he turned over to his side and vomited on the floor. He felt like he was going to pass out. His head hurt, his stomach hurt, his back, his arms, his leg and practically all the places he didn’t even know could generate this amount of pure, 100% pain.
“Oh dear.” The unfamiliar voice, probably the doctor’s, muttered. “That’s without a doubt the concussion. Don’t worry, it’s very common for a head trauma of this proportion. I’ll get someone to clean that up right away.”
“Dean?” Sam said softly as his big brother softly groaned and rolled on his back again. Giving Sam the opportunity to wipe Dean’s mouth with a damp cloth. “You’ve had a little accident during the rodeo, but you’re gonna be fine, okay? We’re here for you. Here, drink some water.”
Dean carefully opened his eyes again, Sam was slightly hanging over the bed, holding a cup in front of Dean’s face with a bendy straw. Dean locked his lips around the piece of plastic, eagerly sucking up the water to flush the sour bitter taste away. He smacked his lips and took a deep breath, finding out very quickly that he bruised some ribs. “Surprise, surprise.” He murmured and breathed out. “What happened?”
“Well uhm… Billie managed to buck you off, surprisingly enough you landed on both your feet, but then the bastard kicked you in the head and proceeded to run over you. Fuck, Dean. Could you just stop trying to kill yourself already? You know I don’t like it that you-”
“Like I fell off on purpose.” Dean croaked, feeling that his stomach was going to reject the water sooner or later. “Can someone get me a bucket or something?” Dean said and gulped, a desperate attempt to keep the contents of his stomach down a little while longer. The doctor opened a small cabinet and handed Dean a container, which he accepted gladly only seconds before he retched again.
“Oh boy.” Bobby sighed and shook his head. “No more rodeos for you. Understood?”
Dean just flipped him off. He wasn’t exactly in the mood to discus shit like this now he was busy emptying his already dry stomach.
~~~~~~
“Castiel, meet Meg Masters. Meg, this is Cas.” Balthazar introduced his friends. “Why don’t you two sit down, I’ll get the beers.” He said with a smug look on his face. Castiel and Balthazar had grown pretty close over the last year. He hadn’t told this weird British guy about his last job, let alone about Dean. He figured it’d be better to get a clean slate. A fresh start… Again…
“So, Castiel… Interesting name.” Meg said and grabbed a small hand of mixed nuts out of the miniature bowl that was set on the table and popped them in her mouth. They were sitting in the corner booth of some shady bar that Balthazar liked to go to. He had tried to take Castiel along to get him to meet his friends multiple times, but Castiel always refused to come along, until today. Jodie and Balthazar were really the only friends that he had, there was also Carrie, but she was more like the granny he’d never had.
Castiel chuckled and nervously folded his hands, placing them on the table. “Yeah, I get that a lot. And eh… Meg. Is that short for anything or is it just Meg?”
Meg laughed. “I guess my parents thought that just Meg was interesting enough. My friends used to tease me with it, calling me Megatron and stuff. It didn’t really bother me. I like the transformers.”
Castiel smiled, not sure if she was serious or being incredibly sarcastic. He thanked the heavens that Balthazar was back with drinks just before the silence got painfully awkward.
“So, Meg. Why don’t you tell our little Cassie here about what you do for a living, hm?” Balthazar purred and wiggled his eyebrows. That couldn’t be good. It just-
Meg raised an eyebrow “Really, Balto? You want to dive into the deep already?” She took a sip from her beer and leaned back into the padded backrest.
Castiel frowned. “What do you mean, dive in the deep? Balthazar, is this your idea of a blind date or something?”
Balthazar just shrugged and smirked. That was clear enough.
Castiel sighed and turned to Meg. “I’m so sorry, Meg. I’m not-”
“Nah, it’s okay. And this isn’t a date by the way. It’s more like a surprise job interview.” She said casually and took another sip.
“Excuse me, a what now?” Castiel blurted out with wide eyes.
Balthazar nodded. “A job interview, Cassie. I think you’ve got a lot of potential.”
“Potential as what exactly?” Castiel muttered and dragged his fingers through his hair, it was getting shaggy already.
“A model.” Meg said. “And I think he’s right. You’ve got a very cute face, and if I have to believe Balthazar, a godly body as well.”
Castiel gulped. A “godly body”? How could Balthazar even know that? He had never taken off his shirt, even when the summer came along, nearly melting him into a puddle of misery.
“I- I can’t! I’m sorry. I’m not taking off my clothes!” Castiel exclaimed.
Meg and Balthazar looked at each other and simultaneously burst into laughter. Castiel was not amused. Whatever practical joke Balthazar was pulling on him this time, Castiel didn’t like it. He was finally getting used to life in Louviers. He was getting back on track and slowly but surely he was working back to happiness. Not that he would ever be happy again. Even after a year, he wasn’t over Dean Winchester. He had accepted it at some point. He had just accepted the fact that he would never be happy again. Not without Dean. If he wasn’t happy, he knew nothing could get worse, nothing could go wrong. It was a sad life, but better than being miserable. But I am miserable.
“Nobody’s asking you to take off your clothes, silly. Actually we want you to do the opposite and put them on. The casting agency I’m working for needs fashion models. Which means you get to wear expensive suits, look pretty and get paid for it. And with a face like yours… Sweetheart, you’re gonna be filthy rich.” Meg said and winked.
Castiel frowned again, ready to open his mouth and reject the offer.
“That! That’s it!” Balthazar said. “That’s the look I was talking about.” He said to Meg.
Castiel raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“My God, you’re right.” Meg said. “Intimidating, but sexy. Castiel, I would like to take you outside to make a couple pictures. You don’t have to make any decisions yet. I just want to… See how you’re doing in front of the camera and take your pictures to the casting. Is that okay with you?”
Two weeks later Castiel received a letter. He was invited for a casting day. One month later he was flying to New York for his first assignment. |
The way back to the Shire was a bit longer than the way from Khazad-dûm to Rivendell; but the road was smooth and made travel faster, and Sig and Bilbo felt themselves seasoned travellers now. Certainly, their camps went up and came down more efficiently than when they had first begun their journey in the previous fall, and they were able to make better use of their daylight as a result. Bilbo found he was glad to be travelling again, but began to dread the day they would reach the Shire. He and Sig had been cheery as they began, but Bilbo’s spirits grew more sombre as they approached Bree.
“At least now you know the worst,” Sig said, as they sat with their mugs in The Prancing Pony.
“I hope I do,” Bilbo said. “I don’t know how it could be worse than it is, but I could never have imagined what we found in Hollin.”
“Yes, but you’ve been with your da all this time,” Sig argued. “If he has secrets, they’re not new. I think it must only be that he would not stay to be one of her two families.”
Bilbo nodded. “Can you see it of my da? I can’t.”
“No,” Sig shook his head. “Not your da, nor any other in the Shire. Well...”
Bilbo laughed. “I was just thinking the same thing, I bet.”
“Flambard,” they said together.
“Though mostly, he’s in love with his own self,” said Sig, “and hasn’t much room for others in his heart, rather than loving too many others.”
“That’s a bit hard on poor Flambard,” Bilbo argued.
“Says the cousin who grew up at Bag End instead of Tuckborough,” Sig replied. “If Flambard set up multiple households, it would be to hold his multiple mirrors, so he could see his lovely self wherever he went.”
“Well,” Bilbo said after a moment. “Those Tooks are good-looking sods.”
“It’s true,” Sig agreed, laughing.
“In all the Shire, I think only the Bagginses handsomer,” Bilbo continued.
Sig punched his arm, and his beer splashed on the table.
***
In the morning, they slept later than they had on the road; the curtains blocked the first light of dawn, and their beds were comfortable down rather than the hard ground on which they had been sleeping. It was hunger that finally drove them for their beds, and they found they had slept so late as to miss not only first breakfast, but second breakfast as well. They sighed, but decided they would spend the rest of the morning in Bree. They would buy a few more provisions for the last leg of their journey, and a mathom for Flambard who had truly wanted to come but could not leave his family, and have a good elevenses before they went back on the road. They did find something in the Bree market for Flambard, a hand mirror with a carved and brightly painted handle, but Bilbo also found a creamy yellow shawl embroidered with a border of green vines and blue flowers, and a set of braid clasps, enamelled in dark green. Sig found him pondering the clasps.
“Don’t say it,” Bilbo said.
“Say what?” Sig asked. “That they would look handsome in blond hair? Or set off green eyes?”
“Any of that,” Bilbo replied. He grimaced, but he bought the clasps, and went back for the shawl for Amy as well. He thought for a moment, then found a favourite bookseller of his to search out something for Calin—maybe a book of adventure stories—and lastly went to one of the many excellent knitters to find a soft lamb stuffed with wool for Esmie. Sig looked at the pile.
“Kili will feel left out,” he said. So they went back to the leather workers, and bought an arm guard for Kili, which they had stamped with the Durin hammer and anvil as well as Kili’s name.
“I’m sure they can find nicer in Khazad-dûm,” Bilbo said as they went back to the inn for their elevenses. “The Hollin market was rather amazing.”
“You know that is not the point of gifts,” Sig said. “Think of them as late birthday presents; after all, it was just after your thirty-third when we met them.”
Bilbo chewed his lip. “The hair clasps are not too forward?” he asked.
“Considering how late you came to bed that night?” Sig snorted. “No, not too forward, I think.”
Bilbo looked seriously at Sig. “Don’t speak of him that way,” he said.
Sig looked back. “No,” he replied. “No, I won’t.” He clasped Bilbo’s shoulder. “He is lucky,” Sig said, “and they are just forward enough. It is only the Baggins in you that worries.”
“Nothing can come of it,” Bilbo said.
“Let the future take care of itself,” Sig told him. “All you do is send him some clasps that remind you of his eyes. It is not a marriage.”
Bilbo slowly nodded.
“Not yet,” Sig added. Bilbo punched his arm.
After their elevenses—wonderfully hot, the first so since they had left Rivendell—they asked the innkeeper whom they might see about sending a package to the mountain, had their gifts wrapped in brown paper, paid for their delivery, and saw them on their way.
Bilbo sighed as they stepped onto the road to the Shire, the final steps to home. The hills began to roll in the familiar way, and more and more Hobbits were on the road and in forest and field as they passed. Their goal was four days to the Brandywine Bridge (it was perhaps ambitious, given their late start on the first day). From there it was a bit past Frogmorton the next day; and the day after that, home to Bag End for Bilbo; but Sig would turn off the Great East Road just past the Brandywine and continue to Tuckborough that way. So their time together was coming to its end, and Bilbo’s confrontation with his da would be on his own. In a way he was glad of it. His Baggins da would be mortified to have an audience to their conflict, though Bilbo would have been glad of Sig’s quiet support.
Indeed he found it very hard to say goodbye to Sig when the time came.
“We have lived in each other’s pockets all these months,” Bilbo said. “You go to busy Tuckborough, but I to quiet Bag End. I am not sure what I shall do without you.”
“You speak as if I live at the mountain,” Sig told him. “I will see you next week.”
“Yes, I know,” Bilbo said. “But who will tease me in the meanwhile?” He paused. “And who will comfort me after I speak to my da?”
“If you have need, come to Tuckborough,” Sig said. “I will keep all the hordes away from you, and I will gladly listen.” And thus they embraced each other and parted ways.
Now that he was alone, Bilbo’s steps dragged. He lingered so long over luncheon in Whitfurrows that he took dinner in Frogmorton and stayed the night; and then lingered in the morning for second breakfast so that he left Frogmorton late, and must stop in Bywater for the night rather than go home. No, he would not deceive himself; he would be late, but he could yet be in Bag End that day; it was that he chose not to be. His da had been all he had through all his childhood, and though he was angry still, he feared to lose him.
Yet the next morning would come. Bilbo shouldered his pack and began the short walk to Hobbiton and past that, to the Hill and Bag End. He would be home in time for elevenses. Now the Hobbits he passed on the road and in the fields knew him, and he had to stop many times for greetings; but each time he said, “I must home to da, you know; for it’s been long since I’ve seen him too! But come for tea tomorrow!” Should all these Hobbits take him up on the invitation, they would have an enormous group for tea. He hoped he and da would be ready for it.
And finally he stood in front of Bag End, and was walking in the door, and then his da was exclaiming, “Bilbo!” and holding him tight.
“Look at you!” Da said. “You are brown as anything, and so thin!”
“We often missed second breakfast on the road, or tea,” Bilbo said. “And it was more travel bread than fairy cakes.”
“We shall fatten you up soon,” Da told him, and smiled, and hugged him again. “Bilbo! I am so glad to see you!”
“And I am glad to see you, and to be home,” Bilbo said, and he found it was the truth.
Da would not let him help with elevenses, but sent him to unpack his bag while Da readied everything. As they sat down to the table, Bilbo finally spoke of what had been in his mind these many months.
“Why didn’t you tell me, Da?” he asked gently.
Da looked at his teacup. “I didn’t know how,” he said. “At first, you were too young; and then, well—the Shire sees these things the way I do. I didn’t raise you to think it nice, and I didn’t want you thinking ill of your mother.”
“But you knew what I would find when I went to the mountain,” Bilbo persisted.
“I knew what I left, but I didn’t know what you’d find,” Da said. “And even now I find I don’t have the words for it. I just don’t understand.” Da sighed. “She was a good mother to you,” he said. “I don’t know how she could do it; I never understood the families that did. And I just couldn’t stay to become one of them.” His da, his pleasant and cheery da, began to cry. “I felt I wasn’t enough for her, that she must always be going off, and that she must look elsewhere the way she did.”
Bilbo felt his anger and hatred begin to drain away, and moved to hug Da. “I know,” he said. “I feel it too; but I have been assured the fault is not in me, and I try every day to believe it. You must as well.”
Da shook his head, and wiped at his tears. “Maybe Took and Baggins weren’t meant to mix,” he said. “But you are the best of both, and I could never regret you.”
They sat in silence for a while. Bilbo did not know how to say it, but Da said it for him.
“It is my fault that you didn’t have her, growing up, not hers, for she didn’t want us to go; and she loved you very much. It was enough to break your heart to see her when we left,” Da said.
“But you went anyway,” Bilbo accused softly.
“I did,” Da said. “My heart was broken too, and it broke again every day, and—well, I knew then that you would only be able to have one of us growing up, and I was selfish enough that I wanted it to be me.” He leaned into Bilbo. “I did not tell her that she could not visit or write, though I suppose I never told her that she could, either. I just—well. We have made a good home here, I hope, though it has not been perfect.”
“It has been,” Bilbo said. “The Shire was a good place to grow up, and you have always been the best of fathers. But I can’t help but wish that I had had a mother, too.”
“I am sorry,” Da told him. “I never wanted to hurt you. I would keep you from all hurt if I could.”
“I know,” Bilbo replied. “I know.” |
Jackson had never really thought much about Stiles's "condition" after the initial shock upon discovering that his friend was transgender. It wasn't that he didn't care, because he did. He just didn't really know how to breach that particular subject with Stiles especially considering that the boy was still uncomfortable with the rest of their friends knowing. But just because he didn't want to ask Stiles directly did not stop Jackson from doing some internet researching about the process. He did this is small burst, his cheeks flaming when he accidentally landed a skeevy pron site more than once, and his heart constricting while reading the comment sections of articles about famous trans celebrities. The things people said were absolutely vile. They made Jackson's remarks sound like compliments.
Lately, Stiles had seemed...off. Not really sad or angry or upset. Just off. He laughed and joked with Scott and carried Danny's books because the guy had to use crutches for at least another week and argued with Jackson about whether or not plaid was a fashion statement, but something was different. His smile fell to a sadness when he thought no one was looking, and he zoned out in class even more so than usual. Harris hadn't missed it either, and had given Stiles detention every day this week. Jackson wanted to ask Stiles what was wrong, but when confronted Stiles had a tendency to lie unconvincingly before fleeing the scene. It was nearing spring break, and everyone was discussing spring break plans around the table when Stiles abruptly stood and hurried away from the table. Jackson wanted to follow, but Scott shook his head 'no'. Jackson had to back down because even though Scott had been an idiot for awhile, he did know Stiles better. That did not stop him from bringing Stiles a milkshake from the diner after lacrosse practice ended. Scott had again warned him against bugging Stiles for information, but he decided it was time for a more direct approach.
Stiles was surprised to see his friend at his door, but smiled tiredly and accepted the chocolate and strawberry swirl milkshake with grabby hands. They hung out in Stiles's room for awhile, doing homework. The only sounds were the slurps Stiles made as he drank the shake and the sound of pencils on paper. Finally, when the air was thick with tension and homework was done for the night, Jackson sat on the bed facing Stiles where he sat at his desk.
"Tell me what's going on with you."
Stiles seemed surprised at first but quickly put on his mask.
"Nothing, dude. I'm fine," Stiles's smile was so forced it made Jackson's face hurt. At Jackson's raised eyebrow, Stiles offered a little more. "Seriously, it's nothing you need to worry about."
"I'm your friend, of course I need to worry. You always worry about me. Why-" Jackson sighed. His pride was shying away from talking about his feelings but he grit his teeth and started again. "I need to know you're okay. I don't-I don't have a lot of close friends and it makes me...sad to see you hiding how you're feeling."
"Aww, you do care," Stiles grinned, a real smile for once. Jackson grinned too, but it fell with Stiles's. "I just...You guys were all talking about Spring Break and stuff, and I'm happy that you all get to do fun stuff even though I'm staying here. But the thing that I wanted to do-"
Stiles stopped when his breath hitched, and he curled his hands into fists in his lap. His lower lip wobbled and Jackson wanted to comfort him but Stiles was radiating "If you touch me I'll shut down" and he hated to see Stiles that way. It lasted for hours.
"What did you want to do?" Jackson prodded gently. Stiles wiped at his eyes and rubbed his face his hands and sighed again. "Talk to me."
"Do you-Do you know what top surgery is?" Stiles asked hesitantly. Jackson blushed but nodded. He had done his research after all. "Sorry, you don't need to hear this. It's not your problem."
"No, no. Stiles, look. I know I'm probably the last person you ever thought you'd be talking to about...this," Jackson rolled his eyes at Stiles's snort of laughter and continued. "But, I want to help you. So just...This is a no-judgement, no awkwardness zone for the rest of the night. So, shoot."
Stiles nodded, but it took him awhile to start talking again. He had already talked to Scott about his problem, but Scott was so optimistic he wasn't helpful.
"So, I've been saving money for top surgery for years. Chores, part-time jobs, babysitting, birthday money. Anything. My dad has shitty health insurance, so they don't want to cover the surgery, and Dad can't afford to pay for it and pay the bills and the jeep breaks down all the time, but still. I almost...I came so close to having enough. I was going to- Spring Break was supposed to be my first week of recovery and then Dad was going to call me out of school for the next week. But now I can't. All those pre-op therapy sessions for nothing. You know?"
Obviously Jackson didn't personally know, but he could see where Stiles was coming from. He had looked up the cost of top surgery once, and the shocking price tag of something like that was around $10,500 dollars or more. Plus the amount of mental preparation that had to happen first.
"So what happened?"
"I-" Stiles felt his tears start to spill over. "I had to get an MRI and some tests done. The bills were so high, and we needed money for that so..."
"An MRI?" Jackson didn't remember Stiles talking about that. "Why?"
"Because..." Stiles shrugged and rubbed his hands together in his lap, a nervous tic. "Because my mom died of frontotemporal dementia, and I started to exhibit some of the really early signs..."
Stiles looked up and met Jackson's scared blue eyes and heartbroken expression. He shook his head and waved his hands expressively.
"No, no I don't have it! Turns out that when I fell down the bleachers at your lacrosse game a couple weeks ago I gave myself a slight head trauma. And I might be depressed," Stiles half-smiled and shrugged. "Who knew? But now I can't afford the surgery for another year, probably. And now I'm starting to wonder if maybe i should just...I don't know, save the money for college. But I was so excited. For the first time, I was excited."
"Excited for what?"
"To look in the mirror," Stiles whispered. Jackson patted the bed next to himself and accepted Stiles's hug. His friend cried into his shoulder and held tight. "I haven't even canceled the appointment yet. I just..."
Jackson held his friend and tried to find something to say. It was a bad situation all around. What could he say to something like this?
"How much are you short?" Jackson asked softly. He already had scouts looking at him for lacrosse and swimming from his dream schools, and a plan began to form. Stiles sniffled and shrugged again. "Come on, I know you know."
"About $2000 and change. I can't get that kind of money that soon."
They talked about other things for awhile after Stiles calmed, and when Jackson went home he went straight to his parents and sat them down.
"Mom, dad, can I get a loan from my trust fund?" |
The bus ride home couldn’t have taken any longer, every stop apart from her own seen as unnecessary in Korra’s eyes. Of course she knew that thought was irrational, but she needed to get home, she needed all the time she could to get ready. She sat in the middle of the bus, watching the cars speed by in the opposite lane, shaking her leg and tapping her index finger against the back of her other hand as they lay interlaced on her lap. Nerves in general weren’t something new to Korra, she would get them before almost every game, but these nerves, they didn’t even compare to what she got even before the biggest games. Tonight she was going on a date with the woman who she was falling for more and more everyday, which isn’t really that big of a deal right? I mean we kind of have dates every night I go over after school… kind of. And you’re just kind of falling… still in total control, calm down. She inhaled deeply, trying to stop the jitters from traveling up her leg as it shook, you’re fine.
Finally they got to her stop, the instant sprint she broke into called bullshit on all her attempts at rationalizing herself earlier, of course it’s a fucking big deal you idiot. And it was, this was a big step in their… relationship, a risk within the secrecy of it all, one wrong person seeing them could jeopardize everything, her scholarship and Asami’s career, but it was a risk she was willing to take. She couldn’t get enough of the woman, after all.
She jumped up her front stoop and burst through the front door, surprising her father with her sudden entrance. “Hey there Kiddo, you that excited to see us?”
“Ha ha Dad.” She replied sarcastically as she kicked off her shoes before sprinting towards the stairs, “I may or may not be home tonight.”
“Woah, slow down,” A strong hand closed around her arm, pulling her back into the living room, “what do you mean you won’t be home tonight?”
He let go of her arm, “I uh… have plans.”
“Well cancel them.” Her father crossed his arms. “You weren’t home last night Korra, you should be focusing on your studies, not to mention preparing for your big game this weekend.”
I don’t have time for this! “I am focusing on my studies! I was studying with the boys last night.” Lying to her father like this wasn’t something she usually did, but she couldn’t resist as of late, any excuse to spend more time with Miss Sato was a valid one.
Humph. “Why do I find it hard to believe that you actually did study with those boys.”
“Dad, come on, have you met Mako? He’s like the king of studying, even on weekends!”
She watched him try to keep a straight face momentarily, succeeding and returning to his previous scowl. “It’s not just that Korra, what about hockey? I see by the bruise on your leg practice last night must have been interesting.”
“It’s fine, Dad.” she replied rather dryly, “I blocked a shot, now I have a bruise. Coach made me sit out and it feels so much better already.”
“You sat out?!” He asked shocked. “Korra you can’t be so reckless at practice! The biggest game of your life is only a few days away!”
“You think I don’t know that?!”
His eyes narrowed, clearly unimpressed with her new tone. “Excuse me?”
Shit. “Ugh. Sorry. I am focusing, just let me have tonight and everything will be back to normal tomorrow I swear.”
His face softened. “What’s going on tonight that’s so important anyways?”
Fuck. “Umm…”
“Got a hot date or something?” He interrupted before she could stammer through her cover, a big smile on his face.
“You have a date?!” Her mother asked excitedly as she joined them in the living room, “Please tell me it’s not with that Ila girl.”
“What?! No! Of course not.”
“It better not be, I don’t think her wardrobe could afford it.” Tonraq laughed.
She grumbled and crossed her arms.
Senna pulled Korra into a hug. “Your father is only joking honey, if you want to go out with her we’ll be okay with it. Just know that we won’t be buying you anymore new sweaters.”
Korra broke free from her arms. “You guys are both ridiculous! I’m not going on a date with Ila!”
Tonraq watched as she made her way towards the stairs, “Well, what are your big plans then?”
“Umm…” she paused on the steps. In the chaos of the day she hadn’t really thought of a plan to tell her parents, “I’m uh…” fuck Korra think… god you don’t have time for this, “I mean we’re… going for dinner… all of us, to celebrate our last year you know?” Solid.
Her parents both stared at her. She couldn’t tell if the look on their faces was one of disbelief or if they were waiting for more information. The wait was killing her, “so… can I go?”
They looked at each other, then back at her. “Fine.”
“Yes!” She turned to run back up the stairs.
“But,”
Dammit. She paused again, “Yeah?”
“We’re going over game film tomorrow night after your practice.”
“Done!” She smiled back before turning and running up the rest of the stairs. Watching game film wasn’t much of a condition anyways, she loved watching film with her Dad, it actually helped calm her down before big moments, she was happy to agree.
She stepped into her room and the nerves were back on. She moved around the space frantically, tossing her school bag onto the chair in the corner and bolting for her dresser. What the fuck do I wear… ? She was pulling shirts out as fast as she could, flinging them over her shoulder and letting them land where they may. Not that, not this… definitely not that, why do I even own this? Uggghhhhh. She stood back and stared at the inside of her dresser, was what previously an organized collection of tops was now a the hectic mess of unfolded and pushed over piles of clothes, with half of its contents now strewn haphazardly throughout her room. She ran her hands through her hair and let them rest on top of her head, wondering what the hell she was going to do. Button ups! She hopped over her bed towards the closet on the other side of the room, throwing open the doors and sifting through the various colours of dress shirts that hung before her. Fuck… she still didn’t know which to choose. Why are you so damn nervous? Just pick one, come on, Korra.
There was a soft knock on the door frame. “Was there a hurricane in here just now?”
Korra looked around at her disaster of a room, “Uhh… yeah… not really sure what to wear.”
“I can see that.” Her mother walked in and began to pick up some of the clothes off the floor. “So is this the same girl who’s been on your mind for the last few weeks?”
Korra’s face went blank. “What do you mean? I’m uh, going out with friends.”
“Korra, when will you learn?”
How does she always know?! God damn!
“So who is she?” her mother asked, throwing what clothes she had picked up on Korra’s bed in defeat.
The most drop dead gorgeous woman on the planet. “It’s dinner with friends, Mom.”
“Whatever you say, sweetheart.” Her mother made her way towards her, reaching into the closet and taking a shirt off the hook, “Wear this one, she’ll love it.”
Korra took the shirt, “Thanks, I’m sure my friends will.”
Senna shook her head and smiled knowingly, kissing her daughter on the head before turning to leave. “I’ll let you get ready.”
Ok shirt down, now what? She spent the next hour going back and forth between options, trying them on, and testing them out in the mirror before pulling it off to try a new one. Finally, after an eternity of manically changing outfits, she had decided, confident in her choice. She stood in front of the mirror one last time, giving herself a once over and making sure her outfit was free of flaws. She wore the navy blue button up her mother had pulled out for her, tucked into a pair of black skinny pants with a matching black blazer, and a skinny white tie with matching suspenders for a little contrast. She inhaled and let out a long breath, smoothing out the lapels of her blazer, you’ve got this. It was time. She picked up her phone and messaged her best friend:
Korra: Everything set?
He answered back almost immediately.
Bolin: Of course! God I’m so excited for you! Bolin: SO Bolin: EXCITED Bolin: She’s Bolin: gonna Bolin: love Bolin: it! Bolin: I can’t believe you, my little romantic. Korra: I think you’re more excited than I am bud Bolin: That’s a lie and you know it! Don’t try and play it cool with me woman! Korra: I might be a little excited… Bolin: A little? Korra: Okay more than a little. Bolin: That’s more like it! Okay I’ll pick you up soon! See ya in a bit!
She tucked her phone back into her pocket and ran her fingers through her hair once more before leaving the mirror and heading out of her room. He parents were just sitting down for dinner when she got downstairs, her father eyeing her as she came into the kitchen.
“Jesus, what kind of dinner are you going to?”
“Looking pretty dapper there, honey.” Senna smiled. Seriously, this woman has to teach me her secrets…
“We decided to uh, make it a fancy one tonight. Since we’re celebrating and all, ya know?” God you sound soooo convincing.
Senna’s smile still didn’t leave her face. “Well I think that makes perfect sense,” she turned to her husband, “don’t you, dear?”
Korra was pacing back and forth as she looked out the living room window, subconsciously checking her phone every few seconds. “I don’t know,” Tonraq studied her, “I never get that worked up when I go to dinner with friends.”
She stopped immediately, he’s right. Why am I pacing anyways, simmer down Korra, it’s just a date, with a regular girl, who’s just really nice, and really pretty, and who you might actually wholeheartedly be 100% in lo—
“Korra?” Her father asked at a slight yell as she had now moved further away from the table, “You okay over there?”
“Who me?” She looked back nervously, pointing back to herself, “Yeah, I’m totally fine, super fine.” She waved him off.
He swallowed a bite of his dinner, cocking a brow at her. “You’re acting strange…”
Her focus was back on the window again, forcing herself to hold back the jump in her step when she saw headlights as Bolin pulled into their driveway. “I’m just really excited for my da—dinner!” She thumbed her shoes on, “Bolin’s here, gotta go, bye!” She yelled at the speed of light before bolting out and slamming the door shut, not waiting for her parents to answer.
Bolin was all smiles when she got in the car, “Daaaaaaamn! You clean up well!”
She laughed and swatted his arm, “Shut up, Bo.” She inhaled deeply, “What’s that smell?”
“Oh!” He turned the steering wheel back as he put the car in drive after backing out of the driveway, “Grab that box in the back seat.”
She grabbed the long white box and set it on her lap, looking back at her friend quizzically, “What is it?”
“Open it up!”
He didn’t have to tell her twice, she pulled the lid off the box, the same quizzical look still plastered on her face, “Thanks Bo… but you know I hate—”
“They aren’t for you, silly,” he laughed, “I figured you wouldn't have thought to pick any up, since you’re kind of out of your element ya know? So I got some for ya.”
A smile formed on her lips. God I love this kid. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, bud.”
“Bah, I’m sure you’d get along just fine.”
“No,” she tapped on the box, “I wouldn’t.”
“You’re right, you totally wouldn’t. I hope you know how lucky you are to have me.”
“Oh I’m aware,” she brushed her hair over to the side, “trust me.”
He broke his eyes from the road for a second, looking over at his best friend, “You know you really don’t have to be nervous Korra, I’m pretty sure she’s as hooked as you are.”
“Pfftt, nervous? Me? Never.”
“Don’t. It’s like the tenth time you’ve played with your hair since we left your house.”
Shit, have I really been doing that? She sighed in defeat, “I can’t help it bud… I’m so screwed with this woman.”
“Well hopefully after tonight you will be.” He winked.
She glared at him, “So. Mature.”
He broke into laughter, “You’re gonna be fine, Kor, I know it.”
She turned back to face the front, I hope so…
They spent the rest of the ride talking about anything and everything; Mako’s broody ways, the new Jinora and Kai situation, and how much Bolin really bonded with him over lunch today, even going as far as to call him his ‘little bro.’ It was kind of sweet, Bolin was always very welcoming to everyone he met, making them feel like part of the gang right away.
Korra actually managed to forget about her nerves for the drive, forgot about the knot in her stomach, forgot about the excitement coursing through her veins, it was just a regular drive with her best friend, completely nerve free and relaxed… until Asami’s house came into sight. Fuck… The nerves came right back, as did the butterflies in her stomach and the heat all over her body.
She put her hand on her best friend's arm, “Stop here, Bo.”
He gave her a confused look, “Kor, her place is still a few doors down.”
She squeezed his arm a little tighter, “Bo, please, just pull over here.”
He obliged, pulling off to the side and putting the car in park. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she gave him a reassuring smile, “I just don’t want to risk anyone seeing you drop me off in her driveway. Don’t need to get you involved in this thing if it goes south.”
“Korra, it’s dark out anyways, no one would be able to make out that it was me.”
“Everyone at school knows Opal’s car, then she’d get in trouble, too. It’s not worth it, bud. I’ll just walk the rest of the way.” She reached for the door handle, only to be pulled back and crushed in a pair of strong arms.
“Oh, I’m so excited for you!”
“I wish I could say the same,” she struggled to get out as her breath was caught her her lungs, “What if I mess up? Or make a fool of myself?”
Bolin let her go, pushing her upright and patting the wrinkles he caused out of her blazer. “Are you kidding?! You’re Korra! The Avatar! You don’t mess up at anything, you’ve got this!” He gave her a reassuring smile. “And even if you do mess up,” he went on as he made air quotations, “it won’t change anything. The woman is as far gone for you as you are for her.”
She knew what he was trying to do, and it was working, her nerves subsided slightly. “Thanks Bo.” She took a deep breath and released it before reaching for the door handle once again.
“No problem. Oh! Don’t forget these!” He reminded her, tapping on the lid of the box.
“Of course not.” She smiled and opened it, removing its contents.
“Have fun buddy!” Bolin said as she swung her leg out of the car and pulled herself out.
She dipped her head back in, “Thanks bud. We still good for the rest of the plan?”
“You bet!” He smiled at her with a thumbs up.
“Awesome. I’ll see ya tomorrow!” She closed the door and began to walk towards her teacher’s condo.
“Make good choices!” He yelled out the newly opened car window, “Use protection!”
She stopped and turned back to face the car that was now driving towards her, “Really, Bo?!”
“Haaaaave fuuuuun.” He drawled, yelling out the window as he drove by.
She laughed to herself. What a kid. Okay now focus Korra, she pulled out her phone and checked the time, 7:01… well at least she won’t be surprised. She sped up her walk, nerves only intensifying the closer she got. Just a bit further now. Her palms were starting to sweat, her heart beating harder and harder with every step she took, so much so that she thought it would burst out of her chest at any second.
She stood in front of the door for a moment, trying to calm her heart rate down before knocking, fearful that if it got any worse Asami would actually be able to hear it. She released a shaky breath before raising her fist up, about to knock on the wooden door, but it opened before she could touch her knuckles to it.
“You’re late.”
Oh… my… fuck… Korra couldn’t think let alone speak. The goddess in front of her stole all of her ability to function. Her jaw hung open, eyes devouring every inch of the woman’s body, nose taking in the jasmine scent that seemed to make her head fuzzy, and her mouth watering at the thoughts of all the places she wanted to put it. Her hands itched to rip the clothes right off her body and touch every part of that soft, pale skin. This woman was stunning. Well, she always stunning, but tonight was utterly overwhelming. A tight black dress hugged and formed to every curve of her body, over her breasts, her hips, her ass, stopping halfway down her thigh revealing those gorgeous legs that Korra wanted nothing more than to spread and lose herself between. Asami knew how to accessorize as well; a gold bracelet circled her wrist, a matching necklace draped down around her neck, whilst the red clip held back her hair on the left side, and a pair of red stiletto platform pumps on her feet. Completing the look was her signature crimson lipstick, which she wore everyday, but tonight, tonight it was even more alluring. How can someone be as amazing as this woman is? How can someone look this good? They didn’t fuck around when they created her… Fuck. Me.
“Korra?” The woman asked with a hand on her hip.
She had to consciously stop her eyes from roaming the woman’s body, looking up to meet those gorgeous, deep, captivating emerald eyes. “Uhh…”
“We should probably—”
“These are for you!” Korra blurted out rather loudly, breaking from her dumbfounded state and cutting her teacher off as she shoved the flowers towards her.
“Fire Lilies,” the woman smiled as she took them and brought the bouquet to her nose, “My favourite. How did you know?”
Korra brought her hand up behind her head, “Heh, lucky guess.” Damn I owe Bolin one.
“Oh, right,” her smiled morphed into a smirk, “I remember your guessing skills to be quite good.”
Korra couldn’t help but let her eyes wander to her teacher’s perfectly rounded ass as the woman turned to open the door, “Just let me put these in some water before we head out.”
She was still hypnotized by the woman’s hips as she followed her in, “Unh hunh.”
It didn’t take the older woman long to set the flowers in a vase, coming back from the kitchen a moment later. “Ready?”
Korra you can’t be like this all night. She cleared her throat, “Absolutely,” she smiled.
The woman traced a finger down her tie, leaning down and pressing a warm pair of lips to her cheek. If the warmth that she felt in her face was any indication, the colour of her cheeks must not have been too far off from the hue of Asami’s shoes. She couldn’t help but notice just how much the woman had to bend down, however. If an extra 6 inches of height difference is the price to see her in heels, I’ll gladly pay it.
The lips left her cheek, and she instantly missed them. She turned her head in hopes to catch them with her own but the older woman was too quick. “A kiss on the first date Korra?” Her teacher asked as she opened the door, “Who do you think I am? I’m not that kind of girl.”
Oh so that’s how it’s gonna be. “Of course, you’re right, I apologize,” she brought her hand up behind her head again, purposefully giving herself an excuse to flex her arm so that the sleeve of her blazer hugged tightly around her muscle, “I don’t know what came over me.”
The woman bit her lip, eyes transfixed on Korra’s flexed arm. “Shall we?” Korra asked with a grin of her own.
Her teacher seemed to regain her composure, “Yes, we shall.”
“Excellent,” the grin still present on Korra’s lips, “After you.”
The two walked outside towards the sleek black car in the driveway, the lights flashing briefly as Asami pressed the unlock button on the remote.
A pale hand reached for the driver side handle, but Korra put her hand out to stop it before it reached the door. “Allow me,” she offered opening it for her date.
“So chivalrous.” The woman replied with a wink and a hair flip before settling in the driver seat.
Of course she had to do the hair flip… fuuccckkkkk. She closed the door and walked around the nose of the car to the passenger side, the leather creaking slightly as she sat down. “So how far away is this restaurant?”
“Not too far,” the woman gave her a mischievous grin as an ivory finger traced it’s way up the top of Korra’s thigh.
It was as if her whole body had ignited in flames the second the slender finger made contact with her leg, burning hotter with every centimeter it went up her thigh. This is going to be a long night…
She wasn’t wrong, the drive there was full of teasing touches and halted advances. The woman was doing it on purpose, knowing full well the effect it had on Korra… serves you right… She hadn’t done a particularly good job of hiding how much she liked what she saw when they were at Asami’s… you are so smooth.
Well, there’s no hiding it now, might as well go all in. She looked over at the woman next to her, “You, um, look gorgeous tonight. Well, not just tonight, you look good all the time, shit, uh—” she was all over the place.
A hand grabbed hers, fingers interlacing between her own, “Thank you,” Asami met her gaze and smiled at her, calming her instantly, “You don’t look so bad yourself.”
Korra could only smile in return, relishing in the feeling that the hand in her’s gave her. Of all the things they had done, holding hands wasn’t one of them. Sure they did it while they were cuddling in bed, but who doesn’t do that? Right here, right now, however, it wasn’t because they were about to fall asleep; she was holding her hand just to hold it. It was something so innocent but it in this moment it was almost as good as everything else they had done, something normal couples could do all the time that they never could. She never realized how such a small thing could make such a big difference, and now that it had happened, she never wanted to have to go without it. But it was something that could never happen, holding hands at school wasn’t very covert… she sighed in disappointment at the realization…
They pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant, “Hey,” the woman shook her hand lightly to bring her attention to the green eyes across her, “You okay?”
“Yeah…” her answer lacked enthusiasm.
Her response was met with a knowing look, she wasn’t fooling her.
“I just,” she shook her head, “Nevermind… I’m just pathetic is all.”
“Korra,” the woman’s gaze softened, “Just tell me. Please?”
How could she say no to those eyes? “It’s just, our date hasn’t even started yet, and this is so nice, just sitting here holding your hand,” Stop, Korra, “but tomorrow,” Shut it, you're only proving your pathetic point, “I’ll wake up and it won’t be able to happen again for a while.”
She couldn’t stop the words from coming out, it just happened, they came so easily, her true feelings breathed out and given flesh. The older woman just stared at her for a moment with no response, thumb rubbing over the back of her hand.
You idiot, you said too much. “See?” she looked away, “Told ya I was pathetic.”
She felt a tender hand make its way to her cheek, pulling her around to face her teacher once again, only to have a pair of crimson lips crashed into hers in a deep kiss. Korra couldn’t stop the soft moan escape her as their lips parted, “You’re not pathetic, Korra.”
She still wasn’t ready to speak yet, her brain unable to formulate a witty retort, still able to taste the kiss she had longed for since they left.
“I feel that way too, but let’s just enjoy tonight and not worry about tomorrow, okay?”
The thoughts of what she had planned came back to mind, her lips stretching into a smile. Her teacher was right, they had tonight.
“You’re right.” Korra surged forwards and caught Asami’s lips in a quick peck, “So much for not being that kind of girl.”
Asami’s reached up and caught her chin in her hand, “How could I say no to those blue eyes of yours?”
Her confidence was back, “You never stood a chance.”
The black haired woman gave her a smirk, “Let’s go, Avatar.”
The two got out of the car, Korra waited for Asami and offered the woman her arm. She stepped up onto the sidewalk and handed the keys to the valet, “Merci.”
Korra cocked a brow as they walked towards the entrance, “You speak French?”
Asami simply smiled back, “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
I’m excited to find out what exactly… “Apparently.”
“Ah! Mademoiselle Sato!” The restaurant host greeted her teacher, excitedly coming around the counter and giving her date a kiss on each cheek. He was a tall older man with a thin mustache and gelled back hair, dressed in black pants and a matching blazer, a white button up and black tie.
“Bonsoir Xavier,” she gave him a smile, “Combien de fois dois-je vous demander de m'appeler Asami?”
“Au moins une fois de plus, comme toujours.”
Asami rolled her eyes and laughed as the man motioned for them two follow them, “Suivez moi, votre salle privée est prête.”
They walked into the main area of the restaurant, exposed brick walls made up two sides of it while a window front and a bar made up the other two. The wall behind the bar had unique shelving screwed into the brick displaying their variety of alcohols, while just above was hung a blackboard with tonight’s menu options written upon it for the entire restaurant to see. There were tables strategically placed about the room, around the wood columns and along the bare walls, covered by white table cloths and decorated with mason jar candles. It had a comforting feel to it, the warm glow from the candlelight and the murmurs of couples and groups enjoying conversation was all very welcoming.
But for some reason Xavier didn’t lead them to one of the few empty tables, they kept walking towards a hallway at one end of the bar. Light bulbs held by the same mason jars that decorated the tables in the main area were fixed to the wall illuminating their way to a different part of the restaurant. Privée… maybe that means private? Her suspicions were confirmed when the hallway opened up to a much smaller, secluded space. The room that Asami had reserved for them was nothing short of spectacular, dimly lit with a single table in the center of it, chairs on either side and a candle in the center, their own private date. Okay so maybe letting her choose the place wasn’t such a bad idea.
The man led Asami to one of the chairs, pulling it out and pushing it back in as she sat down, coming around the table to do the same for Korra.
“Alors,” Xavier started as he stood at one of the empty sides of the table, “Puis-je vous offrir du vin pour commencer?”
Asami turned to Korra, “Would you like some wine?”
It wasn't something she drank very often, but this seemed like an appropriate occasion. “Sure.”
The woman turned back to Xavier, “Que suggérez-vous?”
The man went on for a few minutes, Korra could only guess that he was suggesting what sort of wine would go well with tonight’s meal options, something Asami seemed to be very well versed in. After a few minutes the man nodded and left the room, presumably to fetch the bottle Asami requested. Korra didn’t care though, Asami’s attention was back on her.
“Not gonna lie, you speaking french is kind of hot.”
“Is it now?” The woman smiled as she leaned her elbows on the table, resting her chin on her interlaced fingers.
“Kind of,” Korra reiterated.
“Maybe I’ll have to test just how hot it is at some point.”
Unffff, you totally should. “Bring it on Sato.”
Xavier was back, bottle of wine in hand, he reached for Asami’s glass and poured in a small amount. Korra watched as she swished it around the glass slightly, letting the red liquid coat the sides before settling down once again in the bottom of the glass. She took a small sip and let it sit in her mouth momentarily before swallowing.
“Et puis, est-il à votre goût?”
“C’est parfait Xavier, merci.” She handed him back her glass.
“Je vous en prie,” He took the glass and began to pour, setting it down on the table and moving over to serve Korra some.
“Alors,” he brought his hands together, “ce soir—”
“Excuse me Xavier, would you mind continuing in English, my friend here doesn’t speak French.”
“Why of courze! Tonight we ’ave…” His accent was thick, but Korra still understood him with ease and was thankful for his efforts.
He explained each course in great detail, describing how all the flavours complimented each other and why he suggested the specific wine he did. Everything sounded delicious and Korra couldn’t wait to taste it all, thankful that she let Asami choose the restaurant after all. They each selected their courses and thanked Xavier before he left to place their order.
“So are you okay with my choice Avatar?” Asami asked after taking a sip of her wine.
“Very.” Korra followed suit, taking a sip from her own glass. “How did you manage to get this room?”
“My Dad lent the chef the start up money for this place, so we get whatever table we want. We don’t come very often anymore though.”
“No?” Korra looked at her with curiosity, “Why not?”
The woman shifted in her chair, looking almost uncomfortable, “It used to be my mom’s favorite restaurant… it’s been hard on Dad coming here since she passed.”
Fuck Korra you idiot, “Asami I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-”
Asami resettled herself in her chair, sitting closer to the table. “It’s fine Korra, it happened a long time ago.” She gave her a reassuring smile, “Tell me about your parents.”
Korra was glad for the change of subject, it’s not that she didn’t want Asami to talk about her past, but she just wasn’t sure how to handle it just yet. “Well, they are both of Inuit descent. Dad is originally from the North, and for some reason that he doesn’t like to talk about, was sent to another tribe down South, but stopped in Republic City on the way. Mom, who’s originally from the South was in town for school, they ran into each other and the rest pretty much goes how any rom com goes. A few years later they got married and then I came along a little while after that.”
“Lucky for me.” Her teacher winked.
“Heh,” Korra visibly gulped, pulling at the collar of her shirt. “Anyways, I think that’s why Dad wants me to get this scholarship so bad, it’ll get me in touch with my roots.”
“Not to mention that it’s one of the best schools out there.” Asami added.
“Yeah that too. And of course it would get them to the South more often, which I’m sure my Aunt Kya would love.”
“She must be you aunt on your Mom’s side then?”
“Well, she’s not really my aunt, we’re not blood related or anything. She’s just always been around ever since I was a kid, she’d always come up to visit and I’d stay with her when we went down to the South if ever my parents went out for dinner or something. She’s a big part of why I was able to come out so young, she’s expecting a kid with her wife now. You totally have to meet her—” Korra stopped mid sentence when the realization hit her, shifting her gaze down to her lap. Can’t really bring your secret crush home to meet your family...
A warm hand wrapped around hers on the table, she looked back up to meet her teacher’s smile. Asami seemed to pick up on her thoughts, “After you graduate, if you decide this is still something you want, I’d love to meet her.”
Korra couldn’t stop the smile from stretching on her face, how could she ever be something I didn’t want. “I think you two would really get along.”
Xavier came in a moment later with their first course, carrying the plates across the room without difficulty and setting them down in front of them. “Bon appétit,” he smiled and disappeared again.
It smelled delicious and Korra couldn't wait to try it, yet she hesitated, staring down at the set up in front of her. Why does someone need this many utensils…
The sound of the woman across the table clearing her throat caused Korra to look up, finding her teacher staring back at her with a smile on her face, holding up the smaller fork. “This one Korra.”
A blush formed on her cheeks, way to make a good impression ya cavewoman, of course it’s the smaller fork, duh. “I knew that,” she tried to give her a confident smile as she grabbed the right fork from the table, “I was just appreciating the presentation, that’s all.”
“Of course you were. How could I assume anything different?” He teacher smirked before taking a bite.
So much for not making a fool of yourself...
The rest of the dinner was perfect, Korra didn’t make any more mistakes with the cutlery, thank god, the food was delicious and conversation flowed naturally, just as it had anytime they were alone. Asami only toyed with her a little, purposely taking advantage of the situation when Xavier was in the room by running her foot up Korra’s leg. It didn’t even matter that he spoke French when he came into the room, Korra wouldn’t have understood him even if he spoke English while Asami continued to torment her. Every ounce of concentration fled from her brain and gathered between her legs, making the throbbing heat there and what she wanted to do to soothe it the only thing she could think about. Ripping that dress off of her would be a good start… She looked over at her teacher while the foot moved down to her ankle, she wasn’t even looking at Korra, carrying on in her conversation with Xavier like nothing was even happening, while Korra was on the verge of melting in her chair. Such a damn tease. The woman's foot kept moving up and down, slowly, imagine her in just those damn red heels… Korra gripped the edge of the table harder as her teacher hooked her foot in the bend of her knee, I can think of other ways I’d want her legs hooked around me… Suddenly she felt herself jerked forwards, her chair creaking against the floor and her torso hitting the edge of the table, causing everything on the table to shake. She looked up at the two before her, shifting between Xavier's concerned gaze and Asami’s cocky smirk.
“Vous allez bien?” The man asked.
Korra looked at him with confusion, unable to translate what she assumed was a question.
“Yes Korra, are you alright?”
Korra wasn’t falling for her innocent facade, she didn’t break eye contact with her teacher as she pulled her leg away from her hold. “I’m fine.”
“Parfait,” Xavier continued as he picked up the remaining plates form the table. “Donc, que désirez-vous comme dessert?”
Dessert?
“Qu'est-ce que vous avez ce soir?” Asami asked.
Has to be the same thing in English right?
“Nous avons un magnifique—”
“No thank you!” Korra blurted out.
They both turned to her, Asami with a cocked brow, “We don’t want dessert?”
A cocky grin formed on Korra’s face, “My date from now on.”
Asami smiled and turned back to Xavier, “Apparemment nous avons d'autres plans, merci Xavier.”
“Un café ou un thé alors?”
“Non merci.”
“Disgestif?”
“Non merci,” she smiled, “juste l'addition s'il vous plaît.”
“Non, non, non,” he waved her off, “c’est tellement un plaisir de vous voir Mademoiselle Sato; It’s, how you say…” he pondered momentarily, “Ah oui, on ze ’ouse.”
“Well then, thank you. Be sure to pass on my thanks to Chuck.”
“Of courze,” he moved behind Asami to pull her chair out as she got up, “say ’ello to your father for us.”
“I will for sure.” she smiled as she reached out for Korra’s hand.
Korra let herself up, staring at the hand that was being offered to her. Was she really serious? It’s not like anyone knows me here… Unable to hold back any longer, she quickly interlaced her fingers with her teacher’s.
“Bonsoir Mademoiselle Sato, revenez nous voir bientôt!”
“Absolument, bonne soirée!”
Her teacher led her out the front door to where her black audi was already waiting for them. She let go of Korra’s hand and fiddled in her clutch to retrieve a tip for the valets, “Merci,” she thanked them as she took her keys.
Korra watched as the two boys ogled her teacher’s figure, eyes roaming up and down her date’s body. Her previously splayed out fingers now found themselves balled into a fist, grinding her teeth together as the boys shared quiet whispers.
“Korra?” She turned her head to see her teacher standing behind the open door on the other side of the car, “You coming?”
Her jaw relaxed instantly, she was the one leaving with the gorgeous woman after all. She turned back to the boys standing behind the valet stand as she lifted the door handle, “Bon night les monsieurs.” Heh, eat your heart out.
Asami was trying to stifle a laugh when she got in the car. “What?”
It took the woman a moment before she could get the words out, finally taking her hand down from her face to reveal a smile, “It’s ‘bonne soirée messieurs’.”
All the confidence she had getting into the car fled. You’re an idiot. “Well it’s not my fault I don’t speak French!” She went to reach back for the door handle, “I’m sure they’d understand my fist in their face just fine!”
Asami grabbed her arm and pulled her back to her seat, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek, “You’re cute when you get jealous.”
She didn’t even think to give her teacher a hard time about using the C word, all she could do was sit in contentment with the momentary warmth she got from her teacher’s lips.
The sound of the car engine roaring to life broke her from her trance. “So where are we going?”
There was something so attractive about seeing her teacher behind the wheel, the confidence that leaked out of her pores was so alluring… not to mention how her dress hugged her legs tighter every time she’d press down on a pedal. “Just drive as if you were heading home, I’ll tell you where to go.”
She gave the engine one more rev before putting into gear and pulling onto the street, “Whatever you say Avatar.”
As far as first dates go, this is the best one she had ever had, dinner went relatively smoothly besides the cutlery issue, and almost knocking everything on the table over, and the muddled attempt at French… Okay maybe not so smoothly… But of course she still had the rest of her plan to go through, hopefully Bolin has everything ready… She sat in the passenger seat, trying not to fiddle with her hair too often as she had done with Bolin earlier, the last thing she wanted was to have Asami know she was nervous. They didn’t have long to go anyways, the next stop on their date was approximately halfway between home and the restaurant, she only had a few more minutes of worry to go through, please be ready…
“Get off here,” Korra directed as she pointed to the highway sign.
“Have I told you that I’m not one for surprises?” The woman asked as she took the exit.
“No? And why is that?” This only made this whole idea all that much better, Korra planned to take advantage. She traced a finger up her teacher’s arm as she held the shifter, “Take a left.”
“I don’t like not know what’s going on.” The woman gripped the steering wheel a little tighter.
Korra’s cockiness was back. She shifted in her seat, getting close enough to press her lips to the woman’s exposed shoulder. “Not a fan of not being in control,” her kisses moved to the pale neck before her, working her way up until her mouth was centimeters from her ear, “are ya Miss Sato?”
The woman let out a soft moan as Korra caught an earlobe between her teeth, “Lost your nerves have you?”
“Maybe” Korra breathed before pulling away, earning a shudder from her teacher. “Pull over here.”
The woman obeyed, pulling the car into one of the parallel spots and putting the car in park. “Now what?” she asked. Her eyes now a darker green, pupils slightly dilated, a look of desire filling them.
“What is it you’re always telling me?” Korra asked as she tucked a piece of raven hair behind the woman’s ear, “Oh right, patience.”
She bit her lip, “Now who’s the ass?”
“Still you.” She smiled before giving her teacher a quick peck on the nose, “Don’t move.” She was out of the car in an instant, making her way around the front to the driver side door, opening it and offering a hand to her date, “Come with me gorgeous.”
The raven haired woman seemed to be hesitant, but gave in and took her hand. Korra couldn’t help but smile, she loved seeing her teacher like this, out of her element, unsure of what to expect. They walked for a short while, strolling down the meandering paths through the foliage and listening to the crickets chirp. They made their way into a clearing off the path, past a few trees and up to the top of a hill. Thank god. Some of Korra’s tension melted away when she saw that everything was set.
“What is this?” Asami questioned as they crested the hill.
“You said you wanted dessert right?” Korra asked as she led the woman to a blanket laid on the ground.
The grip on her hand tightened as she helped her teacher to the ground, “Well yes, but I wasn’t expecting this.”
The smile on her face made Korra weak in the knees, thankfully she found herself sitting shortly after as well. “I can be romantic sometimes.” She turned to reach over into the cooler next to her, pulling out a tub of ice cream and two spoons, handing one to her teacher. “Hope you like oreo.”
Before Korra could even pull the lid off the tub her teacher’s lips were on her cheek, “I love it.”
Suddenly Korra was on fire, any time her teacher would mention the L word her entire body would react, heart racing and ears burning, waiting, hoping, that maybe someday the word to follow that forbidden one would be… you…
Snap out of it ya sap. “More of that awesome guessing skill I suppose,” she popped the lid and offered some to her teacher.
The woman took a spoonful, and rested her head on Korra’s shoulder, “So it would seem.”
Once they’d both had their fill, Korra quickly put the lid back on the container and set it back in the cooler, eager to return her attention to the woman leaning up against her. It had gotten a little cooler now since they arrived, and it didn’t take a genius to see that it was getting to Asami. Korra shifted her weight so that she no longer hand to lean back, freeing up her hands so that she could slide her blazer off her shoulders.
“Here.” She offered her teacher as she slipped her blazer around her.
The woman graciously accepted, grabbing the fabric by the lapels and pulling it tighter around herself as she again cuddled up closer to Korra, “Thank you.”
All of these subtle touches, they were going to be the death of Korra. How am I supposed to go back to secrecy after this… She shuddered at the thought. Even if it was just one night, she had gotten incredibly used to being able to hold her teacher’s hand whenever she wanted, touch her without fear of someone seeing them… You’re in so deep…
“You sure you aren’t cold?”
She looked down into the green eyes staring back up at her, smiling at the genuine worry in them. A thought crossed her mind, “Well now that you mention it,”
She put her arm around the woman’s shoulders and shifted again, laying them both down on the blanket and pulling her date closer, “I might be a little cold,” she grabbed the extra bit of blanket and pulled it over them.
Korra was now laying on her back, one arm bent with her hand behind her head whilst the other held her date close. Asami shifted closer still, nuzzling herself into the nook of Korra’s neck and shoulder. The warm breath on her neck caused all of her fine hairs to stand on end, she could feel the woman’s lips morph into a smile as she pressed them to her neck, “So smooth Avatar.”
“What are you implying Miss Sato? Maybe I really am just cold.”
The woman traced a finger up one of her suspenders, “You know I have slept next to you, right?”
Shudder. “Sleep being the operative word.”
“So I know that you’re basically a human heater, and that you never get cold Miss I like to sleep with the window open even in winter.”
Busted. “Well, I uh, um… I was just uh”
Crimson lips were pressed to her cheek, “Relax Kor, I like seeing you try to be smooth.”
Korra cocked her head down to look at the woman, “Try?” She put on a cocky smile, “More like succeed.”
Her teacher just rolled her eyes at her and pulled her in close for a quick peck. Korra fell into the warmth it offered, no matter how brief it was, she still felt it all over her body. By the time she opened her eyes, the green orbs she fell into seconds ago were already looking away, distracted by something above them.
“Korra look!” She pointed towards the sky.
She followed her teacher's outstretched arm, catching the tail end of a shooting star as it fell across the dark night sky. She turned back to her date, “I heard there might be some tonight.”
The green eyes stayed fixed on the constellations above, “I’ve never seen one before.”
“Really?!” Korra couldn’t believe it, “My Dad used to take me stargazing all the time when I was a kid.”
“There’s another one!” The woman exclaimed, pointing upwards once again. “God they’re beautiful.”
Korra couldn’t help but smile to herself as she saw wonder in her teacher’s eyes, how the stars sparkled in them as she continued to scan the sky, how her red lipstick contrasted with pale cheeks, how her black hair always fell perfectly even when she was laying down… “So beautiful…”
Suddenly those green eyes were back on her, and even though Asami wasn’t looking up at the stars anymore, that sparkle was still there, on the fringe of her dilated pupils. Pale fingers brushed her chestnut behind her ear as the face before her inched forward, so close that she could feel her teacher’s breath on her lips, warm breath that traveled from her lips to her brain, making everything fuzzy, jasmine scent fogging her thoughts and a taste she only wanted more of.
Her teacher’s lips formed into a smile, causing all the fuzziness to fade, and after a brief moment of clarity, Korra just melted. All the strength from her body dissolved away, replaced by warmth and contentedness, contentedness to sit in this moment forever, and fall deeper and deeper into those emerald pools until she was forced to surface.
Then the woman spoke, slightly breaking Korra from her haze, “What do you say we head back Casanova?”
She absorbed the sight in front of her a while longer before agreeing, “Sure.”
She didn’t know if she was ready to move yet, or if her body would let her, but wherever this woman was, that’s where she wanted to be. Asami peeled herself upwards into a sitting position, and even this small amount of separation proved to be too much, suddenly Korra’s strength was back and she was up on her feet in a second, turning and offering a hand to her teacher. The pale hand fit so perfectly in hers, felt so soft as the fingers interlocked between hers, she gripped it and pulled the woman to her feet, taking advantage of the momentum to bring their bodies flush against each other and stealing a peck from those crimson lips.
The older woman seemed to enjoy it, peppering her with kisses as she spoke. “You,” kiss, “are,” kiss, “so,” kiss, “smooth.”
Although she could now stand, her ability to speak hadn’t yet caught up, all she could do was show off her signature lopsided goofy grin.
Asami must have known the effect she had on her because she didn’t wait for an answer, instead she just picked up the blanket and tugged on her hand. “Let’s go.”
The drive home was just as nice as the drive there, full of soft touches, stolen kisses, and shared stories. Korra felt a pang of sadness in her chest as they pulled into Asami’s driveway, their night was coming to end, which was in direct conflict with her desires. She didn’t want this night to end, she wanted it to go on forever, I’m done for…
An awkward silence fell between them as they reached the door of the older woman’s place. Korra’s nerves were back, with anyone else this point in the date would be easy to manage, but nothing was easy with Asami. She second guessed herself every step of the way, do I go in or do I just walk to the boy’s apartment? I mean I have slept over before… but I don’t want to assume… fuck why is this so hard. Apart from the brief moments getting in and out of the car, Korra still hadn’t let go of her hand since they left the park. Her free hand reached up behind her head, “I umm, had a great time with you tonight Asami.”
“I did too.” Her teacher smiled back at her after she got the door unlocked.
Korra watched as she walked in, eyes once again roaming over her teacher’s form, “So I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then?”
“Oh,” an almost sad looked formed on her teacher’s face, “you’re not coming in?”
See you idiot, she wants you to come in, put your big girl pants on. Confidence regained. “Well you know,” she slipped her hands in her pockets, “I didn’t think you were that kind of girl.”
The woman seemed to regain her confidence just as she did. She made her way towards her, heels clicking against the floor with every step she took, eyes half lidded, full of intent. “Smart ass.” She grabbed her tie and pulled her inside.
Within seconds Korra found herself pushed up against the newly closed door with red painted lips upon hers, pale hands pinning her shoulders, holding her in position. Oh no she doesn’t. Patience Miss Sato. Korra’s hands quickly found her teacher’s hips gripping them tightly before sliding them down over her date’s perfectly shaped ass to the back of her thighs to lift the woman up off the ground. Breaking free from Asami’s grip wasn’t an easy feat, she was surprisingly strong but Korra still managed. Pale legs wrapped around her waist instinctively, whilst arms found themselves wrapped around her shoulders for support. The minute she succeeded in peeling herself off the door, Korra carried them into the living room. Their lips never parting once as she walked, kiss deepening, tongues clashing. Her hands held her teacher’s thighs firmly in place as she walked towards the couch, only relinquishing their hold as she set the woman down. She settled herself between them, propping herself up with one hand on the couch while the other traced a slow lingering line up the inside of her teacher’s thigh from her knee. The woman moaned as she got about halfway, the heat emanating from her core evident on Korra’s stomach… fuckkkk. It only made the throbbing between Korra’s legs more obvious, making it harder to execute her plan, harder to control herself. She felt the material of her date’s dress on her forearm, pushing it upwards as she made her way further up the woman’s thigh. More muffled moans could be heard between them, her teacher’s hands now firmly gripping her back, nails digging into her muscles. Unnff… hold it together Korra. She could feel her teacher’s heat on her fingers now, mere centimeters away from the fabric of her thong. She held that distance for a few more seconds, drawing idle lines on the woman’s skin.
“Korra…” Her teacher moaned between kisses.
Fuckkkk meeeee. Hearing the woman below her moan her name caused her own throbbing to turn to wetness. Not much longer Korra… The older woman’s hips bucked up towards her hand, now. She broke the kiss as she quickly pulled her hand away and sat back on her heel, a moan of disapproval escaping her teacher’s lips as she did.
Korra couldn’t stop herself from panting, attempting to calm herself down and stop the pulsing she felt in her core. “Grad… graduation…”
Asami was much quicker to recover; within a second she was sitting back up and had her lips on Korra’s once again, catching her bottom lip between her own and releasing it with a pop. “You’re right.” The woman traced a finger down her chest, hooking it in the hem of her pants and giving them a slight tug. “It’s just two weeks right?”
Korra didn’t even react to the woman getting up from the couch and walking out of sight. All she could do was stare into space with her jaw hung open, the pulsing between her legs that she tried so desperately to control now anything but. Did I just lose that?
“You coming?” a sultry voice called from behind her.
Korra turned to find the woman standing on the first step, reaching for the zipper at the back of her dress. Fuck I wish I was. “Absolutely.”
Her teacher made her way up the stairs, pulling the zipper of her dress down further with each step, exposing more and more of her back. “Come on then, Avatar.”
Korra had to consciously stop herself from drooling as she took in the sight in front of her, following the woman up every step. She watched the material fall away as the zipper moved downward, stopping just before the swell of the woman’s ass. Help…
Her teacher kicked her heels off as she entered the room, dropping her dress to the floor mid step, exposing her naked form for only a second before climbing under the sheets. She’s not even wearing a bra… I just lost. Korra almost tripped trying to kick off her pants, which still had the suspenders attached. She simultaneously undid the buttons of her shirt,dropping her clothing randomly as she walked to join the woman. No shirt it is, she climbed under the sheets next to her teacher.
“Did you forget something?” The woman asked as she traced a finger down Korra’s spine, eliciting a shiver from her body.
It took her a second to compose herself, but she was finally able to respond. “Um, no?”
She leaned in closer, whispering into her ear, “I don’t think I could handle a shirtless Avatar in my bed…”
“Hey at least I’m wearing a bra.” Korra protested.
Asami didn’t even acknowledge it, continuing her work on the bare portion of Korra’s back. “Atleast not until after graduation. We’ll be needing two.”
Totally lost. “Ughh… fine.” Reluctantly Korra peeled herself out of bed and made her way to the dresser across the room. A mischievous grin formed on her lips as she saw the selection of shirts in the drawer, this’ll even the score.
“Here ya go.” Korra offered her one of the shirts along with a cocky grin.
“Well aren’t we clever.”
The woman grabbed the shirt and pulled it over her head as Korra did the same, only to stare in awe at the woman as she pulled her luscious black locks out from the collar of the shirt. Okay maybe that wasn’t the best move… The shirt Korra had selected for her was a loose fitting crop top, stopping just below the bottom of her teacher’s breasts, revealing only a small part of their bottom curve.
“Still confident with your choice?” The woman toyed.
“So… confident… ” You should be moving Korra, snap out of it.
The woman patted the space next to her. Come on, left, then right, she coached herself through the movements, there ya go. Finally she made it into the bed, snuggling up to her teacher.
“I really did have a good time tonight Korra.” The toying tone to her voice was gone as she draped an arm over Korra’s abdomen, in its place was now one of honesty, and almost something vulnerable.
“I’m glad,” she smiled back at the woman, “not gonna lie about it, tonight was the most stressed I’ve ever been for a date.”
“Really?” her teacher asked in disbelief.
Korra could feel the words coming, words that would reveal just how deep she was in all of this. “You really get to me Asami.”
“What do you mean?”
“In a good way of course.” Don’t do it Korra. “You kind of get me all flustered about eighty percent of the time.”
“The Avatar? Flustered? I don’t believe it.” she smiled.
“And I uh… ” You’re digging yourself a bigger hole here. “I can’t really seem to get you out of my head.”
“What about the other twenty percent?” the older woman asked as she rested her head on her chest.
Dial it back woman! “The other twenty percent of the time you drive me insane.”
She felt the woman tense up against her. She gave her a reassuring squeeze, “Also in a good way.”
The tension in the older woman’s body softened, “Well that’s good to hear.”
Fatigue was setting in, her eyelids getting heavier by the second. “It’s all good with you Asami.”
----------------------------------------
They hadn’t spoken in a few moments, and she could feel Korra’s breaths getting deeper, her chest rising and falling at regular intervals. Asami’s mind was still firing on all cylinders, going through everything that happened on their date, from the flowers to Korra’s recent admissions. It was so good to hear, so reassuring to know that maybe, just maybe she wasn’t the only one this deep. She looked down at their interlocked fingers on the other side of Korra’s torso, the way they had been for most of the night, unable to stop the smile from forming on her face.
“Korra?” she whispered.
The girl didn’t respond.
She craned her head back to look up at her sleeping student. “Korra?” She tried again, this time a little louder.
Still nothing.
She propped herself up on an elbow, never letting go of the tanned hand in hers, shifting herself closer to the girl and resting her head on the pillow next to her. “Korra?”
Still no response.
She smiled and pressed a soft kiss to the girl’s cheek, “Je t’aime…” |
Charles could learn only bits and pieces of what happened at the house of the governor that had sheltered King Nathaniel. The governor and his household could say only that a portion of the visiting king's guard turned on them, and let in some three or four unfamiliar soldiers; all that followed was chaos and confusion. At the end of it, half the mansion was burned, and eight people were dead, including one of the attackers. Charles vomited three times in the hours it took to confirm the dead attacker was one of Nathaniel's bodyguards.
Nathaniel, of course, of course, was not among the dead. As far as anyone could tell, he fled into the forest east of the governor's mansion, and the attackers pursued. Sebastian had the place crawling with armed searchers within a half-day, but they found nothing.
Two weeks later, they received frantic reports – rumors, then confirmations, and finally an announcement from Free Essex itself – that General Lehnsherr and Commander Enjolras had beheaded King Nathaniel on a dais in the middle of New Marseilles, and declared the nation a democracy.
Sebastian declared war the next day.
***
"It's strange how near you happened to be," Sebastian said, "when everything went south for poor Nathaniel."
Charles barely glanced up from his writing desk. Sebastian had come to see Sean, of course, but the twins were napping; in the absence of children to torment, he settled for his consort. "I am hardly the one who decided where to hide the fellow, Sebastian."
"No, but you did decide to have a sudden craving for Westchester."
Charles tamped down a black laugh. How typical, for Sebastian to be so near, and yet so laughably far from the truth. It would be entirely his luck, Charles thought, to be hanged for the one treason of the summer that he had not committed.
"You know how I feel about your moronic war," he said, folding his just-completed note and sealing it with wax. "I could have told anyone that killing Nathaniel would only increase our involvement in it. I'm afraid you can't blame this one on me." He caught Clint's eye and motioned him over. Deliver this to Tony, please, he signed, and this to Natasha.
Clint bowed and left, Sebastian glaring sourly after him. It burned Sebastian that Charles had replaced his little spy with a real valet/secretary, and seeing them communicate right before his eyes in a way he could not understand had to be a trial for a man as paranoid as Sebastian.
Ironically, while Charles had signed nothing to Clint that he could not have said aloud, he had sat right in front of Sebastian and written to Tony and Natasha about their plans to scuttle the war effort. He trusted his smile was only cheerful, rather than smug.
"You will lose, you know," he said casually. "You're only fighting out of pure temper, and it won't accomplish anything."
"Especially with my darling consort undermining me at every turn," Sebastian growled.
Charles was far too experienced at the game now to betray any hint of alarm. Sebastian was merely whining about the ransoms again. "I've already paid that first batch of twenty-five. I've gotten word of fifty more. You know you can't stop me, Sebastian. Why not simply bask in the public approval? You get little enough of it."
Sebastian merely grumbled and sat back in his seat, twiddling with a paper clip. Despite all the growling and accusations, he seemed to be in an... oddly companionable mood, content to simply hang about – no violence, no tirades, no sexual demands. That had been happening a lot lately. It reminded Charles a bit of the first years of their marriage, before they quite entirely hated each other, when Charles still hoped to scavenge something like a functional relationship from their marriage, even if he had been blackmailed into it. He hated Sebastian now, more than anyone on Earth, enough to want him dead, and he knew Sebastian felt the same. But after twelve years together, towering rage was just too much effort.
Sebastian, he realized suddenly, was looking older these days. Tired. He was still King, with all the fawning hangers-on that attracted, but the gang of devoted friends – or at least dependable allies – that had surrounded him ten, even five years ago was... considerably smaller now. Some members had died or lost political power, but most had simply fallen out with the king, and never reconciled. Azazel was one of Sebastian's few remaining stalwarts, and Charles had never forgotten the terror in Sebastian's eyes when Azazel took him away to be punished. If Azazel was truly a friend to anyone, it was not Sebastian.
You'll die a sad and lonely old man, Sebastian, one who's watched everything slip through your fingers, Charles thought. Perhaps someone will feel sorry enough for you to keep you comfortable. It will not be me.
That night, with Moira reading the children's current favorite ("The Ugly Duckling") to them in the background, Charles sat once again at his writing desk, the ink drying in his quill as it hovered over the page. There were so many things he wanted to tell Erik. The children still ask about you. The fosterlings return in a week – Sebastian negotiated another three years on their contract. Natasha and I have kept our words, everything we agreed to in Westchester. I miss you. I love you.
He could not write a single word, not with this quarrel lying heavy between them – no, standing between them, a wall stretching up to the heavens and away to the horizons on either side, impossible to say how thick. There was no way to address it, nothing to say that had not already been said. You killed seven Genoshans who had done nothing to you. Your 'quick, clean end to the war' dragged out for weeks and ended with a public execution – and lo, the war still rages. I don't know yet if I can forgive you, or if I have any right to.
He wouldn't even know how or where to send a letter, now. He put the pen and paper carefully away.
***
Enjolras was elected President of Free Essex just in time to celebrate the birth of his daughter, aptly named Patria. A girl-child was just the sort of good omen the public needed, and she was immediately the nation's darling, often called "princess" despite the abolition of all noble titles. She'd inherited Enjolras's golden curls, and Erik often found that the sight of her, being doted on by her happy parents, tore at him enough to drive him from the room.
Erik was Secretary of Defense now, and had plenty to do, trying to integrate the old and new Essex militaries and largely dismantle them both at the same time. As glad as he was that the war was over, it looked like peace would be every bit as complicated.
He'd been given an excellent house with his new position; not a grand one, as the new government was anxious to remain "among the people," but more than fine enough for his purposes. He lived there with one pair of servants, a married couple who cooked and cared for the house and left him largely alone. He often felt strangely as if he were a guest in their home, they seemed so much happier and more connected to the place than he did.
The silence between himself and Charles seemed to weigh down his every movement, heavier every day, but he was at a loss how to break it. He wouldn't apologize for doing what he believed was right, not even to Charles, and what other words would Charles be willing to hear from him?
He sat at his desk, one rainy spring afternoon, and stared at a blank sheet of paper, as uselessly as he had the day before, and the day before that. He turned Hank's puzzle-ball over and over in his hands; he had yet to get it open.
One of the servants knocked at the study door. "I beg your pardon, General, but you have a visitor. A lady."
That brought Erik up short. He'd had few visitors here, mostly former brothers-in-arms – no ladies. Perhaps someone from the synagogue? He'd celebrated Purim with the Pryde family a week ago, which had been awkward but surprisingly enjoyable in the end. Perhaps Mrs. Pryde had come by to invite him to Pesach?
"I'll meet her in the sitting room," Erik said, and put away his letter-writing with a certain shameful relief.
But it was not Mrs. Pryde he found in the sitting room.
"Well, sweetheart," said Emma, with a dazzling smile, "aren't you going to say hello to your wife?"
Emma had not traveled lightly; the carriage that had brought her from the docks groaned under a pile of trunks and cases, and she airily informed Erik that more would be delivered as the ship was unloaded.
"You're not here for a short visit," Erik said, watching the parade of luggage through the doorway as Emma sipped tea across from him.
"Visit?" Her expression was almost hilariously innocent. "But don't you want me to stay, darling?"
"Stay? Permanently?"
"Of course! Now that you're finally safe and settled after so many difficult years apart—"
"There's no one here to perform for, Emma. Feel free to take off the stage makeup."
"Fine," she said, with visible distaste at his inelegance. "I've grown... bored, with what Court life in Genosha has to offer. A change of scene, the excitement of an infant government—"
"So exciting that you couldn't write ahead?" Erik raised an eyebrow. "What in the world did you do, an experienced dancer like yourself, to make all of Genosha too hot a bed for sleeping?"
"You're mixing metaphors, darling," Emma said primly. She set aside her teacup and stood. "If you'll just show me to my chamber, I've had quite a tiring journey. I'll get settled in later. But Erik, you needn't look as if the executioner's shown up on your doorstep!" She patted his cheek with a sparkling smile. "Really, my pet, you'll hardly know I'm here."
She proceeded, of course, to turn Erik's entire household upside down. Within a week, the house was in a horrifying state of renovation, with at least triple the staff, and Erik had to keep the key to his rooms on his person to prevent them being redecorated in his absence. Once Emma deemed the house presentable (which happened with astonishing swiftness), Erik found himself at the center of a social whirl he had never remotely desired, and took to spending evenings and sometimes nights at a club he'd never intended to join, dodging his somewhat bewildered acquaintances' congratulations on reuniting with the wife he'd never mentioned before.
He wasn't sure whether to be mollified or suspicious that Emma took great pains, in between pressing engagements, to spend time with him. They frequently took meals together, went on outings to interesting corners of New Marseilles (where she inevitably complained of the city's cornucopia of odd smells), and sometimes in the evening she joined him in his study to read quietly together. She even bought him gifts, some of them curiously thoughtful, such as a sturdy new coffee mug after his favorite broke. Her company was always stimulating, and despite himself, Erik found it... not unpleasant, to have something like a friend.
She offered no information about Charles, and he could not gather the nerve to ask.
One night, about a month after her arrival, Emma settled in beside Erik on the rather small sofa in his study, bearing a bottle of wine and a tray of ginger biscuits. A day of political nonsense and straightening out others' mistakes had left him weary and snappish, and Emma looked little better; she'd even taken down her hair, which she seldom did before getting into bed.
"You look as tired as I feel," Erik said, helping himself to a glass of wine.
"What a thing to say to a woman." Emma swirled her own wine, wrinkled her nose at it and set it aside. "What made your day so terrible, sugar?"
Erik didn't entirely mean to start a rant – he didn't kid himself that Emma actually cared very much – but he'd had no dinner, and the wine hit him hard. The more he drank, the more he talked, and Emma helpfully kept his glass full. It had been a very long time since Erik had drunk to excess, but why not? He wasn't on a battlefield anymore. He was safe in his own home, and he would drink if he wanted to, drink until the petty annoyances of the day didn't matter, drink until he didn't miss Charles anymore.
"In that case, I'll need to top off your glass again," Emma said, and he realized he'd said that last part out loud.
By the end of that glass, the world did, in fact, feel like a better place, warm and comfortable. He was sprawled bonelessly across his sofa, Emma a curvy, sweet-smelling weight against his chest. She gave him a drowsy smile, fiddling with the buttons of his shirt. Undoing the buttons of his shirt. And wasn't that an interesting idea? Emma. He liked Emma. And she smelled so good, and he missed that, he wanted to hold somebody and want them and be able to have them...
"Emma... no, wait..."
"I know, I know." She pressed a finger to his lips, looking amused. "Your heart is spoken for. But," she leaned closer, brushing their noses together, "it's not really your heart I'm interested in right now."
He couldn't really say which of them kissed the other, and it didn't quite feel right, Emma's mouth wasn't quite what he wanted but it was here and it was so much better than nothing, and Charles hadn't even come to tell him goodbye, so what could Charles say about him pulling Emma closer and shifting to get both his legs up onto the sofa—
The sound of breaking glass startled him, and he sat up enough to look over Emma's head.
"Just the wine," Emma said, and tried to kiss him again, but Erik was still looking at the broken glass, at the crimson pool of wine soaking into the carpet around it.
"You didn't drink any," he said.
"Better things to do." Emma's smile was wicked – and just a little false.
"You didn't drink your wine," Erik said again, "but you made sure I drank mine. Over and over." He sat up, forcing Emma backward. "You've been... tired. Took your hair down. Tired, and sick, always... eating..." He rubbed his face, trying to make his thoughts clear. "Eating ginger biscuits. And complaining how much everything smells. Just like Charles. When he was pregnant."
He was drunk enough that Emma could have played it off, had she reacted just a little bit smoother. But he wasn't drunk enough to miss the way the smile slid off her face, color draining from her cheeks. He shoved her away, to the other end of the couch, and wiped his mouth.
"You planned this. You're pregnant and you wanted me… you wanted me to think it was mine."
Emma looked down at her hands, saying nothing.
"Why, Emma?" Erik was dimly aware that he was shouting, that his body was shaking, frustrated arousal transmuting to rage. "Why the game? I've given you everything you ever asked, and this is your thanks? To trick me into—" He choked on the words, had to stop and breathe, swallow, regain control. "Emma, I've never had the slightest interest in your affairs, you know I wouldn't care. You know I'd slap my name on whatever brat you chose to bear, it's not even my money supporting it. As long as it's not Sebastian's get, which is impossible—"
Emma flinched.
Silence filled the room, heavier with every breath. Erik had never wished so ardently to be sober because surely, surely he wasn't thinking clearly. "But Sebastian can't. That's – that's the whole—"
"So I had surmised, from several separate indicators. Which is how I came to be so... careless." She grimaced in self-disgust. "Apparently he can. It takes a decade or so, is all."
"And you're certain? Entirely certain? It couldn't be one of your other... companions?"
"I am entirely certain," Emma said grimly. "I would hardly have left the country if I thought there was any hope of blaming it on someone else."
"I don't understand. Most women in your position dream of bearing the king's bastard. You'd be set for life."
"Set? Oh, yes, quite. He'd have me snug in a bower by nightfall, never to want for anything again. Gilded cage is such a clichéd term, so let me just point out how unlikely it is that I would be allowed, as you say, other companions, ever again in my life. One example of what I could look forward to; I could give you a dozen more."
"And that's why the game." Erik rubbed his eyes, leaning back heavily. "To smuggle in the one bastard you knew I'd balk at raising. Get me to stand between it and Sebastian. You're quite the cuckoo, Emma."
"It was worth a try." She began pinning her hair up. "I suppose this is the part where you throw me out of the house? I do hope you'll give me time to pack."
"Throw you out? Hardly. What sort of gentleman throws his pregnant wife out in the cold?"
Emma let her hair drop again, turning to him with a cautiously raised eyebrow.
"Emma, you haven't thought this through. What do you think would happen to my children if Sebastian discovered he had a child of his own blood?" He lifted Emma's hand to his lips, his voice very dry. "I'm ever so happy, my dear, to be starting a family with you."
***
Exactly one person had to know the truth, of course; Erik would not risk word getting back to Charles without explanation. Emma balked at the idea of committing the secret to writing and sending it straight into the household of the one they most needed to hide it from, but Erik would not hear of doing otherwise.
It took him over a week to piece together a letter, one agonizing phrase at a time. In the end he chose to address their quarrel only very obliquely, by stating how much he loved Charles despite any disagreement they might have, and that he therefore could not think of letting Charles believe him unfaithful. The letter was short, but enough, he hoped, to communicate the point. He addressed it to Moira, from Emma, for security's sake, and posted it via the next ship to leave New Marseilles harbor – the Reclamation, a name that struck him as a good omen. His hand only shook a little as he dropped the letter in the postal bag.
***
Dear Erik,
I hope you are well. I hear many good things about the progress of the new government of Essex and I hope you are pleased with your part in it –no, that was surely too snide, that wasn't at all what he meant, strike that—
I hope you find your new position satisfying
I hope you are in a better position to write
I hope you miss me every bit as horribly as I miss you, you cold-blooded son of a
Clint stepped into Charles's study with a perfunctory bow. Lord Tony here, sir.
"Of course." Charles turned the letter over, pulled himself together enough to sign. Give him tea. I'll be there right away.
He composed himself, made sure his face was not flushed nor his hair disheveled, then wheeled out into the sitting room, where Tony was already building some kind of... something out of biscuits, string, and a teacup.
"Tony! I expected you at half-past, I thought perhaps you weren't coming after all."
"Yes, sorry about that," Tony said, barely glancing up from his construction. "Had a bit of a mess – parts that should have arrived today are at the bottom of the sea, apparently. Reclamation indeed, there'll be no reclaiming that ship. No one drowned, which is nice, means I don't have to feel bad about cursing the whole crew for fools, but all the cargo, poof."
"Yes, well, that's very unfortunate," Charles said patiently. "But you said you had important news, something to tell me privately? Is it about the vote tomorrow?"
"Not directly, no." Tony's smile was usually some degree of smug, but this was more than most. "I'm sure you recall how Steve and I took that nice little holiday a couple months back, off to the islands. Lovely place, just lovely. His mother kept the boys for us, and we got to spend a lot of time just... watching the surf, drinking tropical things with umbrellas in them – reconnecting, you know, as a couple." The smile went still more smug. "We reconnected on the beach, and in the hammock, and in the kitchen—"
"Tony."
"—even in the water, that one time, which, let me tell you, not nearly as fun as you might think—"
"Tony!"
He chuckled and popped a biscuit in his mouth. "You get the idea. But I do have a point, I swear I do."
"Kindly introduce it."
"Well, interludes like that, they tend to produce certain results. And we expect those results – result, singular, please God, I am not prepared for multiples – sometime in February."
Charles blinked for a moment, deciphering this. "Oh, Tony, congratulations! How wonderful!"
"Wonderful, yeah, I'd forgotten how magnificently uncomfortable this whole process is, I'm not even showing yet and I'm just – I'm exhausted and moody and I can't stop eating, it's ridiculous—" He stuffed two more biscuits in his mouth. "Which brings me, finally, to the point, which is that I can't possibly function on an adult level through all this, not reliably, not that I do anyway, but I'll be much worse than usual."
Charles's heart sank. "Meaning I'll have to find a new proxy for Assembly."
Tony grinned. "Actually, since you officially transferred all your Assembly privileges to me, I can choose a proxy for myself without even consulting you."
"...You're worrying me, Tony."
"The requirements are that my proxy be of noble blood and not have an Assembly vote in his own right. You meet both requirements."
Charles felt his mouth fall open. "I – You – You want me to be my own proxy? That's surely not legal, that's got to be—"
"On the contrary, it's been done before, more than once. I checked."
It stole Charles's breath, the possibility of getting back into Assembly, even temporarily. He'd never dared hope for it, not once in five years – to have it dangled before him like this was almost painful. "Sebastian would never permit it," he forced himself to say. "We have an agreement, you know that."
"Yes, but he doesn't know I know it. So when I ambush him with the idea in Assembly, in front of everybody, he'll have no reason to see it as a deliberate jab—"
"Because Sebastian's always so rational—"
"—and no excuse to deny the motion, except transparent spite."
"It would be lovely if we could pull it off," Charles said wistfully. "Maybe, since it's temporary, he'll let it go..." Or only give me a few bruises for it. It would be worth that. "But I couldn't bear to see you – you don't know what he might do to punish you—"
"I'm a big boy, Charles. And I'm doing this. Just thought I'd give you the heads-up before I did." He put the last of the biscuits in his mouth with an expression of great joy. "Did I mention I'm always hungry now? Haven't had much nausea yet, I'm sure I have that to look forward to, and swollen feet, and back pain, and a whole new crop of stretch marks... I wonder how Lady Emma's holding up? I imagine it's a deeply horrifying experience for such a delicate lady."
Charles frowned. "What about Emma?"
"You haven't heard? You know she moved off to Essex to be with her long-lost hubby. Shocked everybody."
Charles felt something heavy begin falling through his innards. For a moment he couldn't speak. "No, I... I didn't know that. I heard she had left town, but I assumed she'd gone back to her country place for the summer."
"Nope. Moved to Essex, lock, stock and barrel."
Charles reminded himself Tony didn't, in fact, know quite the whole story, and had no idea that news regarding Erik would be of such great interest to him. "So she's living with Erik now."
"Yep. I didn't even think she liked the guy, but apparently they're in a family way now. One of her maidservants wrote to one of mine, something like that. All the women in town seem intensely interested in the whole thing. They all idolized Lady Emma, they're still in mourning for her soirees."
"They... Erik and Emma are having a child." The heavy object in his stomach had finally landed, and Charles wished he could blame the sudden nausea on – on pregnancy, in fact, he suddenly wanted to be pregnant so badly he could scream, him, not Emma, what right did Emma have—
"Is it really so shocking?" Tony asked. "Except, I guess, that they've been married so long, everyone had almost decided they were sterile."
Charles choked on a laugh. Erik, sterile. Erik, father of four, only one of them on purpose. Five, now. Father of five.
He managed to get Tony out the door without a visible breakdown. Then he wheeled silently back into his study, tore his disastrous attempt at a letter into tiny pieces, and threw them in the fire.
***
It was deeply satisfying to see Sebastian's surprise when he walked into Assembly and found Charles sitting at Tony's side. That surprise darkened into helpless rage as Tony informed the Assembly that Charles would be his long-term proxy as needed during Tony's pregnancy and likely the first months after. Tony then cheerfully excused himself, leaving Charles to hold his vote for the remainder of the session, and Charles wielded it like a sword. Bolstered by the element of surprise, he took opponents more accustomed to Tony's bombastic political style and cut them into neat ribbons with calm logic and kindly smiles. They would adapt, of course, but Charles would use what he had while he had it.
When the session ended, Charles made no attempt to avoid the king. In fact, he made certain that when Sebastian caught up to him, they would be alone in the anteroom of the Assembly chamber. No one else need be party to this conversation.
He waited for Sebastian to get his first fit of temper out of the way – there was no use talking to him before that. When Charles was on the floor with the beginnings of bruises on his forehead, shoulders and forearms, the echo Sebastian's shouts dying in the corners of the room, he calmly hauled himself back into his wheelchair.
"I hope you feel better now, Sebastian. I'm afraid that little tantrum is the only vengeance you'll have for this particular infraction."
"Oh, I beg to differ, my dear. You have broken our deal, and when I speak to Azazel—"
"You will tell him that you and I have an understanding and all is well."
Sebastian gaped at him for a moment. "And why would I be doing that?"
"Because if you do otherwise, I will inform the Nipponjin ambassador that you are sleeping with her husband. When that happens, you will lose any possibility of her support in... well, anything, ever again. And considering how heavily you are depending on that support for your iron and steel, your ships and safe harbors to put them in, I think you will find that my presence in Assembly for some few months is not so unendurable after all."
Sebastian's face was set in the deepest of glares, but he held his tongue, visibly considering Charles's words.
"So you can be brought to use dirty tactics after all," he said eventually. "I thought you considered me the villain, and yourself the bright and glorious hero, in our little drama."
Charles shrugged, trying not to let on how close to the mark that came. "A warrior must use the weapons he's given."
"Consider yourself a warrior, do you." He looked pointedly at the wheelchair. "And you strike a blow for freedom and justice, by breaking your word to your king."
"I decline to feel any guilt over that, considering how many of my bones you have broken. But it will not be so very bad, I think." Charles bared his teeth. "Admit it, you've missed having a worthy opponent in Assembly."
Sebastian laughed, and it was by far the heartiest, most sincere laugh Charles had heard from him in years. "Do you know, Charles, I have. Very well, then, you win this battle. I look forward to the war."
***
Though he'd never been with Charles for as much of the process as he would have liked, Erik thought he had some idea how to care for an expecting spouse. He'd forgotten to account for the basic difference between Charles and Emma's personalities. Charles was an eager parent, in love with his baby before it was half-formed, with a natural, determined good cheer that let him accept the discomforts of pregnancy with a minimum of complaint.
Emma, on the other hand, started each day screaming curses at men, babies, and her own traitorous body as she vomited into a chamber pot. It generally went downhill from there.
It was Erik, therefore, who had preparations made for the baby's nursery, laid in stores of bottles and blankets and diapers, and asked around for the wet nurse he knew full well Emma would want. It was all... rather more enjoyable than he expected. It was nice having something to look forward to.
About the time of her sixth month, when the worst of the sickness passed off, Emma found him examining a selection of tiny hats with a foolish smile on his face, and rolled her eyes so severely he thought she was fainting. Thereafter she took more charge in the proceedings. The baby's wardrobe, at least, was of interest to her, and in the end she hired the nurse on her own – a shy, wide-eyed girl who was distressingly young for the child she carried (due some two months before Emma's). Erik strongly suspected Emma of rescuing her from some sort of brothel.
Emma made no further attempt to get Erik into bed, and their friendship resumed nicely. Erik adopted an air of amused patience while he listened to her complaints, bringing her ice, chocolate, and salted crackers as bidden, massaging her back and swollen feet, cheerfully joining in when she cursed Sebastian's name (as she did often and creatively). The doctors assured them all was proceeding normally, which seemed to make no dent in Emma's conviction that no one had ever suffered as she did now. (Erik exchanged more than one roll of the eyes with the little wet nurse, Fantine, who bore her own burden much more stoically.)
Despite the distractions of caring for Emma and preparing for the baby, it did not escape Erik's notice that there was no reply to his letter. Even now, in the wake of such a startling announcement, Charles had nothing to say to him? The movement of cargo between Essex and Genosha was slow and unpredictable, he reminded himself, due to both physical and political obstacles; his own letter and Charles's reply could both experience delays. By the time he felt certain that he should have received something by now, it was too late in Emma's pregnancy to think of leaving her.
That wasn't to say he heard no word of Charles; when Genosha ceased hostilities at last and acknowledged the new government of Essex, it was widely known to be the Prince Consort's doing. How he was restored to Assembly, Erik couldn't guess, but he was certainly glad of it. He only wished he could hear the tale of it, or anything at all, from Charles's own hand.
Fantine's baby girl arrived safely, which Emma seemed to take some comfort in; in fact the entire household took the new baby and her young mother so much to heart that Erik almost wondered if he should be jealous on his own child's behalf.
His own child… He encouraged himself to think of Emma's baby as his own, but some days were easier than others. It helped to know that doing so was a victory over Sebastian, a theft, a poetic revenge. Sometimes it still burned to think of himself raising the King's seed in his own bosom, showering it with everything Sebastian kept him from giving his own sons and daughter.
Not the child's fault, he reminded himself, and hoped to heaven it would be a girl – of less potential interest to Sebastian, and bearing as little resemblance to him as possible.
***
"It's a boy," Charles said hollowly, when Moira found him sitting alone in his study, the hearth and candles unlit despite the deepening shadows. "Emma's servant wrote to Tony's servant. Androji – they've named him Hazel, after one of Emma's parents. I guess it's stylish again to have unisex names for androji, I can't imagine Emma doing it otherwise. He's to be circumcised at Erik's synagogue – has been, by now, I'm sure. I'm glad he's going to synagogue again, I know it means a lot to him, I know he... it means a lot to him, he looks for something there, I hope he's finding it..."
"Charles," Moira said, and Charles made himself stop babbling, staring down at his hand on the surface of the desk. Silently Moira pulled up a stool next to him and took his hand. "Charles, I'm so sorry."
"How did I lose him, Moira? After... everything else... so much horror, so many years, and now I've lost him? Now he just... starts a new family, with a new..." He choked on the word. "One quarrel, Moira! One quarrel and I'm forgotten!" And that wasn't fair, but the pain clawing through his chest demanded it of him anyway.
"Never forgotten," Moira said, surprisingly fierce. "Charles, that man will love you until the day he drops down dead. It's just… sometimes..."
"Sometimes that's not enough," Charles finished, when she couldn't.
They sat in silence for a while, Charles staring down at his desk through the blur of tears, holding tightly to Moira's hand. Outside the study, he could hear Armando directing the other children through some game, everyone whooping and laughing. He pictured Erik holding his new son, bending to kiss Emma's forehead, that disbelieving smile he always wore when something good actually happened in his life. That smile would surely lose its disbelief as Erik grew comfortable and secure in the knowledge that now, finally, he had a real family, something solid that he could keep, something better than Sebastian's scraps.
"I want you to be happy, Erik," Charles had told him once, "and if you ever truly get a chance for that—"
"I am happy," Erik had said, and "I will never love anyone but you."
With a tear-choked curse, Charles snatched his hand away from Moira's and swept everything off his desk, desperate to find something like release in the smash and clatter, the shattering of inkwells. Moira didn't recoil, as he expected, but wrapped her arms around him instead, holding him tight against the shaking.
"No one could do it forever," she whispered. "He needed someone who was there. It's not your fault."
"Of course it's not my bloody fault," Charles said, knowing full well that it was. "Erik's done any number of idiot things that weren't my fault. Underappreciating me is the least of them."
"No, it's not." Moira pulled back and smoothed his hair out of his face. "Anyone that – Charles, anyone who could hurt you this way – however much he loves you... You deserve better."
Charles had tried for a long time now not to notice certain things about Moira. The way she smiled at him, the way she watched him from the corner of her eye. How her eyes glowed when she'd been out playing with the children and came in with windblown hair and sun-pinked cheeks, how natural she looked with his children in her lap. How she was the only adult person, anymore, who ever touched him out of kindness. Out of love.
Why should he ignore it? Why should he be lonely while Erik did as he liked?
So he didn't move away as Moira slowly, shyly leaned forward and kissed his lips. And when she would have pulled back swiftly, he deepened the kiss instead, sliding a hand around the back of her neck.
Little hands pattered against the door, knocking and opening in the same motion, and the two of them jerked apart as Raven and Angel bounced into the room.
"Papa, Mama, come look! Clint brought us a watermelon!"
"A watermelon!" Charles said brightly, after a slightly-too-long pause. He did not look at Moira. "Probably the last of the season. We shall give it the reception it deserves. Run along, I'll be right behind you!"
Moira stood and ushered the girls away, but glanced back at him from the doorway. He had no idea whether to interpret her expression as hopeful, uncertain, frightened, or any combination of the above, and no earthly idea what she might be seeing in return.
They maintained a facade of normalcy throughout the evening, until the watermelon was demolished and the children washed and tucked into bed. Charles readied himself for bed as well, moving automatically; he knew Moira would come as soon as all was well settled. She often did, to sit by the bed and talk over the day, things that couldn't be said in front of the children. Tonight's conversation would be... rather different.
She opened the door just as Charles got his pillows properly arranged behind him. She was still dressed, her expression grave, and she made no move to touch him as she came to her usual seat. For a time they were silent, and when at last she looked at him, Charles knew that what he had to say would not surprise her. It seemed insulting to be visibly relieved, so he contained it; he would not hurt her any further than he must. Instead he took her hand and kissed it softly.
"I'm sorry, Moira."
"No," she said, "I'm the one who should apologize, Charles. I had no business... I knew you were hurting and I swear it wasn't my intention to take advantage, I only meant to – but I shouldn't have—"
"It's all right." He folded her hand more firmly into his. "I... I have tried not to be aware of your feelings, I thought it best for both of us, but perhaps it's only been more cruel. I cannot return them, Moira, even now – to be with you now, I would only be doing it to hurt Erik, not out of love for you, and you deserve so much better than that."
Silence again, while they both tucked in the edges of their composure.
"I thought there was Lieutenant Howlett to consider, too," Charles murmured.
Moira breathed a slow, heavy sigh. "There is. But I see so little of him, and... you pre-date him." She gave him a small, soft smile. "But yes, that's another reason I shouldn't have."
"Perhaps this would be a good time for you to visit him – I mean, visit Westchester," Charles said, edging a little playfulness into his voice, and was pleased to see Moira perk up a bit. "The fosterlings have never been. I'm sure they'd all enjoy watching the last of the harvesting. Cain will be away, and I hear Kurt's mellowed considerably. I could keep the twins, you'd manage the older ones very well on your own."
"I think that will work nicely, if you can manage it." Moira bit her lip. "Charles, you're not... sending me away? Permanently, I mean? I know I may have made things awkward but I... You're my family, Charles, regardless of anything else, you and the children—"
"No, never!" Charles struggled to sit up straighter, the better to meet her eyes. "Moira, never. You'll always be part of this family, whatever happens."
The tension in Moira's shoulders softened. "You and I are at harmony, then?"
"Always." He squeezed her hand.
This silence was better, warm and relieved. It felt like something settling back into place.
"Oh, I forgot," Moira said. "When I first came into your study, earlier, it was to tell you something. Good news."
"Oh? I could dearly use some of that."
"Sir Victor of House Creed is home from the war."
Charles grimaced. "This is good news?"
"He lost an eye."
"...what?"
"He's been sent to recover at one of King Sebastian's country estates, and is expected to formally retire there."
"Well. Well now." Charles rolled several potential reactions around in his mouth. "Well, far be it from me to rejoice in another's suffering, even one such as him. But I can't say I'll be sorry not to see him again, nor for Genosha to have a new Paladin."
"Officially, of course, he lost the eye in battle," Moira said, a smile dancing at the corners of her mouth. "Rumor has it, though, that he actually lost it to an eldery woman who crept into his tent to avenge an... injury done to her granddaughter. Rumor also has it that this elderly lady also cost him something more dear than an eye."
Charles choked, Moira's smothered smile broke free, and they both laughed until their bellies ached, feeling for once that there might be justice in the world.
***
Emma seemed happy to let Erik take charge of most things Hazel-related; it was largely Erik and Fantine who changed diapers, sang lullabies, and snugged him into tiny hats and socks for adventures out of doors. She was at least casually supportive of Erik's determination to have the boy raised Jewish, though it seemed to amuse her somewhat.
"Lying to God, isn't it?" she said, in a conversation about Erik's synagogue's liberal willingness to assign Jewish identity through the father's line, and that had taken Erik aback. But surely, if God existed – which he wanted to believe, even if he hadn't attained the certainty he might have liked – surely He would forgive this as a measure to keep an innocent babe away from Sebastian. Or even as an act of justice, since Sebastian had taken Erik's children, and thus kept them from the heritage they ought to have had.
Hazel was circumcised with the Hebrew name Atzil, which Erik chose largely because of its similarity to Hazel, though he also liked the meaning. Nobleman, gentleman, knight – it went well with Lehnsherr, which was itself descended from a word for 'lord.' Another way, whispered some back part of Erik's mind, to make him feel like yours.
So Hazel had his Hebrew name, and wore the little knit hats his father picked out for him, and slept in a basket on Erik's side of the bed. And Emma, when she had a mind to it, and usually when no one was watching, cuddled and cooed at him, replaced the knit hats with more stylish ones – and handed him back to Erik if he so much as looked likely to cry.
"He'll be more interesting later," she said. "When he's capable of more than converting milk into stink. His resemblance to me is very promising."
He did, in fact, resemble Emma strongly; the near-invisible fuzz on his head seemed destined for blondness, and his eyes were Emma's same cool blue. (Not the warm, vibrant blue of Hank's and Charles's, but Erik knew it still softened his heart more than it logically ought.) Much less pleasing was the one definite trace of Hazel's natural father.
"Leave it be, Mr. Lehnsherr," Fantine scolded, when she caught Erik picking at the red V-shaped mark that marred Hazel's left shoulder. "It's only a birthmark, nothing to worry over. Chances are it'll fade away by the time he's walking and talking."
But it was something to worry over, because such marks sometimes ran in family lines, and Emma had confided to him that Sebastian had an identical mark, faded with age, in the very same place on his body.
It won't matter, he told himself. Sebastian will never see him. He'll grow up here in Essex, the son of a Jewish ex-general, and never think of King Sebastian of Genosha in all his life, beyond what gossip he might hear on the street.
He tried not to take that thought to its conclusion – that if Hazel never went to Genosha, it would be because Erik never returned there. Never saw Charles again.
"Be patient," Emma advised him, whenever she caught him fretting over Charles. "You quarreled rather severely, you know, and your last communication was not exactly a plea for forgiveness. He's still angry. Give him time."
Hazel began crawling at six months, desperate to keep up with Fantine's little Cossette, and it was dizzying to Erik to realize the little fellow had been around for an entire half-year.
He had heard nothing from Charles in half a year. Plus the time of Emma's pregnancy. Almost fourteen months since he'd sent the letter.
"Something's wrong," he told Emma that night, and cut her off with a sharp gesture when she tried to speak. "No. No more delay. He would have answered by now."
"You act as if he might be in trouble. We hear news of him all along, we would know if anything were seriously wrong."
"Something is seriously wrong, even if no harm has come to him. I don't think he ever received my letter."
"Very well, send another."
"And spend another six months in limbo? No. I have to go to him."
Emma gaped at him. "If you set foot on Genoshan soil, you'll be strung up for treason."
Erik grinned, showing all his teeth. "Only if I'm caught."
|
It was incredible, how much tension was brought from not being able to see one another. He was addicted to the thought of touching her, and she often dreamed of kissing him, or holding his hand. She was often talking to him when she should've been doing something else. Nothing they ever said was racy, not really, but she was certainly thinking some things that weren't directed at him.
John?
Blimey, you really don't pay attention in class, do you?
You're much more interesting.
Yes, well, I do try.
What are you doing right now?
I'm in class.
Which?
Physics. Where are you?
English.
He stayed quiet for a few moments and she guessed that he was writing down a note or something, as he was quite good a student.
Quite good, Rose. Shall I call you tonight?
Yes. You haven't called from Uni yet.
Well... No, but that's because my roommate will steal you away from me.
Not a chance!
He's quite dashing.
Not as dashing as you.
I'm... Gangly.
Yeah well I like it, so there.
I'm glad you do, his voice betrayed his honesty and she smiled a little bit. She loved when these little pieces of him came out, the way he spoke so clearly sometimes but was also sometimes quite vague.
Now, John broke her thoughts, It's time you paid attention to class.
I guess you're right, she said to him, leaning her chin in her hand. Talk to you tonight, then?
Of course.
She focused on her class than, able to now that she knew she'd be talking to John tonight. There was not a day that they went without talking to each other, even if it was just in their heads for a few minutes before one of them was terribly busy for the day. The point was that they always made time for each other. She liked that. She wondered if Mickey was doing the same for his soulmate. They didn't talk about that sort of thing anymore. He was acting like a bit of an arse, actually, though she couldn't tell why, exactly.
Rose was gathering up her books and shoving them in her bag after class when she heard someone shuffle up to her, standing by her desk. She looked up and groaned and rolled her eyes when she saw Jimmy Stone.
He leaned his palms on her desk. "You know, I'm really glad you're so excited to see me."
"I really can't stand you, Jimmy," She said.
"Planning on talking to your older guy tonight, then?"
"Yes, I am, actually." She thought of all her life-guarding money, how it was all saved up for that summer, to go spend it with John. "Not that it's really any of your business."
He curled his lip at her. "Come on. You know you'd rather spend an evening with a guy who can actually be in the room with you."
"I'm going to meet him this summer," Rose said sharply. "And it's going to be perfect and you can't stop it." She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him, still sitting at her desk. "Why don't you just sod off and get the picture?"
Rose was a woman of a lot of words. In fact, she liked words a lot, especially when lashing out at Jimmy Stone, but she had a feeling that this time was not the time to indulge him in a good long argument. He would think that she wanted to shag him because she liked him so much or something.
She started to walk off, barely hearing when Jimmy called out behind her: "Fine! Be a prude for the rest of your life!"
She closed her eyes, trying not to think about it. It wasn't about her being a prude, it was about being committed to someone. Committed to John, because he loved her, and she loved him. She adored him, with every part of herself that she was, and she wanted to meet him this summer, wanted to love him, hold his hand in public, keep him as close as humanly possible. She had a feeling, based on the sort of things that he said, that he wanted all the exact same things.
Oh, with all her heart, how she wished it could be now.
That night, Rose didn't feel like dressing up. She was wearing a grey school hoodie and her hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders. When John called, she all but winced as she picked up, not wanting him to see her like this but being so tired that she couldn't really do anything else.
"Hello," She said, unable to stop from grinning broadly as she looked at him.
"Hello!" He said, sliding his brainy specs on, "You look lovely tonight."
She looked down at herself and then back at him, confused. "I do?"
He chuckled. "I don't know what it is about girls that make them think dressing down makes them unattractive. Rose. Seeing you in that very outfit makes me want to get under about a thousand blankets and cuddle you and watch telly."
She smiled, liking the image of that very much. "Can we do that, someday?"
"We'll do that this summer," he promised.
"It'll be hot then," she reminded him, and he smiled.
"Yeah, we'll turn the air up, then."
She giggled. "Can we plan? I like when we plan."
"Yes,' he said quickly. "Tell me, now, which day you get off of school? Pardon, what day is your graduation?"
"I walk on June first," she said instantly.
He nodded and pulled out what he called his 'Rose notebook' which held all his travel plans and his money for the trip. She had a box that stacked all her money to her plane ticket to Scotland when they were going to travel together.
He furrowed his brows at his book. "I can get there on June third... I can't see you walk," he looked up at her sadly, his forlorn expression coming through loud and clear on the video.
"S'okay, I didn't get to see you walk," she reassured him. "June third is great, we've got a date for it now."
He smiled. "Good. Now, on July third, we can come up to Scotland and stay for a month. You don't know when your Uni will go back."
She shook her head. "No, I don't know where I've been accepted yet."
"That's okay. You have time, love."
She smiled. She liked when he called her that. Any term of endearment made her heart fly a little bit, as cliche as it was. He was still looking intently at his book.
"By my records, Miss Tyler, I can see very clearly that I will be able to afford my ticket down to London." He tapped his pen on his desk. "And I will meet you there and hug you until you can't breathe."
Rose smiled. "And you know my address then?"
"Oh, no, I don't, why don't you go on and give it to me?"
She gave him the address to her flat, suddenly grateful that he didn't live in London so that he couldn't know she lived in one of the poorest areas in London. He wrote it down in his notebook and smiled at her.
"This is beginning to feel real," he said, "Really, properly real."
"I know," she was feeling every bit as giddy as he was. She clenched her hands together in her lap and smiled.
The door to John's door opened violently, shattering the moment, and a loud man's voice filled the whole room.
"Jack!" John scolded as another man came into frame. Some would call him 'devastatingly handsome', with his dark hair, blue eyes, and absolutely winning smile. John put his face in his hands as the other man leaned all the way over into frame.
"This must be the ever sweet Rose Tyler."
"Jack, please."
"Hi, you must be Jack's roommate," Rose smiled, trying to be as polite as possible.
"That's me. It's too bad I don't have a soulmate, or I would have to complain that it wasn't you."
"Jack!" John seemed completely flustered and embarrassed and Rose thought it was quite possibly the most adorable thing in the world.
"Speaking of soulmates, Jack, I think I've got one right behind you there."
Jack pretended to be surprised and turned around to look at John, who was blushing furiously and giving the other man a dirty look. Jack looked back at Rose. "You know, I do believe you're right. You have got a soulmate back here."
"Yeah. Can I talk to him, maybe?"
Jack sighed and pretended to be put out. "Of course," he grinned, "I've got lots of homework to do anyway. Nice to meet you, Rosie!" He sprung back out of frame and Rose giggled a little.
John scratched the back of his neck and looked at her. "Um, sorry about that, I'm just... He's a little... Can we look at our plans some more?"
Rose smiled, giving him a bit of relief from his embarrassment. "John, you could crash on the couch here, if you wanted. We don't have a spare room, but you'd be welcome."
"Better than staying at a hotel," he nodded. "And I think your mum would like me better if I was close at hand but not too close. Have you asked her about all this?" he asked worriedly.
"Yeah. She understands and she's okay with it, of course," she said, "You're my soulmate, after all," she said.
He smiled. "I'm... I'm glad she feels that way. Now, we have a guest room at my Aunt's house, and I want you to stay there with me. The only thing you will ever pay for while you're here in Scotland is your plane ticket, and that's just so you can get out."
She found herself feeling like she was soaring. "You know, John, I think I might not ever want to leave."
"Don't tempt me."
****
Shareen had met her soulmate, and they had gotten on so smashingly that she was quite sure that she would be married before high school officially ended. He'd stayed at her house, and she'd stayed at his, and Rose found herself being a bit of a grump that they lived so close, just a couple hours difference. John was just so far.
"So, you'll get your plane ticket when John comes?" Shareen asked, shoveling her lunch in her mouth as she always had.
"Yeah," Rose said, crossing her legs under the table. "That way we can get on the same flight to Scotland."
"And you're staying with his Aunt?"
"Yep."
Shareen smiled at her friend. "Do you think you'll get accepted to that school in Scotland. It's... How far from him?"
"It's a thirty minute trek from his school to mine... If I get in," she said, smiling a little, almost to herself.
Keisha sighed, her chin dropping into her hand. "God, that is so romantic, you guys are so cute." she said.
Mickey sat next to them, and Rose watched him without him knowing. She watched as he put his fork down and shut his eyes. Her heart practically melted. Finally, he was contacting his soulmate.
Jimmy tried to catch her every day after lunch, and she avoided him easily, though that didn't stop him. The night Keisha had a party, he tried to snog her, drunk off his arse as he was, and she'd called John, her tears spilling over the side of her cheek and onto her phone as she hid in the bathroom.
"What's wrong?" John demanded more than asked.
"Jimmy Stone tried to snog me."
"Well he didn't, did he?"
"No, I'm in the bathroom, I'm hiding, John, I'm sorry, this is all my fault, I never should have come to this party." She pressed her hand over her eyes.
"Rose, listen to me. Him trying to kiss you against your will is not your fault, do you understand me? You did not encourage him with anything you did. Love?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm not going to forgive you for something you don't need to apologize for."
"I love you," Rose choked out through sobs.
"I love you, too, Rose," he said to her, making it sound like a promise. "Now you listen to me. I trust you. You haven't had anything to drink tonight, have you?"
"No."
"See, then? I'm right to trust you. I'll stay on the phone as long as you want."
"I hate that man," she spat, "I hate Jimmy Stone."
"Me too."
Rose chuckled on a watery laugh. She slipped out of the party about twenty minutes later. This scene was not for her.
And then, one day, the most inevitable thing in the world happened, and Rose had never been more excited for a day.
She turned eighteen. It was five months until she would meet John. |
Fragrant sweet and spicy aromas drift lazily up from the round steamer basket and mingle with those from the small bowl of flat shaped egg noodles swimming in a steaming broth. The delicious combination is paired with a cup of hot green tea that actually looks like it could be from Xing, though its price makes the possibility more doubtful. Either way Ling is grateful for the near facsimile wherever it’s from. It reminds him of home and he’ll take the respite however brief.
Ling picks up one of the small steamed buns and inhales deeply before taking a bite. The taste of spiced meat inside the warm dough bursts over his tongue and coats it with a delicious richness. He closes his eyes for a moment to savor it then takes a sip of the hot green tea. Ever since the first time Greed showed him there were places like this in Amestris he’s hardly been able to get enough. He had no idea there were small pockets of immigrants from Xing hidden in most large cities and even in some of the smaller ones. The culinary fare isn’t identical, but it’s made by people who know what these delicacies should taste like and it’s more than enough to send him back home if only for a moment.
And once again you’re welcome, kid. Who knew you were so damn easy to please?
“Silence, you parasite. Let me enjoy my meal. You know that’s the deal.” Ling takes another bite to finish off the steamed bun then leans forward for a sip of the noodle soup filled with vegetables and topped with an egg. It’s spicy and savory, just like the rest of the meal and each bite gives him a comfort nothing else in this insane country has.
Parasite, huh? I think you might have that one reversed, your highness.
Ling hears, or senses, the sarcasm in the thought and swears there’s a chuckle to accompany it. As usual Greed seems to be amused by him and he’s willing to accept it, as long as it gives him these few moments of his own. Greed never seems to care too much about his own meals and he definitely never savors them. More than once he’s wondered if having the homunculus inside him has made more changes to his body than even he knows. Does he still need to eat as much? Would he still pass out if—
It’s still a human body, kid. Don’t be getting any stupid ideas. It just takes a whole lot more to kill it now. And I eat plenty, I just don’t meditate over my meals like you do. How much longer are you gonna be anyway?
“Didn’t I tell you to get out of my thoughts?” Ling scowls and finishes off his cup of tea. He reaches out for the small teapot on the table and refills it as he tries to focus inward and push the homunculus back. He’s only had limited success with this before, and he has a sinking feeling it’s because Greed allowed it, but that doesn’t mean he’ll stop trying.
Oh relaaaaaaaaaaaax will you? You don’t have to go getting all pushy on me.
Ling smiles slightly and bites into another steamed bun. It’s not a win, but at least he is affecting him. That’s something after all. Ling stills his inner battle and refocuses on his meal. Greed is already receding to the back of his mind where he can almost pretend he’s not there and he’d like to take advantage of the rare moment of peace. Usually he’s forced to be the one in the background and it’s good to feel like he owns his own skin again. He’s still not sure why Greed allows him these concessions, but he’ll take it, especially considering each time he takes control it feels easier than the last.
He expects a comment at the thought, but when it doesn’t come he assumes the homunculus must not be listening in. That’s another thing he’s discovered. He can mostly block his thoughts from his intimate intruder if he really tries. It seems Greed is more able to glean his surface thoughts unless Ling’s distracted. Apparently getting wrapped up in something, like a delicious meal, makes him easier to read. Maybe that’s why he allows him these diversions. Ling shrugs off the troubling thought as he lifts the soup to his lips. It’s all a guess so far anyway. For all he knows Geed could rip his mind to shreds if he wanted to and tear out anything he wants to know. Why he hasn’t so far is the real question. Is it because he can’t or because he chooses not to?
Ling stares across the small street market area lit with little randomly spaced lights and lanterns but doesn’t really see the other tables or the people scattered around. They’re all inconsequential to him now. No, right now he needs to figure out how he’s ever going to regain control of himself for good so he can return to Xing. He never intended to get so wrapped up in this crazy land and it seems like the longer he’s here the stronger the ties holding him become. When that Father person under Central City said he was going to make him a homunculus he jumped at the chance because he knew his will would win out in the end. But is it? Is he winning this battle or is he fooling hims—
What are you staring at? Oh, wait, I see now. Mmmm, she is a nice one, isn’t she? Nice taste, kid.
“Wha-What?” Ling sits up straighter and blinks, trying to figure out what the homunculus is talking about when he suddenly realizes he is staring at someone. There’s an older, very attractive dark haired woman a few empty tables away and she’s actually looking back at him. Ling ducks his head down to focus on his food and he snatches up the last of the steamed buns. He takes a small bite to savor it and hisses softly under his breath. “Stop that. I wasn’t looking at her. I don’t have time for such things right now. I’m still a Prince.”
Still a ‘Prince?’ What’s that supposed to mean? What are you—
“Never you mind, you lecherous beast. You just want everything you can’t have.” Ling’s fingers curl around the warm bread and hopes the woman isn’t still watching him. He doesn’t have time to deal with this right now.
I can and will have everything! Now, if you weren’t looking at her…oh wait. I see now. You must have been staring at that guy’s ass standing behind her! Huh, not bad, but you could definitely do better. Maybe I should—
“Shut up!” Ling flinches when his words are much too loud for someone talking to themself . He shakes his head angrily against the amusement he’s feeling inside that definitely does not belong to him. It’s one thing to have a monster living inside but quite another to be mocked by it!
Oh, take it easy. I’m not judging. If you like that kind of thing I’m good—Oh hey, lookie there. Looks like your girlfriend’s coming over. Maybe I should take over before you blow it.
“Greed, wait. No. Gre—”
GREED!!!
But it’s too late. The feeling of losing control is already taking over and in the next breath he’s a passenger in his own body. The woman from before is indeed walking over and Ling fights in vain to regain any sort of control at all. He doesn’t know what Greed may try to do and he has to stop him. His body is not for the homunculus’ amusement! The curvy, dark haired woman saunters over and Ling curses when Greed pops the rest of the delicious steamed bun in his mouth then swallows down the rest of the soup. It’s all such a waste and it infuriates Ling to no end.
You fool! I was enjoying that!
“Calm down, kid, and you can be enjoying something a whole lot more fun. Trust me. I know what I’m doing.” The woman reaches the table and Greed kicks out his leg underneath it to push out the chair opposite him. The woman glances at it with an amused smile and Ling can feel his own lips curling into a grin he knows he’d never make. “Hello, beautiful. Would you care to join me?”
Greed, stop this right now! You don’t know her and this is my body. Stop this immediately. I command you!
He doesn’t get an answer and he hardly expected one, but that doesn’t mean he can’t at least try to be distracting. He fights against the helplessness holding him captive as the woman sits down across from him and smiles back. She can’t possibly be falling for this avarice creep, can she?
“Actually, with the way you were looking at me I was wondering if maybe we’ve met before.” Her voice is warm and melodic and she curls a lock of long hair around her finger. She looks like she could have some Xingese ancestry from the tilt to her eyes but their bright green color vouches for her Amestrian blood. She’s striking, but not a distraction he’s interested in now. He’s a Prince and until he becomes Emperor he has no need for this!
“I don’t believe we have, Darlin’, but I’d be more than happy to get to know you better.” Greed reaches across the table for her hand and brings it to his lips. “You know, I’m actually a prince and I have to say you’d make a beautiful princess.”
HOW DARE YOU USE MY POSITION TO SEDUCE THIS WOMAN! Stop this now, homunculus! I DEMAND YOU STOP THIS NOW!!
“Is that so?” She smiles back, obviously amused. Ling can feel himself leering at her and the whole situation makes him sick. This isn’t something he’d ever do. He has so much more important things to deal with. The woman reaches into the bag on her shoulder then writes something down on a scrap of paper she slides across the table. “Well, if you ever happen to find your kingdom, why don’t you give me a call?”
She stands as soon as Greed’s fingers curl around the paper then flips her hair over her shoulder as she turns and walks away. Ling hears Greed chuckle and he doesn’t understand it. Why is it funny? Didn’t she just turn down the Prince of Xing? He should be insulted!
“Greedy, bitch. Just my kind of girl.” Greed slips the scrap of paper in his pocket then picks up the tea and finishes it off with a single gulp. Ling inwardly sighs at the loss and wonders if that’s the last of the freedom he’ll have for the night. “You know, kid, you really do need to relax and have more fun. A woman like that could definitely do you right. If you’d like I could probably go convince her I’ve got—”
Don’t. Just don’t, Greed. I have no desire to be a helpless passenger as you desecrate my body.
“Helpless? Is that what you….” Greed suddenly sits up straighter and Ling gets worried. He knows this feeling. Greed’s figured something out and he has no doubt he’s not going to like it. “When you were saying earlier you were ’still a Prince,’ tell me, does that mean you haven’t even been with a woman?”
If Ling could blush internally he would. This is the worst part about having this creature inside him. There’s nowhere to run. He attempts to shut down his mind, but he can feel Greed probing at him already. There’s no telling what he’s getting from him now. He tries to hide, tries to ignore him, but it’s a futile game and he knows it.
Enough, homunculus. I’m not having this conversation with you.
“Awww shit, you haven’t, have you?! You’re still a damn virgin?!” Greed’s words are entirely too loud and even Ling can feel the eyes on them now. Greed glances around then shrugs as he pushes out of his chair and heads out of the market place. He weaves through the tables with ease but Ling can tell his focus is definitely not on their surroundings. It’s turning inward, directly on him. “Hell, why didn’t you say something, kid? If I’d known there’s no way I’d have tried to start you off with a cougar like th—”
These things are none of your concern, Greed. Now drop this line of questioning immediately or—
“Or what? You’ll get pouty at me?” Greed laughs and Ling inwardly flinches at the familiarly pleasant sound that doesn’t belong to him. “All I’m saying is I’m surprised. What kind of place is this Xing anyway? I’d think an actual Prince would have all the ladies he could handle.”
A true Prince’s duty is to prepare to protect his people! Not to breed heirs. That comes later once I become the Emperor.
“Waaaait a minute.” Greed stops to rest his hand on the side of a building in the alleyway they’re passing through. Ling feels his curiosity and fears he’s said too much. “Hold on, are you implying the Emperor of Xing has his own harem at his beck and call? Stop holding out on me, Prince. This is actually important.”
If Ling could roll his eyes he would. Leave it to Greed to only hear about the potential to feed his own avarice. So far Greed’s been too wrapped up in his blood feud with Bradley to even ask much about Xing. Finally he seems to be actually curious and this is what he wants to know? Somehow he’s not all that surprised.
Of course he does. It is the Emperor’s duty to produce heirs and to show favor to all of the clans of Xing by representing them in the harem. It’s an ancient system to ensure the royal line and that there will always be a fit heir to be chosen to lead the—
“So you’re saying that I’ll have dozens of beautiful women at my disposal whenever I—”
More like hundreds and they will NOT be for you! Understand this now, homunculus, I will not allow you to desecrate the young women of Xing—
“And there you go with that again.” Greed shakes his head and pushes off the wall to continue making his way back to their current shelter. A couple days ago they found an abandoned house that obviously used to belong to an elderly woman. From the looks of things she’s been gone for a long time and Ling was disgusted at the fact none of her family would take care of her things. He will never understand the disregard this country seems to have for its elders, though in this situation it has worked out for their benefit. “Didn’t I tell you, you need to lighten up?”
If ‘lightening up’ means to take a backseat to your sexual exploits with my body, you can forget about it happening. I am a Prince of Xing, not you, and I will not remain locked away forever, homunculus. I will not be a bystander in my own body!
“That’s really what you think, isn’t it?” Ling goes silent. The way Greed spoke it’s as if he’s missing something but he has no idea what. He’s spent a lot of time watching this creature, long before he made himself heard so clearly, and he’s come to know him quite well. Ling focuses on the feeling inside and senses amusement, surprise and is that a hint of disappointment? Why? He doesn’t understand. What’s this beast going on about now?
Yes, it is. I will not be your prisoner forever, Greed.
“You know I actually thought you were a little more perceptive than this.” Greed moves away from the edge of the city into the nearby thick woods with nearly as much silent stealth as Ling would himself.
And what is that supposed to mean?
Ling fumes at the insult. Being perceptive is a skill he was taught at a young age, as well as how to read people. How dare this monster insinuate that he isn’t. It was his accurate perception of Edward Elric’s cocky and arrogant nature that allowed him to play the fool until he got close enough to the alchemist to learn his secrets. Ed never would’ve given him the opportunity if he’d seen him as a legitimate threat. Even now he doubts Ed truly knows how formidable he really is.
“I didn’t say you were stupid, kid. Just that you don’t have this all figured out yet.” Greed weaves his way through heavy underbrush until they reach something that vaguely resembles an old trail. “You still see this as a battle. What you’re missing is there was never a fight to begin with.”
What are you saying? Trepidation curls through Ling’s mind and he actually considers dropping the topic altogether. Sometimes it’s better not to know all the facts when the secrets themselves keep you safe. But he can’t. Now that the door has been cracked he needs to know the truth even if knowing could cost him his existence. Better to know now before this beast learns even more from him that could one day hurt his country. Are you implying that you could destroy me?
Laughter fills the quiet woods and Ling keeps a tight rein on the anger welling up inside him. Lashing out now won’t get him the answers he wants. Greed moves over to lean against a tree then tilts his head back to gaze up at the dark sky through open patches in the forest canopy. “Kid, I could’ve torn you apart the instant I took this body.”
Such chilling words shouldn’t sound so conversational, but with Greed, somehow they always do. Those words should sound threatening or menacing, but they don’t. If anything the homunculus seems amused. However, Ling is not. If anything he’s angry, very angry. Has the homunculus just been playing games with him, manipulating him the way he did the Elric brothers? Ling wants to lash out, to try and find some way to hurt the beast, but he doesn’t. Instead he pushes his rage to the side, saving it for later, because he still doesn’t have the whole story, yet.
So why didn’t you?
“Because I’m Greed, remember?” Irritation pulses through Ling and it’s fueled by the laughter on Greed’s lips. “Oh, come on, don’t get pissy now.” Greed sighs and shakes his head in a way Ling feels is more than a little condescending. “I could’ve destroyed you, my young Prince, but then I would have lost something.” A familiar, hungry smile curls over Greed’s lips as he adds, “And I don’t like losing anything.”
Why not? Wouldn’t it be easier to just do away with me instead of coddling me with glimpses of freedom and having this cursed conversation?! Ling’s control is slipping, but he can hardly help it. He’s not a game or an object to be possessed. He’d rather have nothing than be this monster’s helpless plaything!
“Ahhhh, you’re still not getting it, are you?” Greed shakes his head then crosses his arms over his chest. “Let’s start from the beginning, why don’t we?” He pauses as if waiting for answer but he won’t be getting one right now. Ling isn’t jumping through anymore hoops tonight. “Fine, so let’s start with why you’re still here.”
Greed stretches his right arm out at eye level then quickly flips his wrist and makes a fist. His fingers slowly uncurl as a smug look slides across his features. “I think it’s pretty obvious I not only can control this body, but can make use of much of the skills it possesses.” Ling remains silent, but he has noticed what he’s saying. The way he silently moves through the woods, for example, is nearly the same way Ling would himself. He’s assumed it’s because it’s still natural for his body to move that way.
“Exactly.”
Stop reading my thoughts, homunculus. It negates the point of having a ‘conversation.’
“You’re right.” Greed snorts in amusement and smiles again. “But I was getting the feeling you weren’t talking to me, so….”
Stop mocking me and get to your point.
“You really are touchy tonight, aren’t you?” Greed shakes his head then crosses his arms and tilts his head back again. “Anyway, as I was saying, I don’t like losing things, especially when they can still be useful.” Ling feels Greed’s enormous inner presence turn all its attention on him and the beast’s face appears right before him. “You are useful, kid. You know this body much better than I do and you have skills I’ve yet to master.” The large amorphous presence in front of him smiles and Ling scowls back at it. “You’re also smart and strong, two things I noticed about you immediately. You never cowered away from me and I’ve been watching you for too long not to see how smart you are. Why in the world would I have destroyed you? I’m not a malicious idiot like my brother Wrath.”
So I’m to be your plaything? Your amusement? Something to be accessed or trotted out only when you need my skills? Ling rages at the insult and his anger nearly blinds him to everything. Nearly, because there’s one thing Greed said that’s sticking in his head. He insinuated it more than once. Ling stubbornly gets control of his rage again and narrows his eyes at the giant presence before him. You said you ‘could have’ destroyed me. That you ‘would have.’ Are you saying that now you can’t?
“You caught that, did you?” The disembodied face laughs then smiles amidst the sea of souls around him. “See, this is what I’m talking about. Smart.”
You didn’t answer my question.
“Fine, fine, you got me.” The amusement leaves the homunculus’ true features but he doesn’t seem angry at being discovered. If anything he seems almost pleased? “To be honest, I really don’t know if I could still destroy you or not.”
What are you saying? Anticipation and hope swirl through him. He may still have a chance to fulfill his destiny after all. I can defeat you and reclaim my body?! Inward laughter dampers but doesn’t dash his hopes. If he can’t be destroyed then he should still have a chance to win.
“Probably not.” Greed’s expression turns more thoughtful and Ling focuses on it, trying to read him the way he would a real flesh and blood face. “Not unless you were able to access the stone inside me, but that’s part of my very existence.” Large, white eyes turn their attention back on him again and his mouth turns up in a toothy grin. “But, then, we’re sharing the same existence now, aren’t we?”
The stone. Why didn’t the think of the stone? He can feel it all around him in presences that are no longer discernible individuals, but there all the same. He’s been so focused in trying to regain control of his body he didn’t even consider looking inward to fuel his revolt. But…why would Greed tell him this? If it is possible for him to take control by using the stone, why would Greed let him know? And why would he let him remain if there was ever a chance at being overpowered? It makes no sense, greedy bastard or not. Greed may be impulsive, but he’s not stupid.
Why? Why would you tell me this, Greed? Why would you ever keep me around if there was any chance I could defeat you and lock you awa—?
“It’s about more than that, you narrow minded little piss-ant.” Greed’s sudden anger startles him but he won’t back down. White eyes narrow and his toothy mouth turns down, but Ling continues to stand his ground. “What did I tell you about this not being a battle? When are you going to start listeni—”
A sudden snapping sounds rings out in the woods around them and in a flash the homunculus’ inner visage disappears as he turns his attention back to their surroundings. Ling does the same, watching through eyes he doesn’t control as Greed takes an evasive stance and silently moves to peer through some thick brush. The noise sounded like a twig snapping which probably means they are no longer alone. Bradley’s men haven’t been able to find them yet, but considering they have been frequenting some smaller cities it’s possible they could’ve been spotted.
Greed carefully parts the dense underbrush with one hand to reveal a small moonlit lake. The water is glass like in its appearance and Greed scans the open area. Nothing in the serene scene seems out of place until a rock skitters into the water and causes ripples to radiate across the pool. Greed’s eyes instantly track the source of the small object and a slow smile curls over his lips as he whispers softly, “Ahhhh, what do we have here.”
A young couple makes their way hand in hand out of the woods and it’s immediately apparent they aren’t a threat. They stop, right at the water’s edge, then fall into an enthusiastically passionate kiss. It’s very obvious where this little rendezvous is going and there’s no need to observe them further. Ling tries to look away, but apparently Greed has other ideas.
Greed, stop it. There’s no reason to spy on an obviously private moment. Let’s go.
“It’s not that private if they’re out in the woods, now is it?” Greed grins then shifts to a more comfortable stance where he can watch them easier through the foliage. “They are the ones who interrupted us so why shouldn’t we watch? You really do need to lighten up, kid.”
Enough with this, you hedonistic beast. How many times do I have to tell you I won’t remain idle as you use my body to—
“Our body, Ling. It’s time you figured that out.” Greed leans forward slightly as the girl with long blonde hair pulls her shirt up over her head to reveal she’s wearing nothing underneath. She drops the shirt to the side then pushes down her shorts to bare herself completely to the moonlight and the very eager young man before her. He reaches out for her instantly, kissing her deep as his hands fun over her full breasts then down to cup her round ass. “Now tell me you don’t like what you see? Come on, Prince, I know you aren’t made of stone.”
Ling tries again to look away as Greed licks his lips but it’s a useless gesture. He’s trapped, locked as an observer against his will and there’s nothing he can do about it. He tried desperately to force Greed to turn his head, but instead he only turns his eyes to the attractive young man disrobing beside the girl. The absence of his shirt reveals a toned hard body with skin bronzed from the sun. His shoulder length hair is dark and silky looking in the moonlight and he tosses his head to get it out of his attractive face as he unfastens and lowers his trousers. His desire for his companion is immediately evident and Ling finds himself transfixed despite himself.
“Ahhhh now I get it. That’s why you were bitching about the ‘obligation’ to sire heirs.” Greed’s eyes run over the young man’s virile body and Ling silently curses the monster inside him. “I supposed a lifetime supply of decadent sweets wouldn’t mean so much to someone who doesn’t like chocolate.”
What-what are you saying? Don’t speak in riddles, homunculus. Ling tries to pretend he doesn’t follow him, but he can easily read his smug tone of voice. The damn monster feels like he’s rifling through his mind, but Ling knows he hardly needs to. He tries to shut off his mind all the same because he can’t really know. He’s only guessing. He has to be.
“Hey, don’t get mad at me. I just didn’t know. What’s wrong, are there no male harems in X—”
Silence, you beast. You don’t know what you’re talking about. The couple is still kissing and groping each other at the shoreline, but his eyes are definitely locked on the young man. Why is Greed torturing him this way? Ling feels his eyes widen with his own surprise and his breath catches. Wait a minute. When did he get control?!
“About the time you wanted to look at that stud over there instead of the beautiful woman.” Ling feels his control slip out of his grasp again but only just. Greed’s never played this kind of game with him before and he doesn’t understand. “I told you before, Ling. This isn’t about yours and mine and you aren’t a passive bystander. Come on, tell me you don’t feel this.”
Greed reaches down between his legs as the couple turns toward the water and rubs his hand over the growing bulge in his pants. His eyes are still locked on the eager young man sinking into the water with his girl and desire clouds Ling’s mind. But how? Ling’s definitely not in control as Greed runs his hand over his hardening cock but the feelings he’s feeling are definitely there. What the fuck is going on?!
Enough! Stop it, Greed. What are you—what is this?!
“I told you before, your highness, it’s our body now.” Ling feels his lips turn up in a smirk and why does he feel that so much more clearly now? Desire pulses through him at the slow but firm pressure sliding over his crotch and he can’t seem to separate himself from it at all. “It’s a pity, really, because if we weren’t in the same body I would really love to teach you a few things.”
Ling gasps, or he thinks he does, when sinful, erotic feelings fill his consciousness. It’s clear they’re coming from the homunculus, but that’s not the only thing that’s clear. He’d like to do those things to him and Ling’s mind spins. He should protest. He should make this stop but instead he can only ask things he shouldn’t be asking.
Why? Why would you…. You obviously enjoy the fairer sex….
A low chuckle warms him inside and out as Greed’s hand tightens over his now hard cock. “When are you going to understand me, kid? I’m the Avaricious, remember? I enjoy both sides of the coin.”
Desire sings through Ling’s being again but this time he knows it’s not because of the couple sinking into the dark water. He shouldn’t feel this way. It doesn’t make any sense at all considering Greed could just be playing him. But he’s not. He can feel it deep inside as clearly as the physical sensations playing over his body. The homunculus isn’t lying to him and he really doesn’t even know what that means.
“It means we should get out of here because there’s a lot more I need to show you.”
What? Greed’s hand stops touching him and Ling barely silences a protest he’s certain the beast heard anyway. They’re suddenly moving quickly away from the lake and he doesn’t understand. Why would Greed get them both worked up only to walk away? What are you— Is this just a game for you, Greed? Don’t toy with me. I’m NOT a game!”
“Oh, I’m well aware, your highness. And as for games…we’re just getting started.” The tone of Greed’s voice is just this side of mocking and Ling inwardly rebels against it. Why did he let himself get drawn in? This is just a prison he has no control over, even if for a moment it almost seemed different. It must’ve been a trick and one day he will make this beast pay for it. “Would you chill out. We’re almost there.”
Ling rages against the condescending tone but he forces himself to remain silent. He won’t play into this game anymore. If Greed wants to play he can play with himself—or, damn it! He can feel the beast’s amusement all around him as they approach the abandoned cottage and he focuses on shutting his mind out even more, but somehow he knows he’s not as successful as he usually is. What’s happened? Why can’t he shut him out completely?
“That’s probably because of the same reason I can’t destroy you.” Greed opens the door then moves through the inner darkness with ease to the small bedroom in the back. Ling continues to remain silent, but it doesn’t seem to matter. “I didn’t really know this would happen, but I have to admit it’s definitely more interesting this way.”
Ling wants to ask what he’s talking about but he feels like he already knows anyway. In Greed’s previous existences he was all alone, constantly trying to fill a huge, raging void inside. No amount of women, men, money or possessions could fill it, but still he tried. It’s why he wanted the world to finally feel complete. And why in the world does Ling know this?!
“It goes both ways, Prince. I didn’t know it would but…you’re right. That aching void isn’t nearly as strong this time. I guess you are good for something else.” Ling directs his attention to their surroundings to find they’re standing in front of an antique dressing table with a tall dusty mirror. Greed picks up a discarded bit of fabric from the floor that was probably once a nice scarf and brushes away the years of grime on the glass surface. He tosses it aside when the mirror is relatively clear in even in the dim moonlight Ling can see his—no, Greed’s—reflection in the mirror.
Greed, what are you doing? Ling is filled with anticipation he knows is only partially his own. There’s an undercurrent of erotic need in the air and he’s not sure he’s ready for this. But at the same time, he can’t even force himself to think about asking him to stop.
“Good. I was hoping you wouldn’t wuss out on me. This will be a lot more fun if you’re participating.” Greed slides out of his long black coat and Ling’s nearly choked with anticipation he doesn’t understand. He’s just looking at himself in the mirror, or at least that’s what he should be seeing, but he’s not. The hands that slide the coat down his arms aren’t his own, they’re Greed’s and that’s not nearly as disturbing a thought as it should be. “I’m glad to see you appreciate me as well.”
Ling’s mind wants to protest, but he knows it would be a lie if he did. You’re right. I suppose it is a pity I didn’t know the you, you were before. Ling stares into violet eyes he knows are seeing him through the reflection. Greed kicks out of his shoes and the erotic charge in the air intensifies even more. But then I guess it wouldn’t have mattered, would it? You’d have probably killed me on Wrath or Father’s orders, wouldn’t you?
“That’s definitely possible, but I doubt it.” Greed’s left hand adorned with the red ouroboros tattoo slides across his chest and it feels like there’s fire in the simple touch. It’s startling and unexpected and Ling finds himself desperately wanting more. “It’s never taken me long to break from my Father’s will. If you hadn’t noticed, I tend to follow my own path.”
One that gets you everything you think you desire. Greed’s hand slides down his chest and it’s met by his other at the base of his black shirt. He pulls it over his head and Ling’s instantly aroused at the bare chested sight of himself. It feels weird and almost off putting. Is he really this narcissistic? What is this monster doing to him?
“It’s not your body you’re seeing, Prince.” Hands trace his hard, chiseled abs and Ling trembles from the touch. Are they both in control? No, Greed’s definitely running the show but his reactions are still there as well. It’s confusing and a little disturbing, but there’s no way he wants it to stop. “You like seeing me in your skin, don’t you?” Greed’s hands slide down to his trousers and still right over the fastening. “I bet you’d like to see more, wouldn’t you?”
He’s teasing him, toying with his desires and Ling should be offended. But he’s not. He can tell the want and desire he’s feeling isn’t only his own. He remembers what Greed said before, about wishing they were in separate bodies. It wasn’t a lie. For some reason the homunculus desires him as well and as disturbing as that ought to be, it’s not. If anything it’s even more of an aphrodisiac.
Yes, homunculus. Show me more. Show me how much you want me.
There’s a sudden intake of breath Ling knows he’s not responsible for followed by a fresh rush of desire that’s not his own but one he enjoys nonetheless. Greed’s hands work the fastening to his trousers and slowly slides them to the floor revealing his naked body. He kicks away the pants and under clothes and Ling’s breath catches at the hard evidence of their combined desire. Erect, full and engorged, his cock juts upward and hovers in front of his flat stomach. The sight is mind blowingly erotic and he wants more.
Don’t you call yourself ‘The Avaricious?’ Show me what that really means.
Greed makes a low sounding growl in the back of his throat Ling didn’t even know he was capable of making. The sound fuels his ardor and Ling’s eyes widen as Greed’s hand slides around his hard cock. A sharp breath is taken, by him or Greed he has no idea, and heat coils through him, spreading inside as the homunculus begins to slowly stroke him. And in this moment he realizes the monster is right. It’s not himself he sees.
Violet eyes wider than his ever are stare back at him from the mirror and a sultry smirk he knows he’s never worn before heats him through and through. Greed’s hand moves with a practiced ease that nearly has him up on his toes with pleasure. Even his stance is slightly different than his own. He can’t tear his eyes away and this time he knows it has nothing to do with the homunculus holding him hostage. He feels alive and a part of his body even though he isn’t in total control and it’s fucking exhilarating.
“Now you’re starting to get it.” Even his voice sounds different to Ling’s ears and he rocks his hips into to the erotic touch. Somehow they both seem to be in control and it’s not as awkward as he would have imagined. It’s a loss of inhibition and a coming to power all at the same time. They are intertwined in more ways than he ever imagined. “That’s right, Prince. You’re not locked in a cage. You’re right here. With me.”
Greed’s hand tightens over him and his strokes come a little faster. He’s never felt so hard in his life and he doesn’t know if it’s because of the stone inside him or something else, but were he to guess he’d say it was those violet eyes staring deep inside him. Those eyes don’t just see everything, they know everything, and Ling trembles as Greed twists his hand in exactly the right way. The room’s getting hotter, sweat breaks out across his brow and his breathing’s nowhere close to even. Blood is rushing, throbbing, in his ears and there’s nothing else but this moment of excruciating need.
Faster, harder, it feels so damn good and unlike any other time, not that there have been many. But the past, the present and even the future don’t matter right now. All that matters is this instant. It’s only when the groan sounds on his lips that he realizes something has changed. It’s different, subtle, but it’s there. Ling focuses on the mirror again and only then does it all come together. Deep brown eyes are reflected back at him and it’s only then he realizes he’s the one in control. His hand falters for a split second but then finds the rhythm again when it all comes together.
Greed wanted to see him too.
And that thought’s enough to send him right over the edge.
He doesn’t know whose cry is on his lips when his hips buck forward and warmth splatters against his stomach and runs down his hand. He trembles, hard, and suddenly his panting is so loud in his ears. He’s unsteady on his legs as tingles run from his head to his toes but that’s not what has his mind spinning. It’s the fact Greed wanted him as much as he wanted Greed that has him struggling for thought. He was having a hard enough time reconciling the fact he wanted the homunculus, but for the emotion to be returned is more than his lust addled mind can comprehend.
You little fool. I told you I’d still want you if we were in separate bodies. Is that so hard to believe?
“Y-yes.” Ling shakes his head and looks around for the scarf Greed used to clean off the table. “M-maybe. I don’t know.” He spots the fabric hanging on the corner of the dresser and reaches for it, but before his fingers come into contact with it his hand freezes. “Greed? What—”
…are you doing? He’s lost control again but this time it’s different. He doesn’t feel locked away, just pushed slightly to the side. He almost feels like he could return the favor but he doesn’t feel the need. Greed pulls his hand away from the scarf and instead picks up a thick wooden brush with a long handle. He runs the back of his hand along the handle then uses the smooth implement to clean the stickiness off his stomach. It’s not very effective and he doesn’t understand. Greed? The scarf would work better. What are you—
“I’m not even close to done with you yet, Ling.” Greed reaches out with his free hand and jerks the table sharply so the mirror is facing the bed beside them. Then he backs up and runs his hand not holding the brush across his chest and over his stomach. A flutter of desire flashes through him at the touch and his mouth goes dry as those violet eyes lock on him again. “Did you really think I’d just jerk you off for your first time? Give me a little credit, kid.”
Ling’s mind spins when the full implications of his words solidify in his mind. He glances down at the brush and if he could drop his mouth open he would. Is he? Would he? Can he…?
“You damn well better believe it.” Greed slides smoothly down onto the bed and spreads his legs wide. Ling watches with rapt attention in the mirror as his hand runs up his thigh and between his legs. Greed cups his balls, lightly squeezing and fondling them as his legs widen a little more. The image in the mirror is nothing but sin and it’s already affecting him. His cock twitches against his stomach and his breath catches as heat slowly builds in his groin again. “Shame on you for thinking this was over so soon.”
Greed, I…. But the words stop as soon as they start. He nearly protested, but he has no idea why. His mind is telling this is going too far but the reasons why completely elude him. He was raised a Prince, groomed for the throne, but things have irrevocably changed. He’ll still be Emperor one day, but right now he’s also a homunculus and he wants. Fuck does he want. Something shifts deep inside him and when he focuses on the mirror again he sees intense violet eyes briefly flicker brown. Show me, Greed. Show me your avarice.
“That’s my boy.” The words are a low purr that evoke even more desire within his being. Greed’s hand is sliding further between his legs and his breath catches as his fingers trace over his ass. He’s right at the surface again, in and out of control with every breath, and he cedes all direction to the homunculus. Slick fingers press against him and his first instinct is to tense up, but he doesn’t. He’s not alone. One slow breath later his body relaxes in a way that feels a little foreign but amazingly right. Ling watches intently as Greed’s fingers slowly disappear inside him and pleasure flares throughout his body. His head tilts back as his fingers push all the way in, filling him up in a way he’s never known but somehow his body does. “Just relax, Ling. I’ve got this.”
Somehow Ling nods as fingers scissor inside him and curl even deeper. Part of him—a very small part—still feels like he should resist, but that part is way out of reach. Greed’s dropped all his inhibitions and it’s all so, so fucking easy. He lifts his head to look into the mirror again and the sight nearly takes his breath away. He’s hard again, that much he already knew, but the rest is what nearly burns out his mind completely. His legs are spread wide as Greed fucks him with his fingers and he can hardly believe it’s his body writhing on the bed. It’s erotic in a way he never imagined and suddenly he feels like he truly understands the beast inside him.
More. More, Greed. I want more. I want everything. Give it all to me. Now!
The same low growl from before is on his lips as Greed pulls his fingers from his body. He reaches for the hairbrush he set to the side and Ling watches with heavy lidded eyes as he brings it between his legs. He should be anxious. He should be nervous or something but he’s nothing but relaxed and filled with anticipation. It has to be because Greed’s in control but he’s fine with it. He won’t hurt him and he has a feeling he wants this just as much as Ling does.
“You’re damn right I do. Just remember, this isn’t only a spectator sport.”
Ling’s about to ask what that’s supposed to mean when Greed slowly pushes the handle of the brush inside him. It’s thicker than his fingers, longer, and before Ling knows it he’s arched back on the bed moaning low as he’s filled completely. It nearly feels like it’s too much, but it’s not and he grinds down against the hardness until he can feel the edges of the bristles against his ass. Greed pulls the brush back slowly, nearly pulling it out and Ling whimpers, until it’s suddenly thrust deep back inside.
Fuuuuuuuck, oh fuuuuck. Greeeeeeeed. Pleasure hotter and more intense than anything else he’s felt rages through him and he shakes hard as his body screams for more. And he’s not disappointed. Greed thrusts the hard object into him again and again and Ling can barely form a coherent thought. Ecstasy explodes inside him with every thrust and he can’t focus on anything but the pleasure turning him inside out. He never imagined his first time being this way but he doesn’t care. Greed is part of him and he doesn’t want it any other way. And suddenly, his words from earlier start to make sense.
Greed continues to fuck him with the brush sending sparks of fire up his spine with every thrust, but there’s more. He knows it deep inside. Ling flexes his right hand on the bed and that’s when he knows he was right. Greed’s only controlling his left and he knows exactly why. Ling runs his hand over his chest then slides it down his side. He wraps his hand tight around his hard cock and low moan on his lips makes him smile devilishly. It’s a crazy contradiction but isn’t everything between them? Ling stroke his hand over his cock in time with Greed’s thrusts and suddenly it’s his groans filling the room.
“Fuck, yes. I knew you’d figure it out.” Ling trembles and bucks on the bed as he struggles to catch his breath. Fire burns in his belly and his back bends into an arch off the bed. He glances over to see violet eyes flickering with brown and he tightens his hand over his hard length. They’re right on the edge and he won’t tear his eyes away. He wants to see him, to see them, to—
He doesn’t know who actually does the screaming this time but it doesn’t matter. The shout could easily be his own and it’s followed by pleasure so intense everything grays out. Fire shoots through his veins and makes his skin tingle with pinpoints of searing ecstasy. Everything feels intense and alive, distant and immediate all at the same time. His breathing is the first thing he can focus on and it’s followed by the loss of fullness as Greed pulls the brush handle from his ass and lets it fall to the floor.
“Greed, that was—” Ling’s eyes open when he suddenly realizes he hears his own voice and he looks over at the mirror at his disheveled and spent appearance. “You’re leaving me in control?”
Thought you might like to ‘fully’ enjoy the desecration, your highness.
Ling hears the smirk in his voice and he grins at the sarcasm. He shakes his head as he brushes damp hair out of his eyes and rolls to his side. He winces slightly at the soreness in his ass he can tell is already healing. Being a homunculus really does have its advantages. He smiles even more at his reflection as he stretches out on the bed. “I think the ‘desecration’ was mutual, you beast.”
That it was, kid. That it was.
Greed’s voice is a comfortable presence in his mind and Ling closes his eyes as he reaches for a pillow. There’s no question things have changed between them and he finally realizes Greed was right. There is no battle between them. It would be the same as fighting with himself.
About time you figured it out. So, does this mean I get a crack at all those beautiful Xingese ladies now?
Ling laughs and wraps his arms around his pillow. “Maybe so, but it would require you to be the Emperor of Xing. Do you think you can handle it?” Ling grins as his body completely relaxes with blissful exhaustion. He’s already starting to drift off but he has to admit as long as Greed’s around even the harem sounds like a fun time.
Sure thing, kid. Soon as I conquer the world I’ll get right on that.
Ling smiles as his consciousness slowly slips away with one thought still on his mind. They are in this together and one day they will rule Xing.
Together. |
1.
Prompt: Megatron's soft boobies save the world.
Rating: PG13
“…until the last spark is extinguished! Till all are gone!”
“Damn,” Cliffjumper muttered, hiding behind the rubble. “It doesn’t look like we’ll stop him.”
He had never thought he’d be saying this about Optimus – but this ruthless mech with mad smirk and optics that blazed purple wasn’t really Optimus anymore. Who knew that the Matrix they found in a parallel universe would turn out to be the Dark Matrix? And who could foresee that it would turn Optimus Prime into an omnicidal maniac?
“Our fire doesn’t even bother him!” Mirage next to him covered his head as another explosion shattered the ceiling. “And I don’t know if I’ll be able to use anything heavier on him – I mean, it’s Optimus! I cannot shoot Optimus!” He got no reply – but all Autobots in their company shared this sentiment.
They just hoped it wouldn’t cost them Cybertron… and their lives.
“Pathetic,” another voice rumbled behind them, and the Autobots all jerked up. Jazz was the first one to react, aiming his rifle at the voice’s owner.
“Pathetic,” Megatron repeated, sending them that infuriating smirk. “You all are amateurs. Now sit back and watch how things are done.”
Strangely enough, he wasn’t armed. Perhaps that was the reason Jazz didn’t fire at him right away. Or maybe it was the fact that Megatron simply walked over their humble cover, facing Optimus without a hint of fear.
Curiosity took the best of Cliffjumper: he peeked out of the cover, wondering what the Slagmaker was going to do.
He definitely didn’t think Megatron would simply open his chestplate.
Oh. Oh, wow.
Muffled gasps from other Autobots proved that they shared Cliffjumper’s shock: none of them expected Megatron to sport such an impressive pair of breasts. Actually, none of them expected him to sport any breasts at all! Those were part of an old, old procreation mechanism, not many Cybertronians were equipped with it…
Especially with such full, round and soft breasts. Cliffjumper realized that he couldn’t tear his optics off them. But what mattered the most was that he was not the only one.
“Do you dare stand against me? I will turn this entire planet to dust, but first I… I… I…”
Optimus kinda sounded like a broken audio log now, his blaster still smoking in his hand, but his optics glued to the display. The purple light in them was flickering.
Megatron just stood there, unmoving; the only thing he did was to put his hands on his hips. That motion made his breasts jiggle a little; purple light in Optimus’s optics flickered faster.
And then Optimus dropped the blaster on the ground, walked to Megatron and wrapped his arms around him, pressing his face right into the breasts.
“I love you,” he murmured, which sounded a little muffled. With a loud clang the Dark Matrix fell out of his chest and rolled to the side. Its formerly angry purple glow now appeared confused. Megatron just chuckled, kicking the evil artefact away and patting Optimus’s shoulder.
Then the Prime started purring, and suddenly Cliffjumper realized that, perhaps, this was the right time for a strategic retreat.
2.
No prompt; just some lactation kink and robot lingerie. Mpreg mentioned.
Rating: NC-17
Nursing the sparklings was a strange, sometimes difficult process, and yet Optimus found it infinitely fascinating. He liked watching it (fortunately, Megatron didn’t mind, although he sometimes laughed at Optimus’s new obsession). In fact, everything about Megatron’s breasts was fascinating to Optimus: he could knead and fondle them for hours, enjoying their softness and roundness.
For Megatron, however, it wasn’t just as much fun. Optimus could see it: how Megatron winced sometimes when he straightened his back, how heavy his breasts became with all the energon. It made Optimus’s more primal side feel fiercely hot, this evidence of his mate’s fertility. His more rational side, however, felt compassion.
This was why he made a very specific order from a trader one day. A recent diplomatic mission to Earth gave him an idea, and as the co-ruler of the planet he could afford spending some shanix on a personal commission.
He was afraid Megatron would reject his gift – but, to his surprise, his Lord Protector actually looked appreciative. He grunted with relief when he put the new piece on, and Optimus couldn’t help but stare: the newly bought “bra” supported Megatron’s breasts, somehow making them look even more appealing. The fine metal mesh hid the sensitive nozzles from his optics, but cupped the full breasts like ghostly hands, which… kinda made Optimus jealous. Just a little.
No beautiful view was worth Megatron’s pain.
Of course, Megatron only wore the bra when they were alone; in public he hid his breasts behind his chestplate. No matter how much discomfort it brought him, he couldn’t allow himself to look anything but invulnerable.
Which made big public events twice as unpleasant.
Unfortunately, they had to take part in those, and a three-day festival in Vos was something they were unable to skip. Three days of speeches and diplomatic meetings, intermingled with nights spent with paperwork (for dozens of problems still demanded their attention as the life on the planet went on). At least the sparklings weren’t one of those problems: they were left back in Iacon in the caring hands of First Aid and other Protectobots. They had enough energon that was prepared in advance, and enough playmates to keep their attention. Optimus was sure they’d be fine.
The same couldn’t be said about Megatron. It was their last night in Vos, and Optimus and Megatron decided to give themselves a little rest before the ride home. This night, they decided, there would be no paperwork; this night they would rest.
Megatron groaned as he opened his chestplate, releasing his breasts. They looked a little chafed from being confined in a tight space all day long, and Megatron flinched when he touched them before putting on the bra. Optimus stepped close to him, a worried look on his face.
“Does it hurt? Do you need a healing balm?”
“I’m fine, Prime.” Megatron frowned. “They just need some rest.”
Still, as Optimus continued to observe him, Megatron seemed to be in more pain than usual. He winced and bit his lip several times at the slightest brush against his breasts. But it was the faint gleam of energon that made Optimus rush to his mate and look him over. And yes, there was energon leaking through the bra’s thick mesh.
“Megatron..!” Optimus grabbed the bra’s straps before the warlord could protest. “Primus, are you…”
He paused when the bra’s straps came off. There was no wound, and no bleeding. The energon was leaking from the nozzles.
Megatron made an inscrutable sound.
“Without the sparklings to drink the energon, I produce too much.” A corner of his mouth twitched in distaste. “Damn… I hate draining it.”
“Draining?” Optimus couldn’t stop staring at the luminescent drops sliding down the smooth mounds.
“Yes. I prefer the sparklings to suck it off, it feels disgusting when I squeeze the nozzles myself, and… Prime?”
Optimus leaned down, face almost buried between the breasts (which he also loved to do pretty often), and put his hands under them, letting the heavy mounds rest in his palms. Heavy and full with energon to feed his offspring… The thought made Optimus’s spike twitch under its cover.
No. No time for his spike now. He was going to help Megatron.
And maybe have some fun in the process.
Without any further ado Optimus covered one of the nozzles with his lips and sucked. He heard Megatron’s vents hitch somewhere above him, and sensed Megatron’s hands on his shoulders, but didn’t stop. Instead he continued sucking, and the sweet taste of sparkling-grade energon filled his mouth.
It was delicious.
The energon itself felt almost sinful, so rich and thick it was. No grown-up mech was supposed to drink it, it was created to nurture tiny sparkling frames – and yet here Optimus was, gulping it down. The fact that he was trying to help his mate didn’t make it any less wrong. And the feel of the silky, sensitive nozzle in his mouth drove Optimus crazy. He kissed and licked Megatron’s breasts before, but he had never drank from them, and even though he felt debauched and decadent as he did it, he squeezed those breasts, listening to Megatron’s muffled moan when the stream of energon grew stronger. Encouraged by those sounds, Optimus squeezed again, and again, milking those breasts, relieving them from the pain. He switched between the nozzles now and then, and licked the stray drops only to swirl his glossa around the nozzle and go back to sucking. Perhaps this was how the sparklings felt – hungry, greedy and losing themselves in the simplest, most primeval action of them all: sucking energon from their carrier.
And with every minute Megatron’s taut EM field became calmer, his tense posture relaxing. Soon he started petting Optimus’s shoulders, and when the stream of energon finally lessened, Optimus looked up to see his mate smile at him.
“That was… a unique solution,” Megatron said, his optics glinting. “I admire your ingenuity.”
“Do you, now?” Optimus rolled the nozzle between his dental plates gently. “Then I am always at your service if you need assistance.”
Megatron half-closed his optics, two red slits burning like embers.
“I will keep that in mind,” he promised. “Have you satisfied your hunger, Prime?”
Optimus smirked at the playful tone. Oh, so this got Megatron hot and bothered? It was a nice thing to know.
“I’ve only begun,” Optimus breathed out, rising to his full height and pressing his body into Megatron’s. Instead of backing off in pain, Megatron just leaned into him.
It seemed that Optimus’s spike would get some relief tonight as well.
3.
No prompt; written for tfadi's birthday and based on her betrothal AU.
Rating: R
Every time Optimus saw his bride-to-be’s sour face, he was tempted to yell something like: “Hey, I never wanted it too!” But he wasn’t the Prime’s heir for nothing: self-control was his second nature. So he kept silent, no matter how much he wanted to wipe that frown off Megatron’s face.
And really, this wedding wasn’t Optimus’s idea. He and Megatron were betrothed when both of them were sparklings, their respective parents deciding that nothing would ensure peace between their nations better than this. But, in Optimus’s opinion, their marriage could as well start another war: ever since they first met each other, it was always rivalry between them – so much that their creators had decided to keep them apart until the wedding.
And here they were, sitting next to each other in awkward silence, left alone to “rekindle old flame”. Yeah, right; as if there was anything to rekindle.
And yet, Optimus couldn’t help but cast cautious side-glances at Megatron. He was dressed in traditional Autobot wedding garb, draped in expensive fabrics and decorated with jewels. Moving in that delicate construction was an art of its own, and judging by how still Megatron sat, he didn’t master that particular art. Of course; Decepticons didn’t wear fabrics, preferring bare metal and paint.
At least they followed the Autobot traditions for the wedding. Optimus could easily imagine the scandal if his future mate appeared in public in the “barbaric” manner of Kaon.
Not that Optimus himself consider it barbaric; it must’ve been pragmatic in the windy plains of the south. But Megatron was going to live with him in Iacon, so he’d better learn fast.
There was only one detail that strayed away from the image of a perfect bride: the fabric that covered Megatron’s chest was transparent, and it seemed like his chest plating was gone, revealing the soft protoform. Very strangely shaped protoform. Like two mounds, round and full.
And then Megatron caught him staring.
“What?” There as that familiar angry fire in his red optics, but for now Optimus’s curiosity subdued every other reaction he might’ve had.
“What are those?” He pointed at the mounds.
Megatron followed his gaze and raised an optic ridge.
“Those? You mean my breasts?”
“Is that what they’re called?” Optimus leaned in to take a closer look. “What are they? Do all Kaonites have them?”
“Of course.” Now Megatron was staring at him. “Don’t you have them?”
“No,” Optimus shook his head. “Not anybody I know. What are they for?”
Megatron was left speechless for a klik.
“They are energon processing units,” he uttered finally, still looking flabbergasted. “For nursing sparklings. The energon that the carrier drinks is refined and charged, creating a rich and nutritious version for the sparklings. How do you feed your young?” Now he looked just as curious as Optimus.
“Like… everybody else? We let them drink normal energon.” Optimus shook his head. “So that’s probably why your sparklings grow faster… We were always puzzled by how you Kaonites manage to repopulate so quick.”
He startled when he heard an unexpected sound: Megatron was laughing.
“And here I came, presenting them all according to tradition, and you didn’t even know what they were!” He rubbed his temple, still chuckling. “If it was a Kaonite wedding, I’d have them on full display, showing that I’m ready to carry your sparklings, or some scrap like that. But since you Iaconians want your newlyweds hidden under all those layers of fabric, my councilors has to find a way to combine both traditions. And you can’t even appreciate it!”
It should’ve sounded rude, but Megatron’s honest laugh somehow made it lighthearted instead. Optimus found himself smiling in return. The dreary atmosphere dissipated.
And maybe because of this new mood Optimus dared to ask:
“Can I touch them?”
Megatron’s laugh came to a halt, and his optics widened in surprise – but then he grinned, and there it was, that familiar glint of challenge in those red lenses.
“Sure, why not? Go on.”
He didn’t make any moves to help or guide Optimus, so Optimus simply followed his instinct. He raised both of his hands and gently placed them on the mounds, just letting himself feel them through the thin fabric.
These… breasts were indeed soft, soft and… springy, for the lack of a better word. Optimus bit his lip as he moved his fingers, stroking the round mounds, and then cupped them. They fit in his hands perfectly, a pleasant weight resting on his palms. He squeezed the breasts slightly, enjoying that softness; there were two nubs on them, like little nozzles – was this what the sparklings used to nurse? It was so strange, drinking energon produced by a mech’s body…
Optimus wanted to take those nubs in his mouth. Would energon come out if he did? What would this special sparkling energon taste like?
In fact, Optimus wanted to tear this fabric off and investigate thoroughly.
He rubbed the feeding nozzles with his thumbs and paused when he heard a sound. A new, unfamiliar sound. Just to test his theory, Optimus gently squeezed the nubs between his fingers – and there was this sound again.
Megatron was moaning.
Optimus looked up from his crouched position and saw Megatron’s face; his optics were glowing brighter than usual, mouth slightly open, and now that Optimus wasn’t that concentrated on his breasts, he heard their cooling fans whirring.
The sudden need to kiss Megatron’s lips was overwhelming. Optimus moved close – and was stopped by Megatron’s hand on his mouth.
“Too early, my dear mate-to-be.” Megatron tsked at him. “Since we’re in the glorious city of Iacon, I will be a proper Iaconian bride and wait for our union.” He watched Optimus’s expressions change: from surprise to disappointment to shame, - and then Optimus recoiled, muttering apologies.
But right when he was ready to pull his hands away, Megatron’s palms covered them, keeping them in place.
“I believe that this, however, isn’t mentioned in Iaconian rules of chastity.” Megatron was smirking, his fangs glistening between his lips. He took Optimus’s hand in his, guiding it to some unseen fold of his garment. “So why don’t you continue your… exploration of Kaonite traditions?”
Optimus froze when he felt the warm, smooth protometal under his fingertips. He gawked at Megatron for a moment – but then the same smirk appeared on his lips as well.
“Don’t mind me if I do,” he said, and pulled the transparent fabric aside.
|
It’s too cold to be barefoot, but the grass is just getting used to the tenacity of March. The sensation warming his fingertips slowly travels through his body and down his legs until the brown tendrils sticking up between his toes come alive in a soft green. The sight sends a soft smile across Izuku’s face – looking out, he wishes he could somehow bring color to the whole valley unfurling bellow him. But his Magic is not strong enough for that, though he’s not sure anyone’s is. He’s okay with the resignation, however, because it would be such a shame to revive the grass only for it to fall again at the sure hands of tonight’s frost.
The view from the castle on the hill is the sight he knows best, better than April buds or his face in the mirror. The river that allows his home to flourish curves with the valley, and the mountains rise behind it in greys and browns. It has taken Izuku a long time to have any sort of appreciation for winter, but it makes the rebirth of spring that much better. That’s what he tells himself when he feels a snowflake on his nose, anyway. The earth is damp beneath his feet and the setting sun is telling him that he’s probably running late. He’s not in an outfit nearly respectable enough for the night’s events, so he takes one last look down at the valley and then makes for the castle behind him.
As he walks back, he can’t help but leave little patches of green grass where his feet touch the ground. His Magic is sitting heavy in his stomach, pooling with nerves about this evening’s banquet. Part of him wishes the snow would fall harder so the guests would have no choice but to stay home.
Like the wind is chuckling at him, it blows gentle whirlpools of tiny snowflakes in the gentlest of gusts.
He supposes he must fess up to the Queen and tell her that he’s not quite ready.
Once inside, Izuku makes for his quarters and passes his mother’s on the way. The light coming from the crack beneath the door tells him that she hasn’t left for the Great Hall yet, so he nods at the guard next to the entryway and knocks five times – “ come see me” – before continuing down the corridor and around the corner.
Behind closed doors, he sits on his bed and allows his mind to run rampant with a little bit more perturbation. He tries to tell himself that the Queen will understand, which she likely will, but she’s been waiting for this day for twenty years. On the other hand, there is a bigger matter to be celebrated tonight, so maybe it’s better that they don’t announce it after all.
Before his thoughts can run in further circles, there is one knock on his bedroom door and his mother walks in. She looks breathtaking, in an ornate gown of juniper, cinching at her waist in a tight corset. The ruffles on the bosom make her look less stout, and her long green hair sits at the back of her head in a tight bun.
He smiles at the sight of her – she has not looked so peaceful in Izuku’s life. It seems that the crows feet around her eyes have already lessened, the grey in her hair more subdued. “Your Majesty,” he greets playfully.
She walks to his bedside and places a kiss on his forehead, the heavy wooden door shutting behind her with a thud. “Your Highness,” she jokes back, before frowning a bit at the fact that he is not yet dressed for the evening. “Izuku, why haven’t you put on your Royal clothes yet? It’s their debut, after all.”
That’s more or less true. He sighs. “Well… that’s why I asked you to come see me. I–” His voice breaks. He knew she would have that look in her eyes, so earnest and hopeful for the future. He knows what she wants, but Izuku is simply not confident enough to give it to her. “Mom. I don’t think I’m ready to be a Prince yet.”
She sighs, and it sounds just like his own. “Izuku, my love. You’ve been a Prince your whole life.”
He had a feeling that she would say that. He looks around his room as he waits for her to continue speaking, because there’s no way she’s done yet. Not if she’s his mother, anyway. It’s a modest space. Not too big, with a rugged wooden floor. One wall is covered in ivy that he grows inside. He tends to it every morning with his Magic. There’s a shelf with gems and trinkets, all radiating a warm energy that he keeps close in moments like this. He clutches the emerald around his neck – it’s cracked, and Magic seeps out into his hand as he holds it.
“The war is over,” she tells him, and the moment alone with his trusted space is broken. “You’re safe now.”
Izuku looks at his mother. She’s so softly expectant, and he wants to please her so badly. She has worked her whole life to protect him and just about everyone else in this Kingdom. “I know that, Mom. The war being over is the whole reason I don’t feel ready. I’ve just… I’ve never had a chance to exist normally in this world. I want the chance to walk around town without a guard following me. If the Kingdom is told about me, then I’ll never have that. You understand, don’t you?”
His explanation was messy, he knows that. And he knows he might be asking for too much. His mother became Queen at seventeen. Her life has never been normal. She never got to have what Izuku is asking for, either.
Inko’s face, however, is soft as always. He sees tears begin to pool around her eyes and she wipes at them furiously for fear of ruining the kohl on her lids and the rouge on her cheeks. Her voice is hoarse when she speaks up. “Izuku, my love. I understand.”
Izuku lets out a sigh of relief.
“I can’t say I was not looking forward to sitting next to you at the Royal Table, but I know how you feel. It is something I’ve longed for my entire life.” His heart wrenches in his chest. He is so selfish for asking this of her. She’s been standing before a whole Kingdom of people essentially alone for 29 years. He should be strong enough to be by her side. “I am respecting your wishes, because I want you to see the world in a way I was never able to. But if I may, I am requesting that this not go on for long. You need to be a symbol for Kokyusenzai. I won’t be here forever, and as far as our people know, there is no heir to our throne. This war was a difficult time for them all.”
Izuku knows this. When his father was killed twenty years ago, Inko was eight months pregnant. She had been ruling ferociously but hiding her pregnancy from inside her home. All of the top ranking men that knew of her future child were sworn to secrecy, and they carried out orders on her behalf when she was bedridden. The King had been mostly an advisor and a figurehead compared to the Queen, but his prior to his death he had agreed with his wife to hide their child from the world. Izuku was born a decade into the war that just ended weeks ago – the Second Thirty Year War. He was raised in the castle, protected at all times, kept secret and dressed plainly to avoid any sort of suspicion.
While being hidden was at times challenging, he knew it was for his benefit, and his Kingdom’s. Kokyusenzai did not need any more threats of being infiltrated just for the sake of kidnapping or killing the crowned Prince. It was better if the world didn’t know, for Izuku’s safety and for the tide of the war. This decision was made to ensure the Kingdom’s invulnerability – with no heir, they had less weakness: only the power of the present moment.
Izuku looks down, fighting off his own tears. “Thank you, Mom. I’m not asking for a lot of time, I promise.” He clenches his fists, one around his emerald and the other on his trousers. “I want to be the symbol our Kingdom needs. I just need to be strong enough to do it.”
Inko smiles softly at him. “I know you are. You’re my brilliant boy. Just – dress nicely still, please. Everyone is going to be in their winter best.”
Izuku’s wardrobe has always been less than glamorous, needing to be modest for several reasons. Primarily, his Magic involved him getting dirty a lot, and his secrecy involved him blending in. But for the most part, he just felt comfortable in soft trousers and simple vests. He nods at her, toying with an idea of how to dress.
As she stands, Izuku reaches for her hand. “Wait,” he says, and walks her to the wall of ivy. He keeps her hand in his and with the other, touches the vines until in his hands curls an ornate crown of leaves. “For the Queen,” he murmurs. “You won, Mom. The war is over.”
He places it on her head. Inko never wears a crown. She’s too humble. It seems that rather than a crown, she wears a halo, a barely there glow of light that sits atop her head, made of kindness and Magic. This one, however, is perfect. Izuku knows it so.
She sniffles again, taking him into a deep hug. “My son, you will be a wonderful King some day. For now, enjoy being a man.”
“Tonight is about you and the people who fought for you, Mom. I’ll see you soon.”
As soon as the door closes behind her, Izuku bursts into tears, both dreading the night and revelling in its freedom.
Izuku takes one last look in his faded mirror and decides that he’s done pretty well by himself. His hair falls in his eyes, cheeks dotted in freckles, green eyes brightened by both the tears that just fell and the color of his jewelry. He has gone for subtlety – he kept on his emerald along with a simple choker of silver, and added dangling earrings. He donned tight brown pants and a belt to match. The buckle is silver, his boots leather and worn, his shirt white and ruffled, tucked in, of course. He wears two silver bangles on one wrist and a bracelet of ivy around the other. He hopes it’s not bold enough that people notice he matches the Queen, but he figures it’s now safe enough to risk it. If people noticed, it would be his own mistake, anyway. The statement piece of the outfit is a brown cloak that falls down his back, deep and velvety with gold embroidery of an ornate pattern of tree branches and imperial trellis.
It’s not a royal outfit, but he will blend in just fine with the Great Hall’s occupants: the highest ranking men and women of the Kingdom of Kokyusenzai.
By the time he makes it down there, the castle is swarming with unfamiliar faces. He knows the guards are on high alert, but his anxiety still twists in his stomach. He has to reconcile with the imbalance he is going to feel all night; it is very rare that he is with a mixed crowd of those who know his identity as the Prince and those who do not. Moreover, every guest here is one of importance to the war that has just been won. Officials, Commanders, rescue workers. This is more than a party, it’s a banquet of thanks for the men and women who went above and beyond to risk their lives for the people of Kokyusenzai. It’s a banquet of gratitude, and Izuku is disappointed in himself for not being able to thank them personally. He wants to shake their hands as a Royal, who owes them for reasons beyond just being alive and safe.
Izuku owes these Knights and nurses for his privilege, lifestyle, and family.
Shifting back and forth between conversation with the people of the castle and strangers is going to truly take a toll on him.
You asked for this, he reminds himself as his eyes scan the room. Immediately, he grasps onto two familiar faces amongst the sea of uniformed Knights and Officers. He makes his way across the room, ignoring whichever glances are sent his way and reminding himself that they are not for the reason he thinks.
He’s almost breathless as he plants a kiss on each of his two best friends’ cheeks. “Momo!” he murmurs excitedly, “Shouto! I’m happy I found you so quickly. I’m kind of nervous.” It’s like words are spilling out of his lips before he can process them, a side effect of anxiety and large groups of people.
Izuku rubs the back of his head and is greeted by two arms: one around his waist and the other around his shoulders. He’s calmed being embraced by his two friends on each of his sides.
“Don’t be!” Momo exclaims. “Tonight’s the night, is it not?”
Shouto gives Izuku a knowing look. Though they had not yet talked it over explicitly, Shouto has known his inhibitions. At Momo’s words, Izuku’s face falls. “Ah, no. I asked the Queen for a bit more time,” he whispered, making sure everyone around him was not listening. “We can talk more later.”
Momo nods, but reaches into the wristlet pouch she carries. “I made you this for good luck, but I still want you to take it tonight. It might help you.” She folds a small trinket into his palm, and he has to try not to cry as he stares down at it. An omamori. In particular, the happiness amulet. “For happiness in your new beginning. Whenever it may be.”
Izuku plants another kiss on Momo’s cheek, ignoring Shouto’s heavy stare. Usually that means, be careful , or we have to talk , but there is no time for him to do either right now.
Yaoyorozu Momo and Todoroki Shouto are amongst a lineage of families that have long allied with the Midoriyas and their Kingdom. They are Izuku’s two best, and perhaps only, friends. The Yaoyorozu family are blessed with an incredible Magic that they have been cultivating for centuries. Unlike most of the population, their Magic is strictly Alchemical rather than Elemental. 40% of people had Magic, and while Elemental Magic like Izuku’s made up the majority, those with Alchemical magic made up only 5% of the Magical population. Momo in particular is gifted at creation. Using equal and opposite exchange, she can use incantation, spells, and alchemic circles to make nonliving items. Izuku is sure that she created the omamori with her Magic – it buzzes heavily with energy in his palm.
The Torodorki family is also highly valued, with powerful elemental Magic that allows them to manipulate fire. Under a recent marriage, two Magical powers have conjoined and expanded to control of ice. Shouto himself is amongst a minute population of people who have Magical control over more than one element. He is, however, modest, and has become as a Royal Knight. Though he trained dutifully to master his Magic, he seldom uses it. He and Izuku have had many fights about that.
Both of his friends were raised as good as Royal, and more importantly, they know the full truth about Prince Midoriya Izuku.
“I can’t stay with you for too long,” Izuku says quietly, as he once again realizes how high profile his friends truly are. They stand out in the crowd, not only for their identities but also their dress. Momo’s gown is an elegant red, and Shouto is in his full Royal Knight uniform, sans armor like the rest of their guests, glistening milky blue and silver in the torches’ light. They are stunning, and Izuku wishes he could stay with them all night. With them, he is both safe and understood. “People might wonder why some random kid is hanging with you for so long.”
Besides, they will be sitting at the Royal Table once the feast begins, and Izuku will have to find a spot amongst the crowd. He hadn’t even thought about how uncomfortable that might be until now.
“Have a safe and pleasant evening,” Shouto murmurs to him, staring at Izuku deeply with those heterochromatic eyes. Grey and turquoise scan Izuku over before giving his shoulder a squeeze. Like a Todoroki, Shouto is always all business at important events or conferences. He rarely manages a smile, so Izuku offers a big one to make up for it.
To keep up with appearances, he bows to Momo and salutes Shouto before making his way into the crowd of uniforms. He feels as though he is going to be swallowed by silver and black, a sea of authority and honor closing in over his head. Before he can even pick a direction to wander, the band ceases their music and a man with Sense Magic booms his amplified voice over the hall. “Attention esteemed guests,” he begins, and the crowd falls quiet instantly. Izuku is suddenly reminded that this is the first event that the castle has held in thirty years, let alone including people outside of the inner circle of Royals, consultants, and their children. The Queen hadn’t dared to celebrate a thing. The closest thing to mere gatherings were meetings. “Please find a seat. The Queen will now speak before we dine and celebrate.”
Everyone takes his words seriously, and there is an overwhelming hustle to seats. The guests take their places at large wooden tables and benches dressed with white table clothes, lit candlesticks, and the castle’s finest silver. In all the haste, Izuku remains frozen as he sees his family and friends take their seats at the Royal Table. It is slightly elevated on a stage at the front of the hall. His mother sits proudly in the middle, Shouto’s father to her right and Momo’s mother to her left. Shouto leads Momo to their seats, his hand delicately placed on the small of her back.
Izuku is lifted out of his trance when Shouto finds his eyes and gives him a pointed look from across the Great Hall. He realizes he is one of very few still standing, and he scrambles to the back of the room where he sees an open seat at the end of one of the tables. His heart is pounding in his chest, torn between wishing he was sitting next to his mother as her right hand and wishing he wasn’t at this event at all. What if someone asks him how he was invited? People were sure to realize he was an unfamiliar face. He truly hadn’t thought any of this through.
As soon as he sits down next to a group of what seem to be rather high ranking Knights and first aid Officers, he is unable to think any longer, as his mother’s voice his suddenly laced with Magic and being projected across the whole room. It bounces off the walls, and it seems to coat the entire hall with the soothing Magical warmth that Queen Inko is known for.
“My revered guests,” she begins from where she has stood at her seat. At the sound of her voice, some of the hundred or so people begin to rise. “Please, stay seated my friends.” She smiles softly, and Izuku already feels his eyes begin to water at the sight of his mother at the front of a room full of people who love her. She’s gorgeous in her gown. Her crown of ivy sits firmly atop her head. He glances down at the vine wrapped around his wrist. “Brevity is my intention here, as we are here to eat and celebrate, not to listen to the Queen blab. We have just won a war.” She pauses, and the room bursts into applause.
The Knight next to him seems to be struggling not to rise to his feet, red eyes blazing as he claps with vigor. Izuku can feel the powerful Magic radiating off him, and he swears he sees sparks in between his palms.
Inko continues, “This is our second war in a century, each lasting thirty years. We have now proven ourselves as a people who can overcome. The people of the Chukan Valley, our allies, are safe, and we protected our society as one with a reputation that values life, the holiness of Magic, and each of our citizens’ livelihoods. You are all here tonight because I wanted to thank you personally, as the Queen of Kokyusenzai and a humble servant to your happiness. I hope you enjoy tonight’s provisions and libations. The Kingdom owes its victory you. Cheers, to the new era of peace.”
She sits, brief as promised, and the room erupts into a noise that begins as applause and transitions into chatter. Surely, Izuku thinks, the guests are exchanging thoughts on her words, the war’s outcome, and what is to come throughout the evening. The war has only just ended, not even a month ago. Some are still mourning their loses, readjusting to life at home.
Before Izuku can get lost muttering to himself, the lack of his mother’s speech distracting him reminds him of that Magic buzzing next to him, in that blonde Knight with hot hands. He glances at the man next to him, who’s busy pouring wine and talking to a red-haired Knight beside him and a blonde first aid Officer across the table. Izuku can’t even make out the words they’re saying, mostly distracted by such intense Magical energy coming from a Knight, but also his jawline, and the metal dragon pinned to his lapel.
As he looks a little closer, he realizes just how familiar the man next to him looks. A collection of memories flash behind his eyes, fuzzy but there. He sees a young boy delivering wartime weapons with his father, the local and most cherished metalsmith of the village just outside the castle.
Izuku notes his red eyes again, the pale color of his hair, and it hits him. One of his first memories about his name and identity unfolded when he was just about four. The son of the metalsmith used to come along with his father who consulted with the war council on weaponry. (As a matter of fact, that man met with the council until the very end of the war, Izuku knows his face quite well.) Sometimes, Izuku would hide in the corridor and try to listen in on the meetings. Usually, it just resulted in him watching the young boy who waited with a guard outside the closed door of the councilroom.
Once, the little boy had wandered off against his father’s will – while the guard wasn’t looking, of course – and found himself outside of Izuku’s room just as he was about to be escorted by his own guard to go Magic classes with Shouto. Izuku had gasped at the sight of another child, and his guard stood protectively in front of him, despite a young kid not being much of a threat.
The little boy had looked at the kanji on plaque outside of Izuku’s room and snorted, “Your name is Deku?”
Their conversation didn’t last long before Izuku was being ushered back into his room by another guard and that other boy was being escorted away. Izuku remembers thinking about him for the rest of the day, exhilarated by the idea of another kid to play with. And one who could read kanji!
That hair and those eyes. It had to be him. The metalsmith’s son.
Still shocked by the sudden vivid memory, he’s brought out of his revery when a gruff voice snaps at him, “What the fuck are you looking at?”
Izuku immediately blushes and looks away, hyper-aware of the sword at this guy’s waist and the vein in his neck. Of course, there’s a chance he’s wrong, and either way it hadn’t been any reason to stare, really. His mind goes rapidly back and forth between what he should answer, either you look familiar or your Magic is strong . He decides perhaps the first could somehow give him away, so he goes for the latter.
“Um, sorry! It’s just, I can feel your Magic. It’s really strong.” He knows he’s blushing hard , and he clenches Momo’s omamori in his hand.
“What the fuck?” the Knight says to him, brow furrowed. “How do you even know I–”
Izuku grins before he can even help himself. This is one of his favorite situations. It’s unusual for Knights to have Magic, so this man immediately is on edge. However, what’s more unusual is that Izuku knows he has it. Very few people are aware that there are ways of sensing others’ Magic simply from being close to them. Whenever another person reacts so surprised to learn this, Izuku feels like he’s opening up a whole new world to their eyes. Though, he gets the feeling this guy might not be so romantic about it.
“There are ways you can train your body to learn another’s Magic before you even see it in practice,” Izuku explains, smile still stretching across his face. He scans this Knight over once more, remembering the sparks as he clapped. His energy is hot, his emotions bold. “Let me guess… fire?”
The Knight raises his eyebrows, roused by his observation. “Close,” he mutters. He raises his gloved hands to show his exposed palm instead of the same leather that covers his fingers. A tiny explosion crackles, and Izuku understands. Pyrotechnics Magic. Impressive.
The same hand extends to shake Izuku’s. It’s warm from the Magic. “Bakugou Katsuki, newly named Officer, Knight 1st Class, Order of the Dragon. What’s your name?”
Before he can be impressed again by such a high rank for a young man, Izuku panics. That memory flashes behind his eyes again, the suspicion in the voice of the metalsmith’s son.
Who are you? Why are you here? He had asked those questions to little Prince Izuku hiding away in his chamber, and he hadn’t ever been able to give him an answer.
This isn’t Izuku’s first interaction with a stranger that didn’t know his identity. During the war, after he turned eighteen he was permitted to make occasional trips into the village with an incognito set of guards trailing behind. He even has some acquaintances there, like the girl from the flower shop, Uraraka Ochako, and the boy from the lumber yard, Iida Tenya, who he sometimes helps with his Magic. To them, he had come up with some bad lie about his identity and never brought it up again. To others, he tended to make sure his name wasn’t necessary to share.
For whatever reason, this feels different. Maybe it’s because he feels as though he knows this man. It’s a total stretch, a red string as a figment of his imagination. He wants this to be the metalsmith’s son. He wants to have another honest tie to his hidden reality, but it’s not his job to make it such. So he says, “Deku.”
He swears he sees something flash on Bakugou’s face. That being said, he seems to get over it pretty quickly, annoyance appearing on his face when Izuku doesn’t elaborate. “Just Deku?”
Some Magical people have unusual aliases, especially those who are extremely powerful or renowned. He rolls with it. “Yeah,” he replies, voice definitely a little squeaky with dishonesty. “I have Plant Magic. I’m training with All Might.” He realizes that the identity he’s constructing for himself isn’t a total lie, but it doesn’t quite fit the bill for why he might be at this dinner. He just hopes this Bakugou guy doesn’t catch on. Something in Izuku tells him that Bakugou is a little smarter than that.
While it’s an honor to train with someone with Magic and a reputation such as All Might’s, the Kokyusenzai Kingdom and the Midoriya family in particular have prohibited the use of Magic in warfare because they regard it as an ancient, historical blessing from the gods that should be cultivated and appreciated. This belief runs deep: the more Magic the better, and it should only be used to better society, for first aid, food, camps, and amongst regular civilian life, never to kill or harm. Different kingdoms have different beliefs about Magic, and this dispute is much of what fueled the last two wars.
Izuku’s mind is running rampant as he gets caught up in his lie. Plant Magic has many properties, most of them nonviolent. So perhaps he could be a valid guest here. But it’s hard for Magical people to rank in a way that would place them at this banquet. Inko had even mentioned having a different dinner for some Magical people that helped civilians rather than won the battles.
“Interesting,” is all Bakugou replies, and he seems suspicious still but also genuinely curious. Izuku’s nervous heart runs wild in his chest. He goes to grab at his emerald. “How’d you get All Might as a teacher?”
Izuku nearly chokes. He definitely doesn’t have an answer for that. All Might lives here, at the castle. He’s the most well known sensei of Magic in the region, and he has had only two students in the past twenty years, and it’s Izuku and Shouto. Not to mention to most of the Kingdom, it’s only one student, as Izuku does not exist. Really, he’s quite stupid for letting that slip.
Before Izuku can even begin to think of a response, the Knight next to Bakugou leans over and asks, “Bakugou, who’s your friend?”
“Yeah, who’s this?” the other man across the table asks, the one in the first aid uniform.
As soon as he begins to panic once again at the thought of having to lie more, Bakugou slings a heavy arm over his shoulder and grunts, “This is Deku. He’s got Plant Magic.” Something about his touch is aggressive, like the suspicion from before is evolving into something a little more irritated.
Izuku is saved. Now all he has to do is avoid talking about himself, and the night would play out wonderfully. These guys seem nice enough, both with friendly smiles on their faces and a flush of red on their cheeks from the wine.
“Awesome!” The one across from Izuku extends his hand. “Kaminari Denki, first aid Officer.” Izuku shakes, and a warm, gentle Magic skirts up his arm. A subtle jolt of electricity is laced somewhere in there, Izuku thinks.
“Pleasure to meet you,” Izuku says as another hand is thrust over Bakugou – whose arm has since disappeared from his shoulders.
“Kirishima Eijirou. Knight 1st Class, Order of the Dragon.” Izuku doesn’t sense any Magic on his body, but the little dragon on his lapel glistens proudly, and Izuku likes the two of them already.
He has somehow forgot how different people can be. And he has definitely forgotten what it’s like to introduce himself so casually. He nearly bursts with pride as they comment on the food and wine, getting drunk off freedom and celebration; he has to control himself with all his might to not boast about the castle staff who have been amongst his only friends his whole life, always so diligent and caring.
At one point, Kaminari slams his goblet onto the table and raises it into the air. “Fucking cheers, boys. They really treated us right tonight, those Royals.”
Izuku scans the three faces that have erupted into dignified grins as he raises his glass of wine, the four of them cheersing with such vigor that wine spills onto the lace detail of the tablecloth.
“I’ll fucking drink to that,” Kirishima says. “Damn war. The only thing that sucks about it ending is how much harder it’s gonna be to get a lay. Right, Bakugou?”
Bakugou elbows him in the side as Kaminari snorts into his drumstick. “You idiots are just bitter.” He looks at Izuku, who’s hoping his blush will pass as a side effect of all the wine he’s had. “These two just wish they got as much as I did.”
Izuku has to look away, suddenly a little hot and embarrassed under his cloak and extremely distracted by those red eyes.
Kaminari waves a hand around. “Well, that’s war for you. Sometimes there’s just not much else to do but fuck, you know?”
Izuku has to chuckle awkwardly in agreement but shifts uncomfortably in his seat, for when was the last time he’s even touched someone? Never, really.
Kirishima takes the opportunity to elbow Bakugou back so hard that he knocks into Izuku. “Breaking news, for the thousandth time since The Battle of the Upper River alone, Officer Bakugou has managed to be late for the strategy meeting again all because his dick was in some person’s–”
Bakugou slams a hand over his mouth. “I’ll fucking kill you, dipshit. Now get your act together, would you? This isn’t the place to be acting like a dumb bastard pervert.”
Kirishima just leans behind Bakugou to raise his eyebrows at Izuku, who is now holding in his laughter desperately. Kaminari, on the other hand, isn’t even trying, chortling loudly into his food as Bakugou angrily shovels potatoes into his mouth.
Izuku has a better time than he could have ever imagined. He spends the rest of the night talking to the three of them, Bakugou, Kirishima, and Kaminari. With some practice, he’s able to keep the conversation solely about them, and by the end of the banquet, he’s learned three things for certain:
Kaminari has powerful electric Magic that allows him to make light. He was one of the most important members of first aid during the tail end of the war – his light saved hundreds of soldiers injured at night, keeping fire away from the camps, preventing flame-induced PTSD and allowing midnight surgery.
Kirishima is non-Magical, but he’s kind, determined, and powerful. He and Bakugou rode together for three years in the war, both in the Order of the Dragon.
Bakugou is the son of a metalsmith, and he welded each of the swords his Order fought with during the final battle of the Second Thirty Year War.
Their dynamic is playful, aggressive, and loving, and Izuku would like to swim around in the feeling of drunk laughter with new friends for a little while longer.
He doesn’t really know anything quite like it. |
When I part my lips from hers, her mouth shines with slick, bruised and red like the ripened cheek of an apple. My heart races as her lashes hover low and lazy to a close, her fingers grasping me feebly, even in sleep.
Now what?
I can't even process what just happened, let alone move to untangle our limbs from each other.
Her body is completely relaxed, almost to the point of obscenity: her skirt is hiked and the skin of her thighs presses against mine like a brand. My throat is dry and I'm suddenly wishing we hadn't stopped. When I wonder how far it could've gone I know for certain that the ways I want to touch her are the kind that can't ever be taken back.
I force back my impure thoughts with a resolute tug on the front edge of her skirt, closing the window it left between our legs. I close my eyes and try to breathe regularly.
A disbelieving voice in my head chooses this exact moment to put into words what had just transpired.
I almost had sex with Komaru.
My painstakingly won progress towards going to sleep crumbles apart immediately. Twenty minutes later a sleepy sigh purring through Komaru's chest does it again. By the time she wraps her arms around me and so innocently nuzzles her plump cheek against my tired face, I'm so flinchy and warm and bothered and desperate for something, anything to finally give that I end up stirring her back awake with all of my squirming.
"Mmnh..."
I close my eyes like I'm hiding.
(The way I used to, whenever I heard the clink of glass in the kitchen. I close them like the front door slammed on its brittle, grimy hinges and I can't help straining my ears for the muffled sound of sharp voices late at night in the dark, digging away at me a little more each time. I hide like I'm in a locker waiting for the cloud of perfume and airy laughter to pass, my chest crowding and my tongue heavy with the taste as I suck in what little air comes through the slats in the front like I'm breathing through a straw with a pinprick's width.)
I'm not built for this. I can't handle it, my chest feels like it's going to cave at any second-idiot, I'm such an idiot for putting us here in the first place and I can't even endure this much-
I feel like I could scream, or maybe even cry-something, anything, but Komaru's awake-
Her fingers stroke my hair like she's too sleepy to recognize it at first, graduating to a slow and careful pace: it seems she's assumed I'm asleep, and with a few more passes of her hand, that assumption becomes reality.
...
The first sensation I wake to is the heat. Did I-fall asleep?
The night before, I'd-
I'd managed to get Komaru asleep, with every intention of getting right back to my writing. Her arms had been around me in a way that compelled me beyond resistance to stay. I'd slept like that, curled together with her like the roots of a yew tree, just as hopelessly tangled.
Her fingers still move through my hair. I dimly wonder whether or not she ever fell back asleep after I'd woken her up again, whether she's been stroking my hair continually.
My cheeks burn following the line of thought. What is she thinking, holding me so closely and making me feel all weird inside-?
She doesn't think about what she's doing. There's no reason to seek out my hand with hers, to trail her thumb across my fingers. She doesn't stand to gain anything from stroking my hair or brushing close to me, or linking arms with me.
She doesn't think before she does these things. She does them naturally, effortless. Once she's settled on what is the right thing to do, she holds true to it, unyielding.
Was doing this sort of thing the right thing to her? Was it the right thing to her, to sigh my name into my lips like it was all that was keeping her alive? To fold her hands into mine and never care or complain about how badly my fingernails and skin surrounding them have been mutilated by a lifetime of anxiety and abuse and stress, only ever thankful for the meager warmth they've ever provided?
Her spirit illuminates me, chases away the shadows and cobwebs and poison, purifying my deceitful actions before I could sew seeds upon my soul that I would surely never have recovered from, had they rooted within me, had she not moved my heart to action.
When I consider how absolutely and boundlessly I treasure her companionship-
Why did I do it-?
Why did I do something so reckless?
I know parts of the answer.
I know I love her. I know I wanted to.
I know I was frustrated, and how my writing completely enfolds me and drags my every emotion out and to the surface-
I didn't want to get her swept up in that, not that way.
If anything happens between us I can't let it be because of an impulse or risk it being a mistake that she regrets later.
I want to shake and cower with frustration-I'd been writing, hadn't I? That had been my plan in the first place, to use my writing to show her how I felt, to reciprocate in a way she deserves.
Not like that though.
I can't tell if my short-lived foray into hormones had resulted in success or failure, but my inability to determine such bothers me. My writing is my absolute grounding force. It's the only thing that's been mine for my entire life, transcending my good-for-nothing excuse for a family. It had grown with me and raised me where my mothers could not. It had provided for me and given me all that the rest of the world withheld. The thought that I'm losing my grasp for the only encouraging voice I'd ever known before now completely petrifies me. The warmth around me and filling my lungs is suffocating, like I'm using my senses for the first time.
I trust Komaru. There's nothing false about that feeling, but the idea of unpacking everything so I can just feel worthy of being at her side fills me with dread and shame.
"Touko?...Are you awake?"
Her voice is as soft and gentle as the coo of a dove, and somehow it unsticks the lump in my throat.
"Yeah." I manage to croak. She stops petting my hair in favor of wrapping me in a loose embrace. I hold onto her tightly without sparing the action a second thought. Has she always felt...so solid? Or maybe she just feels that way because I've felt so much like a ghost, with little tethering me to the world until the tenuous connections I'd formed with others, until she helped show me their meaning.
With her arms around me I feel the impulses to question myself, to question her actions disappearing under the warmth I'd been so afraid of just moments before.
(I'm so stupid.)
I've never fit in anyone's arms before. We never have-me, and her.
(It's not so strange to feel trapped when faced with something new, especially when I've always been a creature of habit and solitude.)
It's no wonder I felt afraid.
(Why can't I just relax...?)
Her arms around me are not meant to be a trap. She's proven that a thousand times over. I can let myself fit into her arms, because she's already made room for me and Syo, and I'd never forgive myself for leaving that space empty.
All I need is her voice. Her encouragement, guiding my way, just so I can be sure.
Komaru's right here, and I can figure out the rest later.
"H-Hey, Touko...? I'm...really sorry about before."
"Wh-What-?"
"I mean-you were so busy writing and I pitched a fuss, and...y-you must've been really mad..." She's talking her way very carefully around the elephant in the room, but I know exactly what she's saying between the lines.
She's not sure if I'm ready to talk about it yet, and is affording me the opportunity to collect myself. It's a wonder I've ever thought her to be dim in the past. When it comes to our deepening friendship she's always been surprisingly conscientious.
Even though we've left that threshold far behind for a long time now, the both of us carefully keeping our sights forward, she's been kind enough to look away when I wasn't ready for anyone else to see.
"Y-You bet I was mad, since I couldn't write any more, I d-don't get to show you."
She giggles sheepishly and stretches her arms overhead until they bump the headboard, arching lazily into me like a cat.
"So...you're more mad that you can't show me yet? Why don't you just tell me a little?"
"A-Are you kidding?!" I roll over, afraid to look into her eyes for another moment while she's making such a sweet face, afraid of getting stuck the way a fly gets trapped going for honey. Her arm follows my body and she cuddles close against my back affectionately, innocent of what it does to me when she presses her chest flush against me. "I-I-If I told you how it goes, I-I might never finish it!"
"Huh? Really? Why?"
"B-Because!" I sputter, trying to ignore the heat stealing through my cheeks; does she have to press so damn close? "-If I reveal even a little of the best parts, it'll trick my brain into feeling as satisfied as if I've already written it! It's-a writer's burden to bear, and it's never been a problem for me until now. The whole satisfaction from writing used to be just getting to write how I felt. The recognition was okay-but I always did it for myself. But...now that I actually care what someone thinks, about what I write-ugh!" I scrunch myself towards her arm, scowling, "Look at all this trouble you've caused me...! L-Like I said, I never had to worry about this kind of sh-shit when I didn't have any friends!"
I'm waiting for her to reply when it occurs to me that I probably came off pretty harsh, but when I turn around my apology dies on my lips: Komaru looks like a cat that got the cream, lips curled like she's trying not to smile, eyes alight.
"-Oh thank god-" I breathe aloud without hesitation, before I can catch it.
"You-really care what I think of your writing?" Her tone of voice tells me the significance of the sentiment is not lost on her.
"Y...Yeah..." I admit.
"...And you were worried you'd hurt my feelings just now, weren't you-?" She ventures with a hint of triumph.
"...M-Maybe-but only because you're quick to cry, and I don't wanna get caught in your s-salty floodgates!"
"Okay, okay. We should probably get going before we waste the whole morning again though."
"Hmph. You say that like last time wasn't your fault."
"H-Hey! My fever's gone now, so we'll be fine!"
"...You probably gave it to me, idiot-" I mumble under my breath. Komaru's mouth hovers close over my ear suddenly, the humidity giving me goosebumps.
"...You say that like it wasn't your fault."
She pecks me on the cheek and bolts out of bed to get ready and my face ignites.
...
There's a surprising amount of children wandering the alleys nearby, and we end up with a much larger group than we're comfortable traveling with: nearly a dozen.
"They're all c-coming out of the woodwork now, huh...?" I remark as they crowd behind me on the path leading into the mansion, "Guess that means the adults really are moving around."
"Yeah. But...isn't something weird? We made it all that way with so many of us, and...not a single Monokuma?"
She's right. We faced absolutely no opposition on the way here. That in itself warrants heavy suspicion.
"Let's stay on our guard."
"Y-Yeah."
We bring the children inside and message Future Foundation to come and pick them up. An uneasy silence falls between us.
"I...think we should stay-"
"-Until they get picked up? Yeah, m-me too." I'm relieved she was thinking the same thing, and the look on her face tells me she is too.
It's a pretty uneventful hour that follows. We give them some juice boxes and crackers and snacks that we'd saved from last time, and I settle down with a notebook to try to write. Komaru takes turns playing patty cake with each of them and I watch her for a little while, occasionally managing another sentence after I get myself to stop tracing over letters I've already written over until they're darker than anything else on the page.
A weight at my side stirs my concentration and when I look, I see that one of the kids has awkwardly rest their head onto my arm, hands folded as they lay against my legs. I know he can't see my writing, but I close my notebook anyway, too flustered to continue with all the noise, and tentatively stroke his arm so that he can relax. A little while later, Komaru gives a few of them coloring books and leaves the room, returning with a blanket to put over the sleepy one. I join her on the floor with the kids as they grab books off the shelves and shove them towards us. We take turns reading to them until the helicopter comes to pick them all up, then go outside to wave goodbye at them.
"Well...we might've lost a little time, but at least nothing happened." Komaru remarks as we walk away.
"Y-Yeah, no, I know what you mean. Better safe than sorry. I'm still not convinced we're in the clear though-" Komaru freezes and grabs my arm, preventing me from taking another step.
"T-Touko-"
"What-?"
I follow her gaze with my own, towards the alley she's staring at.
A pair of pink pigtails flutter out of view around the corner just as soon as I see them. |
Blake grumbled under her breath, pulling her hat tighter over her head. She loved basking in the sunlight, but this was brutal. Still, it was late afternoon, it was slowly going down in temperature, and it would be best if she found some shelter to camp for the night. A small yip at her side had her glancing down.
"What is it, Zwei?" she asked the corgi. He yipped again, shoving his nose towards her right. Looking in the direction he was indicating, she could see what looked like a tree…an oasis maybe? Dangerous to approach, but it could be her best bet. Since she'd left the last town, she'd been traveling for three days, hunting the elusive 'Grimm Reaper' as the townsfolk called her. It was the tenth sighting she'd heard of in the past month, so she was becoming more and more confident. She had rolled her eyes internally at the pun, a fleeting thought that Yang would have loved it flitting through her mind before she shook her head in negation. Not now. Zwei yipped again, bringing her back to reality.
"Sorry Zwei. Let's go. Let me know if you smell anything off," she asked the corgi, getting a small bark in reply. She still wondered what type of dog he really was…he was over twenty years old now, if she had her math right, and yet still so very spry. The only sign of his age was a slight whitening of the fur around his muzzle. He was just as energetic and nigh indestructible as ever. Not to mention his incredible level of intelligence compared to other dogs.
He was her only link to her old team, and when he'd approached her, whining and afraid, unable to find Ruby or Yang, she couldn't resist taking him with her. She couldn't leave him now, not when he meant so much to the others…and if she were honest with herself, he'd even managed to worm his way into her heart. (Only him. She still did not like other dogs.) When she had decided to leave Atlas with the other refugees, unsure what she would do, he had come to her. She didn't know what to tell him…he'd always understood far more than she thought dogs could, and it had scared her, having to try to explain to him what had happened.
But she tried. The second night after they had camped, she'd let him rest against her thigh as she told him what had happened. To be honest, it hadn't truly sunk in for her until she started explaining it. She'd been running on adrenaline and pain the entire time, not letting herself think, but it was when she had to explain to those big, innocent eyes, so much like Ruby's eyes, that it truly had hit her.
It had been the first time she'd cried since the Fall had begun. She thought she'd cried out all of her tears long ago, but apparently they were just waiting for this moment. It was nothing but a flood, a constant stream as she quietly sobbed into her hands. Zwei, unable to bear witness, had crawled up into her lap and nuzzled her over and over, until she couldn't resist grabbing him up in her arms. She'd sobbed into his fur, as he licked her cheek once, before snuggling into her arms. She could hear the tiny whimpers coming from him after she'd spoken of Ruby and Yang, and even of Weiss. In that moment, she knew that if anyone knew her pain, it was Zwei.
So for eight years, Zwei and her were inseparable. She'd begun taking care of him, and he took care of her. He was surprisingly stealthy when he needed to be, so he could even follow her on other missions. More than once, his keen nose and hearing had saved her from an ambush, or helped her hunt down her target more effectively. Ever since she'd begun this new job as Ozpin's personal huntress…
He'd come to her after a week, before they had fully cleared the Atlesian border. He'd approached her as she sat, her back against a large tree with Zwei sleeping peacefully in her lap, his limp pronounced as he leaned heavily on his cane. He looked old, far older than she'd seen him before. A deep sense of sadness surrounded him, one that she felt she understood completely.
At first, all he did was take a slow, creaking seat next to her. It had taken him a good minute to be able to sit down comfortably, but when he did he laid his cane across his lap and sighed deeply. Blake hadn't even looked over at him, keeping her eyes downcast as she absently pet Zwei's soft fur. They sat in silence for a few minutes, before he spoke up.
"I'm sorry," was all he said, his voice strained.
"So am I," came Blake's soft reply. He'd won her respect during the Fall…he'd been on the front lines since the first days of Vale's fall. He'd fought, over and over, using his immense power to try to hold back the tide finally, but in the end it had been for naught. He hadn't been able to stop any of it, but at least he tried, and that was enough for Blake.
"Miss Belladonna…I've come to ask you for your help." Blake looked up at him finally, eyes narrowed. Her hand stilled on Zwei's back as amber eyes locked with his, tears prickling at the corner of her eyes.
"My help? Help with what? We lost, Headmaster…WE LOST!" she shouted, her anger stirring an energy in her she hadn't had in a week. Several other nearby refugees started, looking over at the fuming Faunus and the still calm older man next to her.
"We did. And that is my fault. I failed to do my sworn duty. But this does not mean I will give up. I will do what I must to rebuild, to retake the land stolen from us once again. That is what I'm asking for your help for. I have made the same request of JNPR. Team SSSN is returning to their home in Vacuo to try to help the refugees there. Team CFVY is going to Mistral to add to the kingdom's beleaguered defense force, now as it strains to hold more people. ABRN, FNKI, countless others will be leaving to those two kingdoms. But I need agents here. I need people here, who can help retake everything we lost. And you, Blake, are one of the people I need."
"Why me?" she asked, her voice a whisper as all her anger drained from her as quickly as it came. "What could you possibly need from me?"
Ozpin paused for a moment, as though pondering how to explain. "JNPR gives me one of the most talented warriors of her generation. They give me one of the most physically powerful people on Remnant. JNPR provides me an excellent strategist, and a master of both martial arts and Dust use. But what they cannot provide me is a hunter. A master of stealth and tracking, someone who can get in and out of anywhere quietly. Lie Ren is talented, but I have not seen anyone as skilled at subterfuge as you, not since Qrow."
"Logical, practical, and rather cold-blooded," Blake remarked.
"I assumed you'd prefer blunt honesty," came his reply. Blake tilted her head in acknowledgment. "But that is only part of it." Blake arched an eyebrow at him, turning to face him fully. He took a deep breath. "Blake, you were my student, one of the very best to come from my academy. As was Ruby, Yang, and Weiss. None of you deserved what happened. I don't know why they aren't with you right now. I'm not going to ask. I just want to try to rebuild what we lost, and I truly feel doing so will give you a better sense of peace than running away."
Blake felt the anger rise up within her again, but tamped down on it harshly. There was truth in what he said, enough that she paused before replying carefully. "I'll…think about it."
Ozpin inclined his head. "Of course. Please, just inform me before you leave the border. I've begun forming my headquarters nearby." He clambered to his feet, leaning heavily on his cane. As he turned to walk away, he paused in midstep. With his back turned to Blake, he gave one final comment. "You may not have them with you physically, but as long as you love them, they will be in your heart for eternity. Someday, you will find them again. Of this, I am sure. Have a good evening, Miss Belladonna."
Dashing down the side street, she kept sniffing at the air. Her sense of smell wasn't much better than a human's, not like her sense of hearing, but Ruby's rose scent was still distinctive in the ash and smoke filled air. She kept her eyes peeled…the Grimm had mostly fled the city, since they didn't want to burn any more than humans or faunus did, but some were still probably around. But that's when she heard it. A massive crash, as though a building had come down, only a few blocks away from her. Something in her, some instinct, told her she needed to go there as soon as possible, and before she could think about it, she had run in the direction of the sound.
When she arrived, she wished she hadn't. She wished she'd just gone another direction. Or had found a scared cat. Something. Anything. Anything to not see what she saw as she came around the corner, skidding to a stop, everything slowing to a crawl as her mind picked up all the details before her. As she heard Weiss' vicious verbal assault, and what she beheld.
Ruby's cloak, sans Ruby, held loosely in Yang's arms. Blood, puddled on the ground beneath it. Yang, her feet set, her body in motion, swinging toward Weiss' unguarded face. Weiss face, first contorted in rage, then frozen in terror, as Yang completed the swing. Weiss' body flying through the air like a rag doll, her form graceful even as she was thrown through the window, shattering glass and bringing time back to the current.
Everything seemed to speed up instantly, the roaring of flames, the cries from Yang, the sirens in the distance all at once. Blake was frozen though, unable to move, as her eyes met Weiss' opened ones. The depth of anger and fear she saw in them shocked her to the core, but before she could react, Weiss was gone…vanished, into the smoke.
Yang wasn't much better. Blake didn't even have a chance to do more than say her name, before Yang had fled, after screaming at her. Blake was alone, all alone, again. By herself, no one around her, the last remnants of her family disappeared…one of them for eternity. Blake stumbled forward, to look down at the puddle of blood on the ground. Staring into it, she found herself immersed in its deep red color, in the small droplets falling off into the distance…wait…
Blake jerked awake with a gasp, sitting upright and nearly sending Zwei flying from where he was seated on her lap. Droplets of blood leading away from the puddle. Droplets of blood. As though someone had walked away bleeding. No tears in the cloak, no sign of a struggle, just a small puddle of blood that wasn't enough blood for a person to die of exsanguination. Ruby was alive!
She leapt up, dashing madly through the camp, the worried corgi following behind her. The camp was quiet in the darkness, late in the night, but she didn't care. She had to move now. She ran to the door of the headquarters Ozpin had mentioned, and without even knocking barged straight in, startling the older man as he sat reviewing papers on his desk. He opened his mouth to speak, but she slammed her hands down on the table, interrupting him as she leaned over to look him dead in the eye.
"I'll help you. I'll do whatever you want. On one condition. You help me find my team."
He arched an eyebrow. "I was under the impression they had died in the Fall." Blake shook her head no, and proceeded to give him a brief summary of what had happened in the city. He leaned back, steepling his fingers as he gave her a contemplative glance. "That doesn't guarantee Miss Rose is alive you know."
"She's alive, I know it! And if I find her, Weiss and Yang will come back! We'll be together again! That's my deal, help me find them, and I'll do whatever you want for your project until the day I die! I swear, on my life, I will do whatever it takes for you, if you'll just help me." Blake's voice was desperate, pleading, eyes wild as she stared down at Ozpin.
He took a deep breath. "Very well. We have a deal."
That had led to where she was now. The Reclamation Project was well under way, over half of Atlas had been reclaimed, in no small part thanks to her. After seven years, the project was finally steady enough, and he had released her so she could try to track down Ruby. Which is what led to her being in the desert wastes of Vacuo. Tales of a mysterious cloaked stranger who struck down Grimm in a flash and then vanished shortly after had surfaced over a half a decade ago, and who else but Ruby would be so theatrical? Blake just knew it was her. As soon as she found Ruby, she'd be able to bring her family back, all she needed was her favorite book buddy back.
Zwei shuffling up against her leg broke her concentration, making her realize she had walked nearly blindly into the oasis itself. Zwei really had been a life saver for her, keeping her focused and on the lookout for danger over and over. She smiled down at him, giving him a quick pat as she strolled into the oasis. Good opportunity to replace her water supplies.
Her thoughts were interrupted by Zwei suddenly barking excitedly and bursting off, his stubby legs moving as fast as she had seen them move in years. He ran over and ripped a large stick out of the ground, one nearly as big as he was. He quickly dragged it over to Blake, dropping it at her feet and barking at her excitedly.
She arched an eyebrow at him. "Zwei, I don't think now is the time to play fetch."
Zwei gave her a cute little growl before shaking his head, his entire body following the motion. He nudged the stick again, yipping at it, before panting at her. She rolled her eyes, picking up the stick. As she ran her hand over it, preparing to toss it, she paused. Something felt different, almost as though the stick had some lines in it…
She flipped it over, looking down at it, before feeling her heart stop as her eyes grew wide. She choked out a breath, staring in stunned silence, as she glanced down at an intricately detailed carving of her own flower emblem she used to leave everywhere back at Beacon. Yang's burning heart, her favorite shirt decoration. Weiss' snowflake, the symbol of her house. And…Ruby's rose. Maybe ten people alive knew all four of those emblems, and of them, all of them were accounted for, except…
"Ruby," Blake breathed out, her hands shaking as she stared at the piece of wood in her hands. Images flitted through her mind, of shimmering silver eyes, of laughter and joy, of a woman who danced with her weapon in a flurry of rose petals. The glue that held team RWBY together, Ruby Rose…eight years. She had spent eight years, convinced herself Ruby was alive against all odds, and here, here was her proof. The last piece of the puzzle! She could bring her family back together now!
Without taking her eyes away from the stick, she tapped her ear, activating her headset. "Shadow calling Shield. Shadow calling Shield. Anyone receiving?"
She heard a loud scramble, and then a relieved voice practically shouted in her ear. "Blake! By Dust Blake, you're a week late for your report! We were worried about you!"
Blake winced. "I'm sorry Jaune. I-"a growl cut her off.
"No! No more excuses Blake. We've told you time again, report on time. Damn it Blake, do you not realize what this does to us? We're your friends! I've been to too many damned funerals already, I don't want to even think about going to yours. So don't give us this shit. Next time, report in on time, so I'm not sitting here terrified of what happened to you. Ok?"
Blake smiled softly, aware Jaune couldn't see her. "Ok. I'm sorry, Jaune. I didn't mean to worry you guys."
Jaune took a deep breath, calming his tone. "It's ok. Anyways, I do have good news for you."
"Hmm?"
"We found Weiss and Yang."
Blake clenched her fists in victory, her smile spreading across her face. "Excellent! Perfect timing! Jaune…Jaune, I found proof. I found proof! Ruby is alive, I can prove it now!"
Jaune was silent for a moment. "Blake, are you sure?"
"Yes! I swear to you Jaune, I found proof! I have this branch that someone carved on, it smells of roses, and it has Ruby's, Weiss', Yang's, and my emblems on it! How many people in the world know all of our symbols huh? It has to be Ruby! And Zwei thinks it is too!"
"Ok, ok. I believe you Blake. But what do we do then?"
Blake gaped at the air, before shaking her head. "Do? Why, we get Yang and Weiss! I'll come back to Atlas, we'll group up, and we'll go find Ruby together! And then we'll be together again, it'll be perfect! Just like before!"
Jaune sighed. "Blake…Weiss and Yang, they…they aren't…ok."
Blake sobered up instantly, her tone cautious. "What do you mean?"
"…Yang's an alcoholic and Weiss has become delusional and full of rage."
Blake blinked at his words, confused for a moment, before resolutely shaking her head. "It doesn't matter. If we find Ruby, it'll all be fixed. They'll be fine, you'll see. Just bring them to Atlas, I'll be there soon. The pilot is still back in town, I can be back within the week. Then we'll find Ruby and everything will be fine."
"Blake, I really don't know-"
"I don't care if you don't think it's a good idea!" Blake screamed into the headset, before calming down instantly. "Jaune, you promised me you'd help me. Please…please, this is what you promised me. Jaune, please!"
Jaune took another deep breath as he leaned back in his chair. Blake could hear the telltale sounds of gears whirring as he moved, a metallic clang as he placed a hand on the desk. "Alright. I'll get ahold of Ren and Pyrrha and have them bring them in. They'll be here by the time you arrive. But Blake, be careful ok? I don't think this will be as easy as you think."
"Don't worry Jaune. I know what I'm doing." |
They stand at the train station, early spring air a crisp reminder that their brief time before graduation and the start of college has come to a close. Iwaizumi’s family had said goodbye to him earlier, before he left for the early morning train, wishing him well and good luck at his new university, his mother wiping proud tears from her eyes and his father giving him a strong pat on his back.
Now, there’s one more thing left to do before he steps on that train and leaves. Iwaizumi shifts, a little uncertain on his feet, as he turns to look at Oikawa.
He’s tried not to think about this moment very much—even though he’s dwelled on it in unwanted moments or in the middle of the night when he can’t sleep—ever since he and Oikawa had confirmed their university choices. Their separate university choices.
Every time he has thought of this, their last few moments together before they officially leave for college and begin their paths to adulthood, Iwaizumi has envisioned different events, mishaps, or reactions.
(Once, about a week ago, he had an extremely vivid dream that everything that could possibly go wrong did—lost train ticket and oversleeping and forgetting his things. Thankfully, now that he’s standing here, ready to depart in just a few short minutes, he knows none of that came true.)
Still, he’s rarely lingered on what saying goodbye to Oikawa would be like and how it would turn out, but now that they’re here, it’s an inescapable reality. A step they have to take.
“Your train will be here soon, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, voice cutting through the quiet, more of a way to have something exist between them rather than spend their last few moments together for who knows how long in silence than it is to state the obvious.
“Yeah.” He’s not sure when his hand ended up in Oikawa’s and squeezing it like a lifeline, not wanting to let go, but the touch must have been initiated somewhere along their walk here.
Iwaizumi doesn’t pull away. Not yet.
“Call me,” he mumbles in place of an I’ll miss you. That much is implied, known well enough that it doesn’t need spoken words to confirm it. “And text.”
“You know I will.” Oikawa turns to face him, then, biting his lip. “And the same goes for you! Don’t forget about me just because you’re gonna be a big shot college student.”
He sighs, thankful that despite the ache in his chest, the tear between excitement for a new start and sadness at leaving his best friend and partner, that they can still joke like this and make playful jabs at each other. “You’re gonna be a big shot college student, too. You leave tomorrow!”
“Don’t remind me. I still have to finish packing.”
“Serves you right for waiting until last minute to finish up,” Iwaizumi nudges Oikawa’s shoe with his own, laughing.
Their laugther dies down when they hear the train inching closer, though, pulling in and signaling the end of this time together.
This is it.
Iwaizumi leans forward, pulling Oikawa into a tight hug. Oikawa returns it without hesitation, holding Iwaizumi just as tightly.
They stand like that for a moment, until Iwaizumi takes a breath, uncurling his fingers from Oikawa’s jacket as he pulls back a little. “I’ll see you?”
“Always.”
The tears in Oikawa’s eyes are a little difficult to ignore. Hell, Iwaizumi can’t even push away the burning behind his own eyes as he realizes he’s literally five steps away from spending the first real and lengthy time in his life apart from Oikawa. But he pushes that away and reaches up, his hands cupping Oikawa’s cheeks as he pulls him in for a kiss.
“Love you, Tooru.”
Oikawa smiles. “I love you too, Hajime.”
They share one more last minute kiss before Iwaizumi gets on the train, hand raised in a wave goodbye until he can’t see Oikawa anymore.
Then, he slumps into a nearby seat, thinking of the button from Oikawa’s high school uniform that he has safely tucked away in his pocket. They had exchanged them after graduation in a moment of sentimentality and nostalgia, all while looking toward the future. A promise to stay together no matter what challenges college will bring them, no matter how difficult the distance between them may be.
…
Iwaizumi quickly learns that frequent texts from Oikawa are common. Throughout the day, Oikawa texts him small updates about what’s going on, his classes, his volleyball practices, anything. Iwaizumi appreciates every message, no matter how small (and no matter how often his phone lights up with new messages when he’s trying to get some late evening studying done in the library because his dorm roommate is too noisy for Iwaizumi to focus there.)
Besides the typical texts of good morning and goodnight and I love you that come like clockwork every day, Iwaizumi has also grown fond of Oikawa’s habit of texting him various pictures of things he sees that he wants to show Iwaizumi. Places and items, a few selfies. At least once a day he'll get some type of picture from Oikawa.
Iwaizumi has never been one for taking many pictures or texting them, but he’s found himself falling into the habit of pulling out his phone whenever he sees something that he think will interest Oikawa or make him happy. Various places around campus; scratched and scribbled doodles from his notebook on a boring day in class; the lingering glow of the sunset he can see perfectly from the table he usually takes at the library, situated next to a window that catches the clear orange hue of the sky and the tall tree that fits perfectly in the frame; a small shot of the bright stars above Iwaizumi’s head as he walks back to his dorm when his Wednesday night class lets out.
tooru (11:00 pm): you should take me here when you come to visit iwa-chan.
Prior to the request, Oikawa had attached a picture of some café he had found earlier that day. Iwaizumi smiles as he studies the picture, thinking that it would be nice to do that, to spend time together somewhere quiet and welcoming, atmospheric and comforting.
iwaizumi (11:01 pm): yeah. sounds good. you’ll have to show me all of these places when i come to visit
iwaizumi (11:01 pm): where’d you find that one?
tooru (11:02 pm): few blocks from campus. found it after grocery shopping earlier
tooru (11:02 pm): i miss you.
Iwaizumi sucks in a breath as he reads the words, the feeling so common it’s a mantra in his head, the lines and etched text on the screen of his phone such an ingrained concept that he sees it behind his shut eyelids.
The feeling is obviously mutual. It’s lonely without Oikawa’s constant presence. And even with their constant and daily contact it isn’t the same as being face-to-face, chest-to-chest, heart-to-heart. Technology, while an aid that’s good enough is only that. It pales in comparison to the real thing—Oikawa’s smile and bright eyes in real time rather than pixelated, grainy and dimly lit by a low quality camera; his laugh clear and close, echoing in the small stretch of the few inches distance between them rather than miles away and limited by low sound quality. The substitute phones and webcams and text provides only makes Iwaizumi long for the real thing even more.
It’s like a part of him is missing, not erased or forgotten but waiting to be guided back and slotted into its rightful place once again.
He sighs, typing out the quick reply. Sitting behind a screen won’t fully convey the longing, the ache of his chest thinking of the weeks they’ve spent apart, but Iwaizumi knows Oikawa will pick up on the intended meaning, the rush of emotion the words his fingertips punched into his phone convey.
iwaizumi (11:04 pm): miss you too.
iwaizumi (11:04 pm): i miss you so much
…
“You okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” Despite the words, Oikawa seems nervous, like something is wrong.
“Liar.”
“How can you even tell? It’s not like you can see me, Iwa-chan!”
He’s right, Iwaizumi can’t see him, hasn’t seen him in two months except for on a computer screen when they’ve skyped, has only heard his voice over the phone like right now.
But he can still tell what Oikawa’s feeling, is so familiar with reading him by now that he can even tell when something is up over the phone. “You’ve got nothing to be nervous about, you know. How many volleyball matches have you played in your life?”
“A lot,” Oikawa mumbles. “But this is different. You were always with me those times. I’m alone now.”
Iwaizumi sighs softly. It’s weird to think that Oikawa will be playing in a match without him, the very first one in all of their years together, and he understands why Oikawa feels unsettled. He knows he would too, if their roles were reversed. “Pretend I’m there, then.”
Oikawa laughs. “That’s not the same, Iwa-chan.”
“Maybe not, but it’s better than nothing, right?”
“I guess,” Oikawa finally concedes after a brief moment of silence. He’s quiet for another moment, and all Iwaizumi can hear is him moving the phone and some shuffling on the other end. “I wish you were here,” Oikawa finally mutters. “I miss you.”
“I miss you too,” Iwaizumi says instantly, without even having to think about it, because he does. He really does. He misses Oikawa so damn much. Two months apart—the longest they’ve ever been apart in their whole lives—is too much. And even though they make time for each other, even though they’ll text every day, even though they’ll talk on the phone almost every night, some nights falling asleep while still on the line, the other’s voice lulling them to sleep, it’s not the same as seeing each other every day like they used to.
Which is why Iwaizumi made sure he was free this weekend, made sure he’d be able to attend Oikawa’s first volleyball match in college to surprise him, to see him again. Two months is way too long, after all.
“Hajime…”
“Hmm?”
Oikawa takes a breath. “What if I mess up?”
“Where’s the confident Oikawa Tooru I know? Don’t tell me something changed in two months. I’d kind of miss you if you got like… replaced by a robot, substitute Oikawa or something.”
There’s laughter on the other end of the phone. Good. “What kind of movies have you been watching, Iwa-chan? That’s so lame.”
“Says the one with the worst taste in movies ever.” Iwaizumi grins, the familiar banter settles comfortably between them and hopefully is enough to calm Oikawa’s nerves. “And don’t even argue otherwise. I’ve sat through plenty of them to know.”
“Like you’re any better?”
As the laughter dies down between them and they fall into a relaxed air of quiet instead, Iwaizumi switches the conversation from joking to serious. “You’ll be just as amazing as always, Tooru. I know you will.”
Oikawa is quiet for a moment, and the only response to Iwaizumi’s words is his soft breaths. Then, he speaks, voice a little muffled. “You really think so?”
“Yeah, I really do.” You know I do. I always do. “Go and show ‘em all how good you are.”
“Okay…” Oikawa sounds like he wants to say more, but stops and Iwaizumi can hear another voice, one that sounds like it’s saying they have to go and Oikawa responds that he’ll be there in a minute. “Iwa-chan, I have to go.”
Iwaizumi nods. “Okay. Relax and don’t stress yourself out so much. You’ll be just fine.”
“Alright.” Oikawa takes a breath, and the audible sound is enough to send a rush of fond memories through Iwaizumi’s mind, quick flashes of their many times before games when Oikawa would take a deep breath, quelling any nerves and doubts, eyes focused and determined and set on his goal.
(He thinks of the times, back in high school when he would stand by Oikawa’s side, their eyes on the same goal, their feet steady and traveling to the same destination. The way his hand would rest on Oikawa’s back, fingers curling in his jersey, in the scrawl of the team name and numbers that they had made their own marked their place there, the brush of their shoulders as they moved forward, ready and determined.
But all he can do is close his fist around nothing, no soft fabric or etched words against his skin, no press of Oikawa’s shoulders against his own. The sensation, no matter how tangible or infinite it may seem momentarily, is only remembered rather than newly and continuously experienced.)
“Good luck, okay? And call me as soon as you’re done.”
“I will. Love you.”
“Love you too.” He hangs up the phone after that, leans back against the wall of the hallway he’s been waiting in. That time may be over and things may be different or challenging now, but they still have so much to look forward to, still have each other to look forward to and meet once again to walk beside.
Oikawa’s face. His smile and his eyes, his warm, familiar touch and his steady presence. Soon, Iwaizumi will get that, will be reacquainted with it all, every piece of Oikawa that he misses and loves, after their time apart. He’ll have to wait a few minutes more to experience it, obtain it, live it, but that’s okay. Because once the match is over until they’ll be able to properly see each other, the whole weekend theirs.
And Iwaizumi plans to make every moment of it worthwhile.
…
He stands, patiently—or as patiently as he can, he’s been tapping his foot anxiously for a good few minutes now, ever since the match ended and he moved off to the side to wait for his obviously elated boyfriend to come over to him after he’s done with the rest of his team.
The match was a good one, Oikawa playing amazing per the usual and leading the team to victory. He hadn’t noticed Iwaizumi there watching right away at the beginning, but their eyes met when Oikawa went to serve for the first time that match and Oikawa almost dropped the ball in shock and stood frozen for a moment when Iwaizumi smiled and waved at him. He recovered quickly enough, smiled back and got right back to work, scoring a point when he went to serve.
Iwaizumi smiles when he finally sees Oikawa bounding toward him and raises his hand in a wave. “Hey! Nice job, I—” He doesn’t get a chance to finish because Oikawa practically jumps on him, hugging him so tightly he thinks he loses his breath for a second. But then he’s hugging him back just as tightly, and god, it feels so good to be like this, to hold each other, to finally see each other after so long.
“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa manages, voice muffled as he buries his face in the crook of Iwaizumi’s neck. “Iwa-chan, you’re here!”
He sounds as if he can’t believe it, like if he pulls away or lets go that Iwaizumi will no longer be there.
“Yeah, I am,” he mumbles against Oikawa’s shoulder, giving him another tight squeeze.
“I’m so happy you’re here.” Oikawa smiles, bright and warm and beautiful, when they pull apart a little, arms still wrapped around each other. And Iwaizumi has missed this so much, is grateful for the reminder that this is what he wants, what he always wants.
“I wouldn’t have missed this for anything. You know—”
He doesn’t finish the affirmation, and frankly he doesn’t care that the words got drowned out by Oikawa’s lips on Iwaizumi’s own. He leans closer and into the kiss, reaching up and cupping Oikawa’s cheek, holding him tightly.
They have all weekend to talk, to be like this. They have all weekend, and they have a lot of catching up and making up for lost time to do.
...
It had been Oikawa’s suggestion to watch a movie together over skype. And Iwaizumi agreed because what better way to spend a Friday night after a long, busy day than watching a movie with Oikawa?
In some ways, it’s easy to pretend that Oikawa is by Iwaizumi’s side and in his arms rather than miles away, presence only captured by a screen. Watching movies with Oikawa is the same now as it was when they were kids and tried to sneak staying up late during sleepovers, turning the volume low enough that they could hear, but their parents wouldn’t be woken up. Oikawa always would—and still does—offer commentary on what they’re watching, voice becoming quieter and sleepier as the night goes on, even breaths and longer pauses between words more frequent.
Then, Oikawa always would fall asleep before the movie ended, leaving Iwaizumi awake and smiling fondly at his best friend sprawled out and mouth open, drooling on his pillow.
Now is no different. Iwaizumi doesn’t realize Oikawa is asleep until they’re only a little over halfway through the movie, but he smiles when he notices, just as he always has.
Just as he always will.
“‘Night,” he murmurs, even though he knows Oikawa can’t hear him, and settles back down against his pillows, slipping into sleep soon after.
…
The first time their teams face each other in volleyball is their third year of college. Until then, it had never worked out where both of their teams made it to the same point or were matched against each other, but this time, it seems they have gotten lucky and will get a chance to stand on opposite sides of the court rather than the same.
Watching Oikawa as a rival is incredible—entirely different than working with him to score and win—but just as amazing to witness, to stand in the presence of.
Even after the time spent not playing together, they still are able to read each other just as well, still know each other’s habits and moves as well as they know their own. The “phenomena” seems to have their respective teammates in awe, watching their reactions and counters, asking for their opinions on what to do in order to win against each other.
As foreign as it is to seriously play against each other for the first time, it’s also fun. And Iwaizumi finds himself shaking with breathless laughter, exhileration every time they block a play, every time they can predict where the other is going to send the ball.
In the end, Oikawa’s team wins after a three-set match, final score 28-30.
“Glad to see you haven’t lost your touch, Hajime,” Oikawa laughs as they line up with their teams after the game, shaking hands.
“Like you should talk!” He grins, squeezing Oikawa’s hand tighter. “Nice job, captain. Next time, I’m winning, though.”
“We’ll see!” Oikawa sticks his tongue out, gesture childish and petulant, but so Oikawa that Iwaizumi can’t help but laugh.
Later, after they finish, they leave the gym together, shoulders bumping and hands finding each other as they walk out into the cool night.
Oikawa pulls Iwaizumi to some restaurant he found because “Winner chooses where we eat, Iwa-chan!” was how Oikawa had put it, but Iwaizumi doesn’t mind, is happy to spend the time together like this. Just like they would after games in high school.
He nudges Oikawa’s leg under the table, smiling when their eyes meet. I’m proud of you.
Oikawa smiles too, propping his chin in his hand while he leans his elbow on the table. He kicks Iwaizumi’s leg in return. Me too.
“You know, next time we should play together, Iwa-chan. On the national team, I mean.” We could do it, the hopeful words, the goal suggests.
Well, they’ve always been ones to never stop until they reach their goal, to never give up until it’s clear in their sight and they've fought their hardest while working to get there. Maybe in high school they fell just a bit short, but now they’re older and stronger.
Invincibility isn’t a feeling Iwaizumi wants to give up just yet.
“Yeah. I like that idea.”
…
“What’re you doing?” Iwaizumi asks, voice slurred with sleep, eyes squinted as he adjusts to the morning sunlight in the room. He brings a hand up to rub at his eyes before turning his attention fully to Oikawa, who had already been awake and looking at Iwaizumi prior to Iwaizumi waking.
“Nothing.”
He lets out a breath of laughter at the obvious lie. “I saw you looking at me, idiot. No sense in lying when you’ve been caught.”
Oikawa laughs too, soft and quiet, and pokes Iwaizumi’s cheek. “You’re still just as mean as when we were kids. You haven’t changed at all.”
“You know how easily I could say the same about you?” Iwaizumi smiles into the pillow as he throws an arm around Oikawa’s waist, pulling him closer to settle back down comfortably, enjoying the rare weekend morning they get to spend like this, intertwined together and waking up side by side.
The previous question now left alone and forgotten in favor of holding Oikawa close, his chin resting against the top of Oikawa’s head, eyes sliding shut in the quiet moment together.
Oikawa pokes Iwaizumi’s chest after a moment, squirming in his grip a little. “I was looking at you.”
“What for?” Iwaizumi mumbles through a yawn, realizing that Oikawa is talking about the initial question Iwaizumi had asked upon waking up. He already knew that part at least, but wonders what the reason was for.
“Don’t laugh.”
“I’m not gonna laugh. Come on.”
“Sometimes, I think that if I look enough it’ll help me remember better. When you’re not there anymore.”
Like they can memorize each other to make up for the periods of spent apart, more lengthy and drawn out than the times they now spend together are.
“I think that’s the cheesiest thing I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth,” Iwaizumi teases. But he pulls Oikawa closer and presses a kiss to his forehead, a message that the sentiment is shared.
“Hajime, if we kept track of all the supposedly cheesy things we’ve both said, you would win. Your count outnumbers mine.”
“What if that’s a competition I don’t mind winning?”
Oikawa grins, pressing himself even closer to Iwaizumi, the pads of his fingers tracing over Iwaizumi’s cheek, gentle and warm, leaving a trail of fire and desire and love behind on his skin. “What if I told you I’m going to win, then?”
“Better get moving, I guess. Apparently you’ve got a lot to catch up to.”
“No way. We’re starting over. For an accurate count.”
“Seriously?”
Iwaizumi laughs until he’s breathless, only made worse when Oikawa leans forward and kisses him, the gesture punctuated with a determined and certain “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” he murmurs, just as certain against Oikawa’s lips, pulling him even closer for another kiss.
…
Iwaizumi holds the phone in his hands, turning it over a few times as he waits for the time to pass, each second to tick by and bring him closer to what he’s waiting for.
Finally, as the time changes to 12:00 am, officially marking the start of July 20th, Iwaizumi dials the number so familiar to him, the one he knows by heart.
“Hello?” Oikawa answers after the second ring. “Iwa-chan?”
“Happy birthday, Tooru,” he murmurs softly, wishing he was there and by Oikawa’s side instead of having to settle for a phone call.
Distance can go to hell. Like anything is going to ruin the tradition of Iwaizumi being the first to wish Oikawa happy birthday every single year.
…
“I was thinking about something,” is how Oikawa starts the conversation after dinner. They had ordered takeout after trying (and failing considering that they had made a mess instead) to make dinner, and just finished up, enjoying the comfortable silence as they sat at the small kitchen table in Oikawa’s apartment together.
In what has seemed to fly by way quicker than Iwaizumi ever thought it would, they are nearing the end of their final year in college. Exams and last minute assignments to get through their final hurdle—graduation—are soon going to be pressed upon them, so they mutually decided that it was a good idea to take the time to visit each other while they had the chance.
“What about?”
“We’re graduating soon.” Oikawa taps his fingers against the table, quick and rhythmic, maybe a little anxious.
“I know. Trust me, all of the assignments I have coming up are enough to tell me that.” Iwaizumi laughs, teasing and familiar. He curls his leg around Oikawa’s, scooting his chair closer.
Oikawa pokes Iwaizumi’s arm resting on the table, before reaching down and taking his hand, entwining their fingers together. “I wanted to ask you something.”
“I’m listening.” He squeezes Oikawa’s hand as a confirmation, a gentle go ahead.
A breath. Then, “Will you… do you want to move in together?”
The question, although a good idea, an ideal outcome, is a surprise. They haven’t really talked about after college and their plans yet, but considering that it’s getting closer and closer with each passing day, it’s probably time they did.
“You know it’s a yes,” Iwaizumi says, smiling at Oikawa, heart content at the suggestion, the idea of them, together. Living together. “It’ll always be a yes.”
“Well yeah, but asking is always the right way to go, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa sighs, drawn out with exasperation, but fondness curling around the edges of it. “What would you do if I just showed up at your apartment after graduation with all of my stuff?”
He snorts at the idea, flicking Oikawa’s forehead gently. “Let’s see… I’d kick you out. That should be obvious.”
Oikawa’s nose scrunches up in distaste at the suggestion. “You’re unbelievable to say that,” he teases. “And in my apartment too! I could make you sleep on the couch this whole weekend, Iwa-chan! I have the power here.”
“You wouldn’t,” he laughs, overwhelmingly happy. “And you know I’d let you stay. I’d be happy to have you.” Always.
“Good.” Oikawa leans closer, resting his hands on Iwaizumi’s cheeks, pressing their foreheads together. “Because you’re not getting rid of me any time soon.”
“Is that a promise?” Iwaizumi asks, but doesn’t wait for Oikawa’s answer, and closes the already small distance between them, pressing their lips together in a kiss.
He doesn’t care where he is. As long as it’s with Oikawa, Iwaizumi will be happy. If there’s anything that being apart and separated by the distance of their schools these past few years has made him realize, it’s that he wants to spend his future—all of it, every single bit—with Oikawa.
It doesn’t matter where they are. As long as they have each other, they are home. That is home.
|
Brian Jeffries
Patricia Dupont
Bill Dupont (Patricia's hubby)
Autumn Dupont (their daughter)
Renee Todd (Brian and Patricia's former supervisor)
Author's Note: I had written this and many other stories and lost the flash drive I had it on in a fire...or so I thought. Sifting thru some old photos in a box I had in storage...found the drive!! Man, that was a moment. And it suddenly came back to me. Thank you for all the messages over the years...I read each one. Honest. Like Michael Jordan once stated, "I'm back"...
*****
Chapter 1
2015
Brian Jeffries stepped his tall, thick, dark chocolate-colored, muscular, 6'3", and 215lb. frame into his corner office, hurriedly, and closed the door. He breathed a sigh of relief as the coolness of his office enveloped him in its crisp air. He had just finished walking around the behavioral health unit and saw that it was going to be a very busy day...as usual. He worked as a psychologist in an urban mental health facility, which meant he was busy all of the time. As he sat at his desk and began surfing the net (which his ass wasn't supposed to be doing), his office phone began to ring. For a second, he looked at it in total and complete disgust, before glancing at the called id. He saw that it was an outside line, so he reached for the handset.
"Hello, Brian Jeffries, behavioral health. How may I help you?" he said.
"Brian! Brian, this is Renee Todd...from Triangle Academy"
"Uh...oh. Heyyy! What's going on Renee? Long time, no hear. How are you doing? This is a nice surprise. Wow, I didn't expect to hear from you again" he said. He wondered why his former supervisor was calling him.
"Well, to tell you the truth, I wish I wasn't calling. I'm sure you're busy; so let me get to the point. Do you remember Patricia Dupont?" she asked.
"Umm. Yeah! Of course, Pat-Pat. What's going on?" he said.
"I recently accepted a new position at another organization and I was boxing my things up when I came across your name and forwarding information. I was calling to let you know that Patricia Dupont had suffered the loss of her husband, Bill, about six months ago. I remembered that you and she were buddies and I was sure nobody had informed you. I'm sorry it took me so long to call" she said.
"Oh my! I'm sorry to hear that! I remember when she married him. What happened? Didn't they have a child together?" he asked.
"Well, from what I've been told, after Bill got back from the war in Iraq, he was a changed person. Apparently, they were having problems...well; I should say he was having problems. I've heard all kinds of stuff about what he put her through. To make a long story short, one night he went out and got hammered at a local bar. After he left the place, he ran a red light right into the path of an eighteen-wheeler going 90 mph. Wasn't much left of him after that, if you know what I mean. Oh, and yes they do have a child. Her name is Brianna. I've seen a picture of her...she's a beautiful little girl"
"Oh my, I'm really sorry to hear that. Listen, do you have a phone number or an address where I can reach her?" he asked.
"I have an address. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to get her phone number..." she answered.
"Really? Okay, just a second...let me get a pen. Okay, go ahead," he said.
After hanging up with his former supervisor, Brian called and spoke with Patricia. She was very happy to hear from him and let him know it. He offered to come see her this weekend and she accepted. They talked for a few minutes more and Brian let her know that when he finalized his airline reservations, he would let her know. She thanked him and ended the call. He then sat back in his chair, put his hands behind his head and began to think about the circumstances that led to him meeting Patricia Dubois and the brief yet exciting history they held together...
Chapter 2
2012
Brian had worked with Patricia for approximately six months in 2012. They had been counselors at Grandview Academy. The Academy, as it was called, was a school for wayward adolescents located in Denver, Colorado. The facility boasted a track, four basketball courts, tennis courts, Olympic sized pool, two same sex educational facilities, dormitory for students as well as two additional facilities to house staff. The co-ed buildings provided one-bedroom apartments, including a private bathroom and kitchen area.
He was originally from Pittsburgh, PA. He had been twenty-six at the time and working on his dissertation for his Ph. D in clinical psychology. The position required a bachelor's degree in damn near anything, plus the pay wasn't that bad. Being a student, any money was good money. He had decided to take a year off before completing his studies to work and make some money.
Patricia had been one of the first people he had met during his ten-day orientation at the facility. She had worked at the facility for a little over a year. On first sight, he had found her very attractive. Brian had particular taste in women and had NEVER bowed down to the mere presence of a woman... Black, white, Asian, brown; if the bitch was ugly, she was ugly...and if she was pretty, he acknowledged it. He had never dated white women because he just didn't have a strong affinity for them like his friends seemed to have. The IDEA of fucking a white woman seemed to be all his friends used to talk about. In his eyes, a woman was a woman. He never got off into the black-white power dynamic and all that 'back to Africa' talk when it came to dating a white woman. To him, if you knocked their back out, they were attracted to you, period. He was everything but the stereotypical Black man. He didn't wear his pants beneath his ass cheeks and he didn't talk down (i.e...ghetto) to get the subtle approval of whites when he was in work/social situations. Subconsciously, he knew in America, white women had a huge advantage over their colored peers...and maybe that was why he never could see himself being 'white woman crazy'. Plus, he absolutely loved ass and titties (REAL ONES), and that seemed to be in short supply when it came to the white women he had seen, up till recently.
Patricia was 23, 5'6", weighed 130-135lbs, with most of her weight being held in her 36DD's. She was a natural redhead (reddish-blonde), and wore her hair in a curly shoulder-length style. Being a natural redhead, she inherited the 'lite white' skin, freckles, and emerald green eyes. She was pretty in a way that made a man's dick start to fill with blood the moment his eyes fell upon her. She had lips that reminded one of Angelina Jolie. They weren't THAT big, but they were full and sumptuous on her otherwise delicate structured face. Her skin was clear, free of blemishes. She had a small scattering of freckles strategically placed on her soft, angled face. Her eyebrows were arched, which served to bring out the sexy slant of her eyes.
Her face and body was a mix of French and American breeding. Her breasts were pear-shaped masterpieces that hung heavy on her rib cage. Each topped with long, extremely sensitive, 1/8-inch thick, pink raspberry nipples. Brian had noticed on more than one occasion that her nipples were ever-stiff under every, single garment she wore. They stood out like mini-thimbles, CON-STANT-LY!! It was a known FACT that she made many-a-dicks hard throughout the day at the facility when she worked...and probably an equal amount of pussies wet, as well.
Her height and size of her breasts would lead one to think that she would be a lil thick in the middle, but her waist was small like a waspish white woman. If you were approaching her from the front, as soon as you caught sight of the curve of her hips, you KNEW she was packing ass. Brian found it hard to control his lustful gazes at her rather soft-looking, plump ass when he was near her. She had a tight, natural jiggle to her walk that turned him on to no end. Her legs were long, full and nicely tapered, and she had small feet.
In addition to her physical attributes, her personality was sweet yet feisty. Brian found her to be opposite of what he thought a young, white woman from Tennessee would be like. First, although she was very pretty, she wore no makeup, except lipstick and eyeliner. She didn't fawn for the attention of men, so it made her easy to talk with and be around. In his experience, white women who were uncomfortable with being in close quarters with a Black man act one of three ways: they either put the stress on themselves that they had to talk so GOTT-DAMN much you started to lose your hard-on, they totally ignored you or they kept a distance while fake smiling with dead eyes...
During his orientation, he was at the facility for the 8-4 shift, so he saw her frequently. His regular shift was going to be 12a-8a, full-time. In those two weeks, he learned that she was twenty-three years old and engaged to her high school sweetheart, Bill, who was back in Memphis, Tennessee. They had dated since eleventh grade. She had majored in psychology at Tennessee State while her boyfriend, Bill, had majored in certified beer drinking and partying. She was more of an intellectual, Bill more of a sports fanatic. She had two siblings, a younger brother who was starting his freshman year at Kansas State and an older sister who lived in Memphis. Her parents were still married and living in Memphis, also.
Patricia also got a chance to gather personal information on Brian during his ten-day orientation. He was from Pittsburgh. He had an older brother who was in the Navy and a younger brother back home. He hadn't dated seriously for about a year. He had confided in her that his last girlfriend had cheated on him. He had steered clear of women and relationships since that time. Patricia felt sorry for the pain he suffered, because, though he was Black, he was very sexy, compassionate, and easy to talk to. He didn't come off hard and brusque like she thought a Black man from Philadelphia would considering that the media portrayed ALL Black men as being steadfast counterculture and violent. It was a pleasant surprise, to say the least.
Patricia found herself disappointed at the end of Brian's orientation. She had confided things about herself and he to her. He seemed to really listen when she talked. She felt in her heart that his conversations with her weren't a ploy to get into her panties. He didn't seem the least bit interested in her physically, which subconsciously drove her apeshit.
After the week of orientation, Brian did not see Patricia for almost three months due to them working opposite shifts and hanging with different people. Coincidentally, they lived in the same co-ed dormitory, but on different floors. One Tuesday morning, Brian had just come in from working the overnight shift, when he ran into Patricia.
Chapter Three
She looked beautiful, even though it was just before 8 in the morning.
"Good morning, Brian. How have you been?" she said, stepping to the side and in front of him to allow a young man to get past her and out the door.
"I'm fine. Doing well. Overnight shift is working out. I think I still have to get used to sleeping during the day, though" he quipped, while noticing how the morning sun made her hair shimmer. His eyes slyly slid to her breasts, noticing with glee, that her ever erect nipples were present and singing 'GOOD MORNING'. Blood immediately began to warm and awaken his dick.
At that very moment, internally, she stepped over the proverbial 'line in the sand' and admitted to herself that she was attracted to a Black man... this Black man. She had begun to think dirty thoughts about him at night during the time of his orientation... thoughts that had excited and troubled her. Excited because he was sexy and well-built; troubled because he was Black. White girls didn't date Black men. That had been drilled into her head from the time she could distinguish colors. Her high school girlfriends would rather be skinned alive and dipped in rubbing alcohol than be seen talking to a Black man. She didn't consider herself racist, but until this moment, the thought of being attracted to a Black man had never occurred to her.
"Actually, I was thinking about you the other day, Brian" she teased, waiting for his reaction.
"You were? Now how did that come about, Pat-Pat?" he countered, teasingly. 'Pat-Pat was his nickname for her. Her nickname for him was, 'BJ'.
"Well... I was having a conversation with a girlfriend of mine and she was going on and on about how she still hasn't met a nice guy while being here in Denver... and how the guys she has met have all turned out to be liars and losers and so on. I thought about you and the talks we had when you first started. If you're not still on your self-imposed exile from women, would you be open to meeting a friend of mine? The last time we talked, you told me that you weren't interested in meeting anyone, but I thought may-beeee you'd change your mind once I introduced you to her" she sing-songed.
"I don't know, ya know? I'm not big on being set up on blind dates, Pat. And it's not that I don't want to meet someone, I just don't want to meet just anybody. On the other hand, if she comes with your recommendation, it can't be all bad" he answered trying his hardest not to begin gazing at the curve of her plentiful hips. Fuck, it was hard work appearing to be unaffected by this woman who had the build of a porn star.
"Well, if you change your mind, I'm on the fifth floor. Think about it. I won't say anything more to my friend until you give me the go ahead. Deal?" she said.
"Deal", Brian repeated.
"Okay, well, let me get to work before they start killing each other over there" she said, trying to stave off her nervousness.
"Oh, okay. Seeing as how we work different shifts, I can't say with all honesty, that I'll talk to you later. So..." he started.
"Well, look, if you're not doing anything on Saturday, give me a call, okay? I'll talk to you later," she said, patting him on the arm before exiting the building.
Brian turned and watched the peach-shaped, bottom-heavy ass of Patricia walking away towards the girl's school facilities. He thought she might have been the sexiest woman, black or white or other, he had ever laid eyes on and he laid eyes on quite a few back in Pittsburgh and on his travels around the country. He wondered what the fuck they were feeding the white girls in Tennessee. He had been quite surprised when she had extended an invitation to call her. For the first time in a long time with a woman, he had been momentarily speechless. It wasn't that a WHITE WOMAN had hinted at hooking up; it was the fact that PATRICIA was the one who did the hinting! He hadn't been near a woman he had wanted to fuck in a long time!
Arriving at his room, he suddenly realized, like the dumb ass he sometimes was, he hadn't bothered to ask for her number! But she had told him what floor...
Chapter Four
Walking the short distance to work, Patricia, for a brief second, saw the disapproving face of her fiancé, Bill, flash across her mind. Bill seemed to have a pathological fear of Black men and their sexual prowess. She had overheard many conversations between him and his beer drinking frat brothers where Black men and their genetic propensities for crime, their insatiable sexual habits, their counterculture attitude, and irresponsibility to their families and communities were discussed often. If Bill had overheard her offer to Brian, he would have slapped the red out of her hair for talking to a Black man.
As she continued walking to work, she began to think of the next time she was going to see her boyfriend. Over the course of the last two months, he was supposed to have driven up and seen her, but something always came up. She had been hoping he was going to come see her this weekend, but he had told her that he had to go to a fraternity gathering this weekend, but maybe the following weekend. She was beyond tired of hearing his excuses. They hadn't seen each other for almost two months. He called, faithfully, every other night, to get her off. Phone sex had started off as a joke between them, but had grown into a necessity as the days passed into weeks, and the weeks passed into months. Because of her constant heated nature, Patricia craved sex. She had never been in the habit of indiscriminately fucking just anybody. No, she was a good girl and stayed loyal to the dick she claimed as her own. Whatever dick she claimed, that dick got more pussy than panties.
Patricia had given her virginity up when she was 16. She had had about 5-6 partners before she met Bill. Unbeknownst to him, she was known as one of the best dicksuckers around. She had practiced her oral skills on every young man she had dated before him. He had questioned her once about her downright slutty dicksucking skills. She had lied as all proper, modern women did when it came to a man's ego and told him she didn't have much experience pleasing a man orally, but that she was more than willing to learn. What she did have was a natural thirst/desire for dick sucking. It came natural to her to know how to please a man, orally. She had a hard time admitting to him that she loved nothing more than a warm dick in her mouth, balls on her tongue, plentiful spit, and a firm, stroking hold on a man's erect dick.
Sucking dick actually was her second favorite thing to do, sexually. Her first was her love of cum. She loved the appearance, texture, oiliness, smell, and especially, the taste. Tasting it always caused her to have her hard, shuddering mini-orgasms after servicing a guy. She hadn't told Bill all of these things, but she damn sure showed him. After only a few sessions, Bill's craving for Patricia's prodigious oral skills, like every man before him, was akin to a heroin addict's need for a needle.
To describe how fine this young woman was would be a disservice to words. To start, her ass was a major problem. You see, Patricia had a beautiful ass. A big, bouncy, beautiful ass. And everywhere she went, people wanted to fuck her in her big, bouncy, beautiful ass. Postal workers, bus drivers, and deliverymen shouting all kinds of nasty shit at her on the street. Dykes walking their cats wanting to spank her ass. Old men drooling and pointing as she sauntered by. Whenever she met people for the first time, it was the first thing they noticed and the last thing they remembered about her.
The second thing they noticed was her grape-like nipples. They stood atop twin 36DD's. Her lengthy and pink, thick nipples STAYED at attention. Any arousing event of a mental or physical nature would cause them to become blood-filled, enlarged and responsive. The constant irritation of fabric (bras, shirts, etc...) rubbing against them, thoughts of how a guy would look naked, caused them to stay ever erect and hypersensitive. At times, she took to wearing pads over her nipples to hide their erect status. Her one weakness was that if a man took the time to suck, lick, and nibble on her nipples, an orgasm was sure to follow. Unfortunately for her, Bill had not caught on yet to the relationship between her sensitive nipples and predictable orgasms.
And then there was the subject of her pussy. Her clit was large, pink and visible when erect. Her pussy lips always seemed to be swollen and ready for sex. Her box seemed to always be in a state of natural lubrication. The tiniest thought of a sexual natural would cause her pussy to become awash with natural lubrication. She kept two extra pair of panties with her when out of the house. There always seemed to be a sensation of heat emanating from her nether regions. At the age of 17, she took a digital thermometer and measured her mouth and pussy. They were 98.6 and 105, respectively. Her pussy was a hot box, in a literal sense!
When Patricia engaged in sex with Bill, she would often leave the bed covering, top sheet, fitted sheet and mattress cover wet with her secretions. He had taken into investing in a slew of towels and absorbent material to place under her ass as he took her. As she settled into taking Bill's thick 6- inch bat into her body, over time, her orgasms increased and at the same time, the responsiveness of her pussy increased. More cream, more orgasms. Plain and simple, the longer she was fucked, the wetter and orgasmic she would become.
Her boyfriend, Bill, only had so much staying power, but he loved being inside of her. It took him some time to get used to his entire nether regions being awash in cream and cunt sauce sometimes after an act of intercourse with his girlfriend. When they fucked doggy style, her pussy would leave the sheet wet with her drippings onto the sheet below. One thing became clear early on, because she would get so wet and orgasmic, he wasn't able to last long through being drowned with her wetness, the squeezing/massaging action of her tight, silky smooth chute and the pleading/mewling sounds that would come from her throat. So, while it pleased him to have sex with her at any time and any place, he had yet to seriously pummel her in a way that separates boy-fucking from MAN-FUCKING.
Chapter Five
On Wednesday night, as Patricia emerged from her bath and began to add lotion to her body, she had an idea. Bill was due to call tonight. Thinking about their 'scheduled' phone-sex session had caused her 'mini-thimbles' to harden. She threw on a sheer nighty and a g-string. Bill was due to call in a few minutes. A few minutes turned into an hour. As she paced her apartment, she called his cell phone every hour on the hour till 2am leaving messages and still received no answer.
The next day, Patricia went to work and tried to let it pass that Bill had yet to contact her. By evening, she started worrying that maybe something had happened to him. When she got back to her room/apartment, she decided to call her best friend, Sheila, to find out if she had seen Bill recently. After reaching her later that evening, Sheila reluctantly confided that she had seen Bill the night before at the local bowling alley with a girl she hadn't recognized. She stated that he had made a show of introducing her as his new girlfriend. Patricia was understandably taken back and aghast! She was pissed that he would humiliate her and their relationship by openly dating another woman. As she caught her image in the mirror on the wall, she decided that she was tired of playing the naïve woman she pretended to be. She knew Bill and knew he was a cock hound. She made up her mind that she wasn't going to sit around and cry about the obvious. She also knew she needed to do something to pick her heart up off the gottdamn floor.
"Gottdamn him!" she screamed out loud after hitting 'end' on her cell phone.
She looked at the clock and it read 11:30p. She quickly changed into a large, clingy shirt (in that it displayed her nipples to perfection) and running shorts. She walked over to her mirror and noticed the flushed appearance of her face, and the telltale outline of her hardened nipples under her shirt. She walked out of her apartment and made her way to the steps and began to walk down to the third floor... the male floor. She knew where she was headed. She stopped in front of door 317. She had done her homework when they had talked months earlier by stopping by the personnel office and getting the information from a girlfriend. She knocked. She didn't need to look at her breasts to know her erect nipples were very noticeable under her shirt.
Brian opened the door, in the process of getting dressed for his shift at work. As his eyes widened at the sight of Patricia's pretty face, they immediately took in the incredibly pleasing sight of her perfect pear-shaped breasts and erect nipples, sticking out like miniature ice cream cones. "GOTTDAMN!" he thought as he also the noticed the soft, side-to-side sway of her twin beauties.
"Hello Brian. I know I asked you to stay in touch with me, but I neglected to give you my phone number or my room number so you could let me know when you wanted to come by," she said, hesitating on the next to the last word, teasingly. Fuck, she was horny, tonight! She had to unleash her horniness, some way.
"Yeah, you're right... I would have looked pretty goofy walking around and knocking on all the female doors in the dorm trying to visit you," Brian laughed as he fastened his shirt, looking directly into her eyes. She held his eyes with her own.
"Well, you want to write my phone number down?" Patricia said as she arched her back slightly, giving Brian an even better view of her hard nippled breasts. She could see his eyes darting from her nipples to her eyes and back again to her nipples. She knew she was teasing the fuck out of him and she absolutely loved the reaction she was getting! She was really enjoying the way he was looking at her, appraising her, trying not to be affected by her womanliness. She knew what she had and she knew that men absolutely lusted after it, but there was something about the way Brian didn't come onto her that had her subtly convinced that he was one of the few men at this facility that wasn't absolutely lusting after her. For some insane reason, she hadn't honestly been able to get him off her mind since she had met him months ago.
'Fuck Bill', she thought.
Brian wrote her phone number and room number on a corkboard attached to the back of his door as she recited it to him. He swore to all that was religious and holy on this Earth that he could detect the smell of excited pussy! She told him that she didn't have anything planned for the next day and to have a nice night at work and turned around and started back down the hallway. Brian opened his door a tad and watched the seductive roll of her hips. He watched as she turned her head slightly as she turned the corner to look briefly at him...because she knew he was watching her shapely ass. Fuck, I'm going to be thinking about those nipples and that J-Lo ass for the rest of the damn night, he thought. Five minutes later, Brian was making his way to work with a dick as hard as the lies Donald Trump was telling during this election cycle, and wondering what was behind Patricia's sudden and undeniable interest in him.
Patricia went back to her room with her panties soaking wet. As she closed the door behind her and leaned against the door, she surmised that she was playing with fire. Unfortunately, tonight the fire was between her thighs and she was going to use the fantasy of what may have happened if she had gone in his room and locked the door. She masturbated herself to some very wet orgasms with her thick 7-inch vibrator that night in the isolation of her bedroom, holding a pillow over her head... while the phone rang half the night, without her bothering to answer it.
Chapter Six
On Saturday morning, Bill called and after bullshitting for five minutes admitted that he had been sleeping with another woman. Patricia stopped him cold with her words of 'fuck off' and 'don't ever contact me again'. She figured he'd been cheating on her the entire two months, so what was there to talk about? He tried calling her back several times throughout the day but she stopped answering the phone.
Brian called her at 5pm to ask what she had planned for the evening. She told him that she had a bottle of wine and that she felt like cooking so she was going to make a home-cooked meal of spaghetti and salad for the both of them. Brian thanked her profusely telling her that she didn't have to go through all the trouble. She told him that it was not trouble and that she had planned on cooking anyway, so it wasn't a problem to put out another plate. What he didn't know, was that when she was stressed, Patricia liked to cook.
At 8pm sharp, Patricia heard Brian's knock at her door. She took off her apron and ran in front of the door length mirror that hung beside the door to her room. She had put on a pair of black Lycra ¾ pants that hugged her ass perfectly and an orange Denver Broncos football jersey with a white tank top underneath it all. She wore no bra. She had wrapped her hair in a single ponytail. She looked good enough to eat and she knew it. She needed for somebody to desire her, tonight.
She adjusted her tank top and shirt, noticing her nipples beginning to show themselves as visible protuberances under her tank top and jersey. She reached for the door and found a smiling Vaughn on the other side. She noticed that he had three DVD movies in his hand as he made his way into her apartment. She got a whiff of his cologne and immediately liked it. He wore a nice pair of black jeans and a black Philadelphia 76ers basketball jersey, which showcased his rather muscular arms she hadn't realized he possessed. As she watched him bend over and place the videotapes on her small coffee table, she took notice of his hard, taut butt cheeks.
'Hmmm...this night may end up better than I thought," she mused to herself as she headed to her small kitchenette and began to stir the angel hair pasta she was preparing.
"Mind if I take a look?" Brian said from behind and above her.
"Sure, go ahead," Patricia replied, feeling him brush against her left hip, slightly.
"Damn girl, you got skills!" Brian said excitedly and honestly as he lifted the lid off the simmering pot and feasted his eyes on a delicious concoction of tomato sauce, carrots, mushrooms, green peppers and other vegetables bubbling softly. The smell was heady.
"What? You think I'd invite you for a lame meal? Come on, Brian, I didn't get this meat on my bones by not knowing how to cook," Patricia said lightly, while eyeing his large Black hand replacing the lid.
"Honestly, Patricia, I had no idea you were going to actually cook a meal. I would have eaten anything you put in front of me, to be honest," he said, glancing at her softly yet firmly, watching her smile slightly at the dual meaning of his words.
"W-Why thank you, Brian. I know it has to be hard not having much contact with your family. Do you call them much?" Patricia said as she reached up and opened a cupboard to retrieve two plates. The motion caused her breasts to sway and her ass to jiggle seductively. He watched this with a wistful look in his eyes.
'GOTT-DAMN, she got back,' he thought before replying, "Yeah, my parents and I talk a few times a week. I miss them but they know I'm on a mission.
Soon afterward they took their seats at the two-person dinette set and proceeded to devour two servings of spaghetti and wine. Their conversation was light yet provocative. From the moment she met him, Patricia found his voice commanding and sexy and found herself slipping into mini-daydreams of him fucking her while talking sexy shit to her in her ear... with that voice. As he spoke, Patricia was able to focus on the color of Brian's dark brown skin. She marveled at how the light from the room seemed to shine off of his skin. She noticed the sexy fullness of his lips, impossibly white teeth, and strong jaw line. As Patricia rose to gather the plates to place in the sink, she thought that Brian was unlike anything she had expected him to be. He had been able to stimulate her intellect and her curiosity. His body was a given enticement, but she found her attraction starting to move beyond the physical and into dangerous territory. 'Damn, why am I thinking thoughts like this?!' she thought as she placed the dishes in the sink.
After dinner, they took the wine and sat on her long couch and watched one of the movies Brian had rented. The plot in the comedy drama centered on a black man who had come home to find his fiancé in bed with another woman and his dating problems from that moment on. It was a cute movie but the infidelity of the main character's girlfriend wasn't lost on Brian and his recent relationship. Patricia sensed the change in his demeanor and delicately brought up the subject of his ex-girlfriend's infidelity.
"Brian, how long did you date your last girlfriend before she uh...um...cheated?" she asked, hesitantly.
"Uhh...a little over a year. Why?" he answered, somewhat anxiously.
"Oh, I didn't mean to pry. It's just that I remember talking about with you when I first met you. I was just wondering how you were dealing with it, I guess. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," Patricia answered, looking at him with an understanding yet nosy glint in her eye.
Brian felt relaxed from the wine, and this fine ass woman hadn't asked him to leave yet, so he decided to tell his tale.
Chapter Seven
He remembered the shit like it was yesterday...
"I had been working out of town commuting to and from a job about 50 miles away, while living with a woman named Sasha. She was my live-in girlfriend. I met her in 2010 at a previous job where we had both worked. She was a secretary and I was an intern in the psychology department"
"We met and dated for a minute. We moved in after she told me she was pregnant with my child. I was graduating with my master's degree and already working, so it wasn't a bad thing. Nine months to the day after we moved in together, she called me from a hospital emergency room claiming that she had a miscarriage. From that point, our relationship became a nightmare. She became mean, vindictive, impatient, etc... About three months after that, I came home from work and she was gone. She had taken all the furniture, and left me a lame ass note saying she would contact me in a few weeks"
"Well, she called. Only she was calling from Louisiana! About six months after that happened, she calls me in the middle of the night to tell me that she left because she cheated, got pregnant, and had just delivered TWINS,"
Patricia sucked in her breath, finding it hard to believe what she was hearing.
"OH...MY...GOD! No, she didn't. I can't believe I'm hearing this. I am so sorry for even bringing it up, BJ..." she said, sympathetically.
"Naw, it's cool. I mean I did tell you when I first met you that a woman had cheated on me, I just didn't go into all the grisly details" he said, smiling.
"How do you feel about her now?" she said.
"Well, let me see, ummm... the way I look at it now, after looking back at the situation, I gave my all and that's all I can ask of myself. If it wasn't good enough for her, well, there's nothing to be done about that. As far as how I feel about the situation as a whole... I feel that I got off easy. From what I've heard from her family, the guy that got her pregnant was the guy she was dealing with before I met her. The story that got back to me was that he ended up cheating on her and leaving her with the twins to raise herself. I don't feel sorry for her or anything because that's what she chose. She had a choice to remain faithful, but she broke that, ya know? I'm glad that it went down, now, instead of later after I got myself established. To be truthful, I don't think I'd be where I'm at now if she and I had stayed together," Brian said while staring past her shoulder, as if in a trance.
Patricia looked at him with empathy and said, "I don't know what to say. I mean, I don't know if I could be so positive about it the way you seem to be. The way I look at it, she cheated. Okay, that's not good but it's not the worse thing that's ever happened in a relationship. But to go and get pregnant with twins by another man while you are in a relationship is so unwomanly and disrespectful to the man you are supposed to be with. Leaving in the middle of the night without telling you she was going. I guess she couldn't look you in the face after knowing what she was doing to you?"
"You see that's why I can't call her a woman... only a female. You are a woman...at least you think like one. She was a sorry excuse for a female. I guess I should have seen it coming when I met her mother. I mean, her mom's is out to lunch and she didn't really raise her or teach her how to be a woman, I guess. I should have known damaged goods when I saw it, but I chose otherwise,"
"And you haven't been with a woman since?" Patricia suddenly asked. She smiled to herself as she saw Brian's facial muscles contort as he tried to deftly answer the question they both knew the answer to.
"You're wild, girl. But since you went there, no. No, I haven't been with a woman in that way in almost a year. I guess your next question is why, right?" he asked while looking at her and turning his body towards her as they sat on the couch.
"Well, yes, I wondered that," she answered, while smiling slightly and wondering how the hell this fine specimen of man could have found the strength to go without the touch of a woman for so long.
"After that experience, I realized that in that relationship and previous relationships, I saw myself always settling. Settling in the sense that I tend to get into relationships with women that want to get into a relationship with me, though I might not be on that track. Seems like I allowed myself to become involved with women that really had nothing going on besides the hole between their thighs. I deserve a better mate than that. I feel with all the work I've put into realizing my dreams, why should I settle for someone that has no idea what they want with their life except they know they want to be in a relationship. I'm tired of riding that train. I decided that I'd wait it out until the right situation presented itself. I could have easily slept with quite a few women by now and I'm not bragging... but I feel that I've gotten to know myself better during this time and when the right situation comes along, I'll be ready," he said, while gazing at her wondering how she had gotten him to reveal so much of himself in one sitting.
She was a genuinely compassionate person and he felt comfortable talking with her about his life. And damn if she wasn't sexy to boot. Though she had on two layers of clothing (sports bra and jersey), he could clearly see the large round indentations of her nipples poking out from her bosom. Being that she had her legs crossed and her left arm across the back of the couch facing him, he was offered a tantalizing view of her breasts and hips. He shifted slightly on the couch, as blood began to involuntarily rush to his prick.
Patricia sat and stared at Brian as he spoke about the morally weak bitch that had stabbed him in the back. She saw tenderness in him that she had never sensed in a man, even her ex, Bill. He spoke so honestly and genuinely that she found herself holding back tears as he described the emotions he experienced during this trying time. She respected his decision not to become involved in another relationship until he found someone worthy of committing to. She knew she had never heard a man make a proclamation such as that, and probably wouldn't again. There was a hidden strength to him that she hadn't noticed before. He was a man's man. A man who seemed to be able to actually keep his word when he made a promise. He seemed to possess a quality that most men lacked, and that quality was truthfulness mixed with a dash of vulnerability. She realized that she was seeing past his dark skin and into the very center of his soul. If her high school girlfriends could see her now!
Patricia reached for her glass of wine on the living room table. As she brought the glass to her lips, she gazed at Brian over the lip of her glass. It seemed as if a huge burden had been lifted off of his shoulders by his admission. Patricia wanted to reach out and hug him, touch him, and let him know that she understood the pain that had dwelt in his heart for so long.
"Can I ask another question?" she asked, speaking softly.
"Go ahead," he answered.
"What part of being with a woman, physically or sexually, do you miss the most, now that you've chosen to be celibate?" she asked, softly yet straightforwardly. Her breathing increased, realizing she was passing the point of no return with a Black man, a fine Black man at that, sitting a few feet from her, in her living room... on a Saturday night. She took a large swallow of her wine.
"Well, damn! You sure you want me to answer that?" he said while arching his eyebrows at her. This white girl got nerve or was it the wine talking.
"I'm a big girl; I can handle whatever you say... I just wondered since I know all men think about is sex" she said while looking directly at him, holding his gaze for a few, and then demurely dropping her eyes.
"Well, to be brutally honest, I miss knowing that there is some wet pussy waiting for me when I get home. To be more specific, I miss a woman giving me head. I should say, good head. A woman giving a man her mouth is like the most submissive act she can do. I love a woman who loves to suck and do it when you ask her, or when she just feels like having me in her mouth. I've never had a woman like that, but I'm not settling for less at this point. I want a woman who finishes her man off properly, every time", he finished.
"What do you mean by properly finishing a man off? You mean allowing a man to cum in your mouth and swallow?" she asked teasingly.
"Exactly," he said, while smiling coyly. He noticed, quite glaringly, that she didn't verbally object or make any funny faces. In fact, she seemed to be taking his straightforward tone, nicely. Hmmm...
Chapter Eight
On Patricia's part, she was thinking how pleasing it would be to lay with a man who hadn't been with a woman in over a year! He surely would be attentive and appreciative of her and her body. She mused that he would probably cum pretty quickly since he hadn't touched or been touched by a woman in a quite a while. How long did it take him to get hard again? She pondered. She wondered if the myth of big black dick was true. What would her white skin look like under the blackness of Brian? Would he take her soft and gentle or hard and merciless, making her take his manhood, no matter how large?
On Brian's part, he was thinking how soft and sensual Patricia looked as she sat back on the couch with her legs in his lap. Each time she raised her wine glass to her lips, he could see the outline of her erect nipples and the bounce of her breast as she settled back on the couch. He also swore he could smell wet pussy. Even though he was in her abode having been fed by her, and lounging with her, he was still hesitant about making a move on her because after all, he was a black man in a white woman's room... in the middle of Colorado (Kobe anyone?) He was wary of taking it to the next level though her aromatic, wet pussy was a few feet away. The wine had him tipsier than he realized, and before he knew it, he had closed his eyes and nodded off for a few minutes.
When he opened his eyes, fifteen minutes had passed. He felt pressure on his shoulder and shifted his eyes to the right, slightly. Patricia had moved closer to him on the couch and now her soft brownish-blonde hair rested on his shoulder. As he turned his head to see if she was dozing, she raised her face, with the doe eyes, and looked at him with a come hither look. There faces were a foot apart. He could smell her minty, fresh breath. She opened her lips to speak, but nothing came out. Brian felt his dick shift in his pants, once again.
She had been sitting next to him watching him quietly snore for the last fifteen minutes. She had reviewed everything he had told her. She had thought about the ending of her relationship with Bill. She thought about her parents and her friends back home. She thought about the loneliness Brian must be feeling. She sighed as she made peace with her decision.
"Brian... I want to tell you something, okay?" Patricia said cautiously as she placed her small hand on his large thigh. She thought she noticed a definite lump a few inches from her delicate fingers.
"Go ahead," Brian said while keeping his eyes closed and drifting in out of the haze his mind was currently swirling around in from the amount of wine he had drunk.
"My boyfriend and I broke up earlier today," she said.
"H-Huh? What did you just say?" Brian said as he quickly opened his eyes and gazed at her. He saw by the determined, honest look on her face that she was serious before she answered him.
"You heard me, Brian. I found out that he had started dating another woman back home. I spoke to him about it and he didn't deny it. In fact, he tried to explain it to me," she said, jadedly.
"Damn, babe, I really don't know what to say. I mean, you know how relationship are... you two might get back together before you know it. You guys might find a way to work it out... I mean, that is, if you want to work it out with him. Do you?" he asked, expecting the typical female answer of compliance and naiveté.
"Well, I guess we could have worked it out if he hadn't stuck his dick in another woman. I told him when we decided to get serious with one another. No other pussy allowed. Ever. Knowing that he broke his promise to me, there is no way I stoop that low to take him back. He'd never be able to respect me and to be honest, I wouldn't respect myself, either," she said.
Brian looked at the determined look on her face and decided right there and then that she was definitely a whole lot smarter than he had given her credit for. She had a good head on her shoulders and she held to a code. Most women talked a bunch of shit to keep their gums bumping together, as a rule of law. It was refreshing to finally meet a woman with some damn backbone. He could feel his hardening dick scraping against his thigh as these thoughts ran through his mind.
They both looked up at each other at the same moment. Time seemed to freeze for the both of them as they stared at each after having just bared their souls to each other. Brian felt relaxed after his confession. He rarely spoke of Sasha and felt relief at being able to unload that burden to a caring, patient ear. He had been hurt and it felt good to talk about it, finally.
Patricia felt free for the first time in a long time. She finally felt free of the constraints her parents, and by extension, Bill, had put on her throughout her young, adult life. She had always seemed to conform to whatever others expected of her. She felt like an adult, at last. She always 'played' the witless waif to appease first her parents, and then, Bill. After finding out how Bill had played her, she had reasoned that she was tired of pretending for others and needed to be more honest about who she was and what she wanted.
She stared at Brian long and hard before speaking
"Listen, you've already told me that you weren't sleeping with someone you weren't semi-serious about, and I haven't been with my cheating, soon to be ex-boyfriend in over two months... so I was thinking...How does this sound? I could be your woman for one night. That way, we both could get what I hope we BOTH want without feeling guilty about it in the morning" she said without a trace of doubt in her voice.
"I wouldn't be lying if I said that sounds damn good. I'm a little surprised by your offer but I would have to say no. No, because I don't want you if you're giving me pity pussy. If you're going to give it to me, give it to me because you want to, not because you feel sorry for me" he said, surprising the shit out of her.
How could any man turn her down?! Shit, all she had to do was ACT like she wanted to give a man some of her bouncy ass and he'd be hopping through hoops for as long as she wanted him to. Who the hell does he think he is, Denzel Washington?
As her mind pondered what to say, she heard him smoothly say, "What does that mean though, being my woman?" Brian asked while looking intently into her eyes, letting her know he was game, if the offer was still open. She figured he had come to his senses.
"I thought we'd start with me going back into my bedroom while I prepare myself for you. When I'm done, I'll come back out. Brian, I want you to know that I want to do this and I'm not doing it because I feel sorry for you, I'm doing it because I've been attracted to you since the very first day we met and the first time we talked and I got to know some things about you and you got to know some things about me. I like you and I think you like me or you wouldn't be here. You told me what you want...and I want to be the one who gives it to you after having had none in so long. It'll be good for both of us," she said as she raised her arm, spread her hands and touched his face.
"Okay. I'll just sit here and chill to see if you're messing around or not. Now, you're not bullshitting with me or anything are you? I know women like to play mind games with a guy's nuts," Brian asked, hoping she'd give him the answer he was seeking.
"Well, you'll just have to sit here like a gentleman and see, now won't you?" she said playfully as she got up from the couch.
He honestly hoped she wasn't fucking around with him. He liked her and found her incredibly sensual and attractive. He hadn't experienced the soft touch of a woman in over a year! His dick throbbed painfully as the image of Patricia's large, erect, thimble-like nipples appeared in his mind's eye.
Chapter Nine
Twenty LONG minutes later, the door to her bedroom slowly opened.
"Hello, baby. I hope the wait wasn't long" she sing-songed to him.
As he looked up and his eyes adjusted to her form, Patricia appeared at the door to her bedroom dressed in a baby-blue colored silk camisole and French cut panties of the same color and texture. She wore 4-inch heels. Her skin looked soft and translucent. She looked like a gottdamn porn star! Her full, perfect teardrop-shaped breasts held the camisole away from her midsection at a considerable distance. Her nipples were erect, and they were very large and very noticeable. They seemed to be beckoning both his visual and tactile attention. Her hips were a LOT fuller and curvier than he had originally suspected. She turned sideways in the doorway to give him a view of her smooth, round, apple-bottom like asscheeks. He moaned audibly as he saw her asscheeks sway and jiggle slightly from her tiny movements. It looked so fucking soft!
Patricia stepped away from the doorway and approached Brian. She walked directly up to him and placed her hand on his chest while raising her face to his beckoning him to kiss her. Brian lowered his lips toward hers, rubbed noses with her and they kissed... five heartbeats after their lips touched, she forced her tongue into his mouth. She sucked his tongue and he hers. They stayed sucking each other's faces for a few minutes. Brian slid his hand onto her soft, rounded hip and began to grip and squeeze it, causing her to moan slightly. A slight shudder went through her before she backed away from him, looked him in the eye and said, "Come into the bedroom," she said sexily, as she slowly ran her small hand across her soft, jiggly rounded ass cheek.
She turned and began to walk to her bedroom. The movement of her bottom-heavy work of wonders captivated Brian. The supple movements of her long, tapered legs with the swell of her thighs brushing one against the other prompted the round cheeks of her ass to undulate and roll before his unblinking eyes. Her ass resembled a ripe and perfectly shaped Georgia peach.
Brian stood rooted to his spot by the door. His mouth was open, fingers were tingling, heart was racing and his dick was hard as the two-piece Mike Tyson hit Larry Holmes with. As he entered, Patricia was just bending over the bed, and turning down the sheets. He was presented with the sight of Patricia's near-perfect round ass. He could also make out the soft sides of her breasts as they jiggled, slightly, from her movements. Upon hearing him, she rose from the bed and turned towards him. She beckoned him to her by crooking her finger, slowly. He came to within a few inches of her as she leaned into him, smashing her soft, yet firm breast against his chest.
"Take your clothes off, baby," she whispered softly in his ear.
Brian stepped back from her and slipped his basketball jersey off and began to unbuckle his baggy jeans. Patricia reached for the waistband of his pants and slowly pulled him towards the bed. Upon the back of her knees touching the bed, she sat, still pulling Brian by the waistband of his pants, until he stood between her open thighs and over her with a large dick-print pointing at her through his jeans. Patricia licked her lips as she worked his jeans off his hips to reveal a boxer-brief hiding the thick prize she was trying to claim. She looked him in the eye before bringing her face within a few inches of his crotch and softly rubbed her puffy lips across the length of his dick under the silk-like fabric. She ran her lips, cheeks, and nose across his covered dick, all the while moaning deeply and methodically. His dick was rock hard and she could feel the heat of him through the fabric. She took her time 'fondling' him in this way with her face as she bumped and prodded his dick and allowed her sense of smell to become aroused by the masculine smell of his crotch area. His dick twitched inside of his boxers as he looked down at this sexy ass red-headed, white woman who was slowly torturing him to depths of need he had not known before.
He felt her nails lightly scratching along his hip as she grasped the band of his boxers and slowly began to pull them down. She had to stop her actions and pull them away and out from his body to get them past his thick, uncoiling dick. Her first sight of his nude dick made her lose her breath for a second. She could see that not only was he extremely thick, he was also rather long. She noticed that his pubic hair was trimmed which seemed to add another inch to his dick.
"Oh...my...God! Hmmm... you're beautiful...goodness..." she said more to herself than him. His dick hung straight from his body at a 90-degree angle. It was thick, long and black! It looked menacing. She approximated in her brain that the large head of his dick was at least two inches in length, which left seven thick inches of shaft. 9, maybe ten inches in total! She looked at the thick, numerous veins that criss-crossed the surface of his dick and moaned, imagining how they would rub against her tight, slick pussyflesh as he took her.
"I want you to forget about everything and let me be your woman tonight, baby. Forget about all the hurt, and pain you've been through. I want to restore your faith in women. I want to show you that every woman isn't like your last girlfriend. There are woman in this world, like me, who love nothing more than having a big dick to suck on and serve," she said as she mesmerizingly began to sniff along the length of his dick...then along his balls. She loved the strong, virile smell of cock. She watched as precum built up till it dripped onto her inner thigh.
"Yeah, I knew your ass was something special. Do me, you sexy motherfucka," he said while moaning from the sensation of Patricia's ministrations in his genital region.
Brian saw her suddenly spit a rather large glob of spittle onto her palm, and softly take hold of his dick while slowly yet firmly stroking his dick in a twisting, pistoning action. As Patricia handled Brian's dick, she noticed that he was rock hard from base to tip. No give in it. Her Bill never got THIS hard. Her fingers fit three-quarters of the way around, at the most. She also noticed the heat emanating from his dick. It was very warm... it felt alive in her soft, moist hands. It was damn near hot, she noted. She noticed the texture of his dick. It felt slightly lumpy yet hard due to the numerous veins along the surface of his tool. Her boyfriend's dick had veins but they didn't rise above the surface flesh of his dick. Maybe that was the difference between a black man's dick and a white man's, she surmised, as she continued to marvel at the incredibly thick stalk of flesh within her small, stroking hands. She reluctantly took one of her hands off of his shaft and began to lightly palm his large ball sack.
"Brian, your balls are so big and full! Damn, you must have a big load for me, huh?" she said teasingly as she tapped his thigh for him to move back a step. She stood up directly in front of him while releasing his dick and balls. She pulled her camisole off and stepped out of her drenched panties. Brian instantly smelled the musky scent of excited pussy wafting through the air, while noticing the wetness of her panties. He was very impressed by the shape and firmness of her titties. They were teardrop-shaped with long, pink nipples.
"Damn, this fine motherfucker got damn near as perfect a set of titties I've ever seen" he thought as he watched her breasts sway sexily as she daintily dropped her panties on the floor...as a sign, maybe... a final lowering of the flag, and the permission she was granting him to use her body as he pleased, if for only one night.
Patricia smiled at Brian before slyly winking and saying, "I should have already had my clothes off. I know you like me to suck your dick ass naked"
Brian smiled in reply, as she looked him directly in the eye. She was REALLY playing this role-play to the hilt. By her words, Brian knew that she was giving him hints as to how freaky she could be. He loved the submissive, kinky way she was conducting herself. It is a KNOWN FACT that every man desires a woman who will do whatever it takes to get him off. A woman who will look you straight in the eye and say, "Tell me what you want me to do to get you off... tell me how you like it...where do you want to fuck me?...where do you want to cum...show me, I'm open"
Patricia took a step toward Brian and brought her soft, pillowy lips to his chest and began licking and kissing her way down to his stomach. As she bent over at the waist, her soft, billowy breasts rubbed against the sides of Brian's dick, effectively trapping it between them. Brian hissed, loudly as he felt her soft, smooth, warm tit-flesh against his extremely sensitive, manhood. Her erect raspberry-colored nipples grazed against his groin. As she continued her descent to her knees, his dick plopped from between her breasts and brushed against her neck and underside of her chin. The tip of his dick left a warm trail of pre-cum wherever it touched her flesh. She finally sunk to her knees and grabbed hold of his hips. She began to lightly kiss around his groin, while his warm, lengthy dick fell across the crook of her neck and shoulder. She inhaled his alpha male-like aroma and her pussy shuddered. She felt him begin to squirm as her wet, agile tongue flickered across his ball-sack and inner thigh. He opened his stance a little wider and watched as she dug her face eagerly into his groin, licking the strip of skin between his thighs and balls, causing his eyes to roll in their sockets and the tightening of his asscheeks. Her tongue was impossibly wet and agile! She ran her tongue in wide circles across his balls... then used the flat surface of her tongue to trail slowly back and forth as she ran it up the underside of his dick. Her journey to the tip of his dick was long yet enjoyable for the both of them.
"Shhhhiiiitttt!..." Brian moaned deeply. He had quickly concluded that this white girl wasn't a stranger to dick! She had reached the tip of his dick and allowed her tongue to languidly glide around the large helmeted tip of his dick. She had yet to grasp his dick or take him into her mouth. As she darted her rather agile tongue around the tip, she turned her eyes upward to gaze at Brian before slowly sliding the warm, moist cavern of her lips and mouth around the tip of his dick, while tonguing and teasing the underside of his plum-sized head. She could taste his plentiful pre-cum.
Patricia noted immediately that she wasn't going to be able to deep-throat this long, thick fucker...but she was going to lick, nibble, stroke, suck, tongue, lathe, and grip it till he came in her mouth.
"Slurp...slurp...slurp..." was all that was heard as she methodically sucked and rimmed the large head of his dick with her slippery tongue. Every now and then a 'plopping' noise would signal her releasing the cock to moan softly before resuming her sucking and licking. Even with his large helmeted dick in her mouth, he could hear her whimpering slightly. The dark chocolate of his dick entering her white face/pink lips provided an amazing contrast for both of them. She sensed he was watching her. She looked up into his eyes while slowly and lewdly curling her tongue around the helmet of his dick, circling it repeatedly. It was an erotic sight and it was turning them both on as they continued to eye each other lustily.
She could only imagine how sensitive his dick must be after not having a woman's mouth on it for such a long time. She wanted to savor his dick, taste him, tease him, and finally make him cum like only she could. Afterward, she would lie back and let him open up the back of her cunt. Bill would be sorry for 'making' her open her legs for this well-endowed Black man. Her pussy was positively drooling in anticipation of getting reamed out by a dick she would deny existed IF she didn't, at this moment, have her lips wrapped lovingly around its thick length.
Brian took hold of Patricia's reddish-golden locks and gathered them in his hands. He gently wrapped her hair around his hands and began to pull her head towards him as he slowly fed her his dripping dick. She moaned at the sensation of having her lips guided over his thick, warm flesh. She relaxed her lips and allowed him to grip and guide her head on how to suck his dick. He was taking command of her like she craved and desired, but couldn't get. She soon relaxed her neck and throat muscles. He guided her slowly, back and forth, over the rim of his dick. On each in-stroke, she lathed the fat, plum-like head with her tongue and spittle. On the out-stroke, she sucked at his tip, slightly while teasing his piss slit. There was spittle leaking out of both sides of her mouth, dribbling down her chin and until finally falling onto her large, bountiful breasts. She looked a mess! As Patricia worked her magic on his dick, Brian recognized pretty quickly that this beautiful, horny bitch possessed a 'mean top-piece' and he knew he wouldn't last long as his balls and the tip of his dick were the most sensitive parts of his club.
Right on cue, Patricia began to languidly drag her nails across his thighs and began to lightly cup and scratch his tightly coiled golf ball-like balls. They felt heavy and alive in her small, soft hands. She took a firmer hold on his balls while slowly pulling them away from his body. At the same time, she began to wildly slither her wet tongue around the rim of his dick while sucking strongly.
"Mmmmmm...SHIIIIT...that feels good..." Brian hissed strongly as he felt his nutt curdle in his sack along with that familiar tickle that signals the damn is about to burst within a man's sack. He began to thrust into her mouth three, four, five inches...then back out. The aural sensation of Patricia's muffled moans and the 'slurp, slurp' sounds coming from her mouth were driving him over edge.
Patricia, feeling Brian's dick swell within her already crammed mouth, along with the sudden tightening of his large ball-sack within her hand, began to insistently tease and probe his piss slit with her tongue. This caused him to grasp her skull tighter while thrusting erratically.
"Ahhhhhhhhhh...AHHHHHHH...OHHHH... SHIIIIIIT! Fuck, your mouth is sooo damn good... yeah, like that...mmmmmm... FUCK!!" he roared as she began sucking the tip of his dick while deftly continuing to flick her tongue inside of his piss slit, seeming to draw cum directly from his balls as a shotgun blast of cum suddenly filled her mouth, causing her to reflexively swallow thickly, once...twice...three...four times... The forceful way he was using her and the river of cum he was filling her mouth, throat, and stomach with caused her to have her first orgasm of the night, as her thighs opened and close while quivering. She felt her juices trickling down the inside of her thighs.
She continued to stroke his dick while slowly removing her cum streaked mouth from his dick, watching as a dribble of cum dropped onto her cheek and rolled across her lips and chin. She quickly moved to cover the tip of his dick with her mouth, while sucking the last droplets from it. Cum leaked out of the corners of her mouth.
"AAAAAHHHHHH...SHHHIIIITTTTTTT, GIRL!! GOTTDAMN, you SUCK a mean DICK...MMM...FUCK...YES... WHEW!!" he exclaimed as she leisurely began to curl her tongue around the rim of his dick while continuing to suck and draw out the last of his cream. As she continued to suck and stroke him, her assumption that he would begin to soften vanished into thin air. He had not lost any of the concrete-like hardness of his dick. If anything, it seemed to be harder and bigger!
Shaking his head violently, and coming to his senses, somewhat, Brian continued to keep his firm grip on her hair. It seemed to him that if he didn't pull her off of his dick, she would continue stroking, licking and sucking him till morning. He had never had a woman suck him and finish him off the way she was doing. Usually, the black women he had been with sucked and licked him, and if he did happen to cum (which wasn't often), they treated his cum like it was battery acid or a similar substance. They did everything they could not to get his cum on their faces or hair. And forget about cumming in their mouths and swallowing! He mused that some women hadn't figured out that letting a man nutt in their mouth, swallowing, with his cum hanging off your chin was one SUREFIRE way to guarantee that he would NEVER, EVER forget your ass.
Brian noticed the look of complete contentment on Patricia's face. He had a completely willing freak on his hands! He didn't need to read a book to figure out his next move.
Chapter Ten
Brian turned Patricia's head upward towards his demanding, desired filled eyes and said...
"Look at my dick, you fine motherfucka!"
She dropped her desire-filled gaze from his face to his dick. Her voice escaped her as she exhaled unevenly and blew over the sensitive skin of his rock hard dick. Even though she had just gave him head and his cum was slowly making its way to her stomach, a small yet excited thought swirled in her head. Could her body accept so wondrous an appendage as the one that was proudly swaying and flexing before her eyes? Would he be able to take her...fully? What would it possibly feel like with this much dick stroking strongly between her thighs?
Brian watched the look of awe and wonder on her face. He could sense the thoughts that were going through her mind. He chose his next words carefully...
"I'm going to fuck you and you're going to scream like I'm killing you, but I ain't going to stop until I get every inch of my thick, black dick into, what (SNIFF-SNIFF) smells like some very wet, and very ready white pussy, " he said, firmly with a bit of menace.
Sitting at the edge of the bed, staring at his thickness and length of the black dick flexing and waving before her face, she realized that this was not how she saw had saw this scene going in her mind when she decided to offer her body to Brian. The size of his dick and staying hard after cumming thickly in her mouth confirmed in her mind that there was a very strong probability that he would do as he said and then some. She realized, immediately, that the revenge fuck she was giving Bill was going to end up costing her far more than she had imagined.
Sex had always been a way for Patricia to control the young men in her life. She called the shots; she said when they would fuck, if they would fuck, what position she would be fucked in, and how long they would fuck. And guys being guys, gladly gave up the thing that could make them men...their balls...to her temperamental, slightly spoiled ass, and she would call the shots from that point on. Not so with the MAN standing before her. She could instinctually sense that he would have his way with her and she would submit, willingly, and enjoy giving up control to a force much stronger than she had ever encountered. Her pussy stuck to the bedspread as she sat dripping before him and his dick.
"Get up on the bed and bring that bouncy ass to the edge, girl. Or should I say BITCH?" he spat out as he watched her flinch, as he expected she would.
"Yeah, I knew that would bother you... probably expecting me to be thankful that you're giving me the chance to hit that ass, huh?" he continued, nonchalantly.
Taking her chin in his large hand, he turned her eyes away from his dick and towards his face as he said, "By the time I get through with you, you're going to beg to be my bitch,"
He let it sink in her head for a moment. He could see her brain processing his statements.
"Now, get up, slowly, and turn that fat, juicy soft ass around and get on the bed...ass up, face down, bitch" he said as he took a step backwards and began slowly fisting his dick.
He watched as she rose up slightly, placed her hands on the bed on either side of her, and began to scoot back farther on the bed. As she did, Brian swore he heard a wet sounding 'squishy' sound. She turned around and slowly got up on her knees, presenting her ass to him. She reached for a pillow from the headboard and placed it beneath her in preparation for the fucking she was about to get. As he stepped towards the bed, he placed his knee on the bed encountering a very, very wet spot where she had been sitting, giving him head. He was momentarily STUCK in the 'thought' of how wet this white girl's pussy COULD actually be! She timidly looked at him over her shoulder as she spread her legs and pushed her ass upwards revealing her bright pink leaking pussy!
As Brian approached the open-V of her thighs, he noticed that the inside of her thighs were awash with her secretions. Even with the flickering candles lighting the room, he could see there were rivulets of her lubricant and girly cum dripping on the inside of each thigh. Brian had never seen a woman so wet in his entire life... and he hadn't even touched her yet! He reached out and grabbed a cheek in each hand and spread them. What he saw made his breath stop, momentarily.
"Gott Damn!!" he hissed viewing the slimiest genital region he had ever encountered. Her crack from above her asshole to the tip of her clit glistened with wetness. He could see that she kept a tuft of her red hair above her mons, but her lips were bare. The outer lips of her cunt were large, swollen, and very wet. As he continued to knead her asscheeks, he saw and heard her drenched pussy lips opening and closing, lewdly.
He stepped behind her, releasing one of her doughy cheeks and began to slowly fist his dick. He smelled the fragrant aroma of excited pussy waft through his nostrils. He took hold of the thick base of his dick and began to slap her softly rolling buttocks with the underside of his long, thick dick.
"SPLAT"
"SPLAT"
"Mmmmmm...," Patricia moaned while rhythmically rolling her hips to and fro, seeking more contact with the dick that was smacking her. His length felt hot against her soft, bouncy assflesh, firmly striking her along her cheeks and lower back.
Brian took hold of her incredibly full, bouncy assflesh and pulled her hips towards him while using his other hand to guide her to lower her upper body to the mattress. He wanted all of her juicy, onion-shaped ass presented to him. He placed both of his hands on her wet, silky soft cheeks and began caressing and kneading them, tenderly yet firmly.
"Mmmm... Ummm..." Patricia moaned, loving the way his hands were sensually squeezing her cheeks.
Brian took firm hold of her globes and began squeezing and pulling/pushing her assflesh towards the middle of her spine, which caused her pussy lips to open and close, albeit wetly and rhythmically. As he continued squeezing and rolling her asscheeks, the aromatic yet undeniable smell of her musky pussy began to envelope the room, making his dick fill with even more blood. He was so hard, his dick tingled from tip to base.
"Gottdamn, Pat, your pussy smells so fucking good...Mmmm... I'm getting high off this shit..." he said, deeply and sexily.
Patricia, having never been complimented on the 'smell' of her pussy, turned her head around to reply, but was struck speechless as her eyes cast downward to view his dick. She saw ebony blackness encased in a full, fat head with a thick, menacing stalk and large, blood filled veins stretched across the incredible length of it. The skin of it was soft yet firm as it slid back and forth between the crack of her elevated ass. Though she had just finished letting him take her mouth, viewing it from this angle caused her breath to catch.
"T-T-Thank you," was all she could muster, before turning her face back and down to the mattress, realizing that she was about to offer her tight pussy to the biggest dick she had ever seen or had near her kitty.
Brian spread her cheeks outward and guided his dick from off the wet crack of her ass down to the entry of her pussy, noticing the incredible contrast in colors presented before him. Her very pink pussy contrasting against alabaster skin... with his coal black dick, right in the middle of the action. He adjusted her thighs and took hold of the stalk of his dick, and began rubbing the large head of his dick, slowly across her engorged clit. After a moment, Patricia began moaning and mewing and hunching her hips trying to line up her clit with the helmet on his dick.
"Ohhhhh... Mmmmm... Shhhhh..." she moaned, lowly.
Brian then guided the tip of his dick to her pink, wet center and began to gently push. The tight ring of her pussy immediately resisted the large invader... at first. Brian began inserting the tip of his mushroom-shaped cock into the maw of her cunt, then withdrawing only to do it again...and again. Every time he inserted and withdrew, a wet, plopping/sucking sound could be heard throughout the room.
"You're pussy talking to me, huh? Listen to that wet pussy, bitch. She wants some of this dick, doesn't she?" he said, while continuing to tease the wet opening of her cunt with his dick.
"Uh-huh... Yessss... "she managed to moan out, having never had a man talk to her like a slut. Her pussy was absolutely drooling as it tried its best to suck in the tip of his huge dick, again and again. The sensation of her pussy thickly preparing to split to admit his large head and then swelling shut as he exited was really new to her. She could clearly hear the wet 'squelch' of her pussy as he moved in and out of her, and it made her feel slutty, wanton, and vulnerable.
He spread her asscheeks, watching her wet, pink virgin asshole wink at him. Her pussy was steadily dripping its overflow in rivulets down between her thighs. He directed the wet, shiny tip of his dick to her asscrack and began to saw it back and forth, slowly. Causing her to moan, loudly, feeling the warmth and length of him along her crack. He continued to spread her cheeks as he backed up and guided his helmet to her slickly swollen pussylips and guided her back as he gently pushed against her slowly expanding inner lips and held himself still inside of her, feeling her pussy immediately start softly gripping the tip of him, greedy for the large, thick head to enter her. He teased her 10-15 more times with the tip of his dick settling in her drenched hole, then withdrawing it as she subtly attempted to dip her hips to get his dick inside of her.
"Patricia, you keep acting like the greedy bitch you are, I'm going to slam all nine and a half inches of this thick dick deep up in you... I warning you...keep this ass still and let me play..." he said firmly.
He exited her with a wet slurpy sound. He grabbed his dick and positioned the head of his dick next to her bright red, distended clit...and began slowly slap the topside of his dick against it. This brought a new round of moans and hip wiggling from her as he methodically tortured her with his extremely hard dick.
After a minute of this he then grabbed her narrow waist in both hands and waited. As anticipated, she pushed herself backwards trying to get his dick inside of her. Patricia was scared now that it was actually about to happen, but her body was behaving like it couldn't wait. She could feel how swollen her pussylips were and how distended her clit was and it brought a new dimension of eroticism to what was about to play out.
Brian backed away as she turned her head and opened her mouth to protest, then quickly and adeptly pushed forward lodging the thick head of his dick and an inch more into her and held her hips in place as she involuntarily tried to squirm away from the thick, blunt presence now inside of her.
"MMPHhhhhh..." she breathed out as her pussy began madly clutching and twitching around his dick. She felt stuck, not able to move to and fro, as the outer lips of her pussy felt like they were ripping from the pressure of being help open by the thick hardness lodged between them.
Brian looked down and saw how tight her bright pink pussylips were wrapped around his dick and smiled to himself. He began slowly withdrawing a half inch while burying a half-inch on the in-stroke as she began mewling and lowering her shoulders to the bed. As he continued entering and exiting her, his dick began to become wet with a clear, thick sheen of her wetness.
"Shhhh...I got you baby...I got this tight, wet pussy... your pussylips look so good stretching around my black dick baby...I wish you could see how sexy you look...you're so fucking wet back here...I'm stretching this fuck out this pussy, ain't I?...keep taking this dick, baby" he said as he buried six inches of dick into her.
"AH...AH...OH...OHHHH...shit!! Oh Brian...oh gottdamn...you're...soo...fucking...thick...and big...OHHHHH!!" she damn near screamed. It felt like he was pulling out the inner lining of her cunt each time he withdrew only to stretch it too it's limit when he re-entered her. The entire time he was slow stroking her, she was squeezing and milking his massive shaft, trying to squelch the burning sensation in her pussy as he continued to stretch her pussy beyond anything it had previously encountered. She had never felt the sensation of her clit rubbing and being pulled in and out by the thick, wide tube of muscle on the underside of his big dick. It was absolutely driving her insane! The burning in her pussy soon turned into a tingling deep in her belly...and it began to spread quickly, getting stronger, and then it happened.
Patricia began to cum, strongly...stronger and more powerfully than any she had ever had. She began bucking back at Brian and screaming as the full force of her orgasm hit her like a sledgehammer...
"AHHHHHHHHHHHH...OHHHHHHH...MY...GOOOOOODDDD...OHHHHH!! she screamed, as her body went into convulsions and her pussy did its best to squeeze the skin off of the thick invader steadily entered and exiting her spasming hole.
Brian held onto her hips as her pussy suddenly began squeezing and twitching along his length. Suddenly her pussy seemed to swell up, squeezing the shit out of his dick in rhythmic motion...and then suddenly he felt it...her hot wetness drenching his dick. He could also hear how wet she'd become and as he glanced downward at his dick, he couldn't believe his eyes. His formerly shiny wet dick had become slathered with clear, white cream that continued to drip in streaks around his dick. As he continued to pump in and out of her, her pussy produced more cream that dripped off the underside of his dick with wet plops onto the sheet below.
"Gottdamn girl, you came all over my dick...that shit looks sooo good on my dick...you got my dick all creamed up...and wet...now, I can get all my dick up in your tight cunt..." he said, as he began pulling her hips toward him and dicking her deeper and deeper on each stroke, bringing more cries from her as her pussy continued it's milking and creaming on his dick.
"OH LORD...OH...you're so deep, Brian...OH...my goodness...Ewwww...mmmpphhh...AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" she screamed suddenly as she felt his balls smash wetly against her distended and swollen pussylips as the tip of his fat dick smashed against her cervix, repeatedly, pushing her overstuffed pussy over the top, once again.
"Yeah bitch...you taking all this dick...hope you didn't think you was getting some dick...bitch, you getting all this dick, tonight..." he said forcefully, as he felt her pussy milking him again as she continued to cum.
He slapped her right asscheeks, strongly...and then her left, watching her ass shimmy and roll. He slapped her a few more times, turning her cheeks bright pink.
Patricia buried her face in the pillow as he held her hips in a death grip and plowed her furrow, mercilessly, slamming deep into her...making her ache. She had cum twice on his dick, yet knew he was no where close to being finished exploring the elasticity of her hole...and she didn't want him to be. The way he was fucking her was without regard to her well-being, and she loved it. He was hurting her and stretching her and she found it highly stimulating. She knew that she would do anything he asked of her, and liked the idea of submitting to him.
"OHHH you good pussy having bitch...you wanted to be my woman for tonight...and as my woman, you should know that each time I take my dick out of you and we switch positions, your job is to clean my dick with your mouth...now get back here and get to it..." he said, as he exited her pussy with a very wet squelch and watched as a dollop of her girly cum exited her pussy to join the small puddle that had developed on the bedspread beneath them.
Patricia squealed in disappointment as he exited her wet, gaped pussy. Her pussylips stayed splayed open to his view and her girly cream was everywhere...it coated her lips, clit...the area between her cuntlips and asshole were caked with it...specks of it littered the inside of her thighs...thin rivulets of drying cum could be seen, also...
As she gathered herself, she slowly turned around on her knees to see the dick she was to clean literally dripping with her girly cum. It was wetly caked in thick, white cream from tip to balls. As she watched, a small dribble of her cum leaked off his balls and dripped onto the edge of the bedspread where he was on his knees. She crawled on all fours towards her prize, acknowledging that she had NEVER done this...and would have reacted quite differently to any other man...but she was under his spell and her dilated pussy would have never forgiven her.
She curled her tongue across her lips in anticipation as she dipped her head under his dick and attacked his balls with her agile yet strong tongue, cleaning him while slurping loudly on his balls, eliciting deep moans from him. She then began licking and slurping her way up the underside of his dick, tasting herself on him and desiring to produce more cream to coat his dick, so she could clean him again and again. Five minutes later, she was done cleaning him but still continued to wetly and slowly circle her tongue around the helmet of his dick while sucking him.
By this time, Brian had placed his large hand on her head...but he didn't have to guide her or direct her...she knew exactly how to please him with her top game. Looking at her, he intuitively sensed how pleased she was with his dick in her mouth. She was in another world and he loved how excited he had made her. Nothing was better to any man that a woman who loved to suck dick and did it with passion and without limits and let herself go in the task. He knew if he continued to let her suck him, she would have him on his knees for the rest of the night.
"Fuck, you suck a mean dick, Pat-Pat...ewwwww...I love your mouth, baby...that tongue...gottdamn!!" he said, as she began fluttering her tongue along the tip of his dick like a butterfly.
He slowly withdrew his dick from her mouth as she followed his dick, not wanting to stop sucking him. He let her continue for a few minutes more, and then he grabbed her hair and removed her from his dick and brought her face to his and said...
"That was good baby...look like I just stepped out the shower...you did a good job cleaning your cream off my dick...you gone get another chance to clean after I nutt inside of you..." he said, while looking her in the eye, then kissing her, forcing his tongue between her lips, which she readily accepted by sucking on it and moaning deeply.
"Get on your back, bitch...you about to get the fucking of your life...you about to find out what it feels like to get your pussy wore out...and you can scream, holler, beg, plead...you getting all this dick from first stroke to last...you shouldn't have sucked my dick like that...like you can't wait to do it again...huh?" he queried her, while licking her lips, nastily.
"Well, it's not like I can tell a lie...you...your dick...it tastes so good and feel so erotic in my mouth...like it's calling my tongue to please it...and lick it...and suck on it... and gag on it...and stroke it...I can't stop thinking what I want to do to it...mmmm..." she answered, as she held his head and began to slowly recline onto her back while opening her legs to reveal her still-open hole beginning to leak its excitement of having had its owner sucking on a big, black dick that she was about to get...again.
Brian reclined onto her, opening her thighs wider by guiding her thighs to the crook of his arms and spreading her. The meaty length of his wet dick hung menacingly inches from her lips and then it touched her, bringing a gasp from her. He dipped his hips and brought the tip of his dick to her slippery wet opening and began trying to enter her as she involuntarily began rolling her hips to assist him, making it even harder. She then reached her small, white hand between them and took hold of his hot, thick hardness and placed it into position. She watched as he moved forward, thickly and wetly separating her lips and then moved backwards, seeming to pull, open and drag her entire mons region as it accepted it's thick, long black invader. It felt like he was pushing a fist into her, stretching her tight walls.
"OH...OHHHH...shit...will I ever get used to being entered by you...feels like your stretching me wider and deeper in this position...AHHHH...your dick is so hard...and it's soooooo hot...I can feel it...it's burning me...Ahhh..." she whispered as she heard the wet, erotic slurping sound coming from her pussy.
She was full of him, packed completely. He buried the whole burning length of himself into her, repeatedly. When he pulled back, she felt torn open, empty. He thrust back in deeper than before, bringing her shocks of pain and total bliss. She watched his flesh, streaked and dripping with her orgasmic juices, pull the lining of her cunt out with it as it withdrew, and then driving it keep inside her as he thrust forward.
Her words spurred him on as his hips began to flex on the in-stroke, getting deeper up in her, while painfully pinching the tip of his dick as he, once again, began slamming into the opening of her cervix, bringing a series of screams and moans from Pat-Pat.
"OHHHHHHHHHH...SHIT...YOU GOT ME CUMMING ME AGAIN...OH...BRIAN...MMMMM..." she hollered out, feeling embarrassed to be cumming again, so soon after he entered her...but damn, he was so deep and the feeling he was giving her as he roughly banged deep inside of her felt so good.
Brian looked down between them just in time as she was screaming to see her juices spurt out and around his pistoning dick to coat him, once again, in her creamy white, hot, bubbling secretions. The deeper he stroked, the more she screamed, and the more her pussy flexed and trembled and released its cream on his dick. He had never seen anything so erotic in all his sexual life!
He bent forward as he continued thrusting into her and laid himself upon her, feeling her painfully hard nipples digging into his chest as he reached down and grabbed two handfuls of her soft, wet ass...spread them...settled himself between her thighs...and then began to quickly assault her pussy with deep, fast lunges that took her breath away as the only sound that could be heard in the room was her deep, heavy breathing and the wet, sloshing sound of her pussy being beaten inside out. As he assaulted her, his fingers found the stretched opening of her wet ass and he began to slowly circle her asshole with his fingers before slowly pushing one digit into her.
"Unnngghh...OHHHHHHHHHHHHH...AHHHHHHHHHH...BABY..." she moaned into his ear as the length and thickness of him speared her deep, making her pussy fart and queef, albeit loudly. She loved the nastiness of him fucking her and the way he was making her pussy fart, squirt, cum, and splash him with her girly cum...and now he was fingering her ass! He was definitely making an impression on her.
Chapter Eleven
As Brian continued to hammer his dick inside of her, her pussy muscles were squeezing him along on his length and she continued to grunt like she was pain yet still continued cumming and leaking her fluids her thick, white cream onto his dick, pubic area, and balls. Her pussy had been circular in appearance but now was stretched in an oblong fashion around his fat dick. She was cumming constantly, now, and he wanted her to exhaust herself before he gave her his load, so he redoubled his grip on her asscheeks as she began lewdly licking his neck, working her way up to his ear as he rose up to hammer her ass once again...and he worked a second finger into her ass.
His suddenly stopped thrusting bring the meaty tip of his dick to her flowered, open lips and just as he thrust forward, the angle he was holding her in caused her ass to raise up a few inches...and the fat tip of his dick slipped down her drenched pussylips and as he thrust forward, it slipped into her very wet asshole, bringing a cry of surprise from her as she was stuck under him with her ass in his hands...
"OHHH...AHHH...B-Brian...Baby...you're in the wrrooooongggg HOLE...MMMM...MMMPPHHHH...PULL IT...OHHHHHH...OH BABY..." she screamed into his ear as he held himself still, unsure of what to do. She had told him to pull out, but she was pulling on his hips to get him deeper as her stomach flexed powerfully one, two, three times and then she began to moan deeply as he began withdrawing his thick dick and just when her asslips closed around the tip of his dick, he entered her again...more forcefully, causing her to bite his neck, submissively as she continued to pull him into her.
"I'm in your ass, Pat-Pat...it's so fucking hot and tight around my dick...like your trying to rip the skin off of my dick...and it's so wet...all that cum then got up in there making it easy to slip my dick up in your ass...if it hurts, I'll stop...but I can feel you squeezing your ass muscles on me..." he said as he buried his head in her neck and continued slowly thrusting into her upraised ass.
Patricia was breathing heavily as her ass was being stretched by the big, thick dick that had abused her pussy. Fortunately for her, she thought, she was so excited that her orgasmic juices had dripped into her ass channel causing her to initially relax and let him enter her further. As she began to tense up and feel the fullness of him within her ass channel, she breathed into his ear...
"Do it, Brian...fuck my ass...my v-virgin ass...take it...make me take it..." she said as her thighs started to tremble uncontrollably as he took her at her word and began thrusting deeper into her, still surprised at her wetness and her ability to take his big dick in her ass being an ass-virgin and all.
Bolts of pain and pleasure shot up her spine as she opened and closed her toes and grabbed onto his shoulders as he continued gliding into her ass, deeper and deeper. He held himself inside of her and began flexing his dick, strongly...causing her ass muscles to ripple, grip, and tremble as she did her best to squeeze and scratch the deep itch that had suddenly blossomed in her ass.
Pat-Pat had never felt such pain/pleasure in her life. He was using her beyond her wildest imaginations and she was loving every inch of it. Her ass felt hot, stretched, and full...yet very pleasurable. She could feel the hot heat of his big dick through the membrane separating her ass from her pussy. He had battered her pussy and was now doing the same to her ass and she was awe-struck. Awed by the fact that she was allowing him where she had flatly refused others and struck by how good it actually felt to be fucked in the ass.
"You're nice and wet baby...Fuck me you little nasty bitch...your ass is taking my dick Pat...you're taking it deep in you...I'm goin stretch this ass like I stretched your pussy...you shouldn't have brought me to your bed...I'm a fuck you like I'm going to prison tomorrow..." he said as he began thrusting deeper and more forcefully into her. He was no longer concerned about the pain she might be in...her ass was wet and getting wetter, she was moaning in pleasure, and she hadn't told him no. It was time to gape her ass and make her his from this moment...
Brian began licking her neck as he pushed further into her on each in-stroke. After three or four minutes of this, he simultaneously hit something deep inside of her ass as his balls finally made contact with her asscheeks. When he first hit it, she gasped...second time, she began digging her fingernails into his shoulders...third time, she began screaming and moaning like a banshee as her ass muscles squeezed and massaged his deeply thrusting dick...fourth time and all hell broke loose!
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHH...AHHHHHHHHHHHHH...OHH...MY...GOOOODDDDDD!!" she screamed while her pussy flexed strongly and began to squirt its hot juices onto his thrusting stomach, dripping onto his dick, making his deep thrusts smoother and quicker as her ass...and now her pussy began squeezing and spasmodically shaking around his dick. She had never imagined cumming like this but hell if she could stop her body now.
Brian rose up on his fists as he continued thrusting and gazed down at her spurting and dripping cunt. When he entered her ass, her pussy came along for the ride closing itself and being pulled inward, and when he exited her ass, her pussy snapped open again, and again, pulling and stimulating her already agitated clit. She began screaming again and not soon afterward, her pussy flowered open and began spurting and dribbling clear cunt juice onto him again.
Patricia's eyes were fluttering open and closed as she withstood the sloshy, deep thrust of his dick into her raw, sensuously opened ass. He was thrusting as deep into her ass as he had into her pussy and he was continually hitting a pleasure nerve deep in her ass that kept her pussy dribbling juice and her ass producing a slick cream that assisted in decreasing the friction of his thick dick along her newly exposed ass nerves and flesh. He was hitting deep on every stroke causing her to cum, hard, every sixth or seventh stroke. The bedspread was soaked with her girly cum...an incident that had never occurred before...in her life. She continued to be in shock at the behavior of her pussy and now her ass around his dick. She had never squirted, dripped, drooled or cum this much. Every time her pussy opened up and squirted or drooled its juices after another orgasm, she looked on in amazement, as she had to confirm that, "Yes, that is my pussy doing that and yes, he's making me do it by how big and thick his dick is...he's making my body do tricks..." she thought dully as he powered into her ass at a new, if possible, pace...leaving her breathless.
"AWWWWW...BITCH...I'm goin cum DEEP in this ass...you hear me...I'm going bust a huge nutt in you...ain't came for two weeks...get this nutt bitch..." he said as he adjusted her legs wider and began pile driving his hips into hers causing her to release a new round of screams and moans as she began cumming in a multi-orgasmic fashion...screaming then squirting...screaming then dribbling...screaming then dribbling, again as he hardened along his length preparing to dump his seed.
She felt him harden and her assflesh involuntarily and painfully adjust around him as he thrust deeply and madly into her asshole. He now was hitting her deeper than he had and this new round of volleys was causing her ass to now leak a thick, white cream along the crack and opening of her ass. This damn near hot-feeling liquid bathed his dick in its heat, further stimulating him to bliss and then it happened...
As she began screaming again, really loud...he began nutting violently inside of her. This new white hot heat feeling that bathed her abused innards caused her to scream out once more in her last violent orgasm of the night, squeezing his dick to damn near death. As they lay there, both breathing hot and heavy, his cum began to leak out of her ass, down her crack and onto her lower back. He slowly pulled his hips back, withdrawing his cum and cream-coated dick from her inflamed and gaping hole. As he rolled to the side, he noticed her hole stayed open and his cum had formed a puddle inside of her ass. As soon as she rolled to the side or flexed her ass muscles, it would come pouring out of her ass.
Brian rolled onto his back, breathing heavily, as Patricia leaned over and placed her hand on his chest and her face on his arm. She began moaning in a low hum as she felt his warm cum dribbling thickly out of her open ass. It felt warm and erotic as it dripped and dribbled down her asscheek. She still could not flex her assmuscles...as they seemed paralyzed with having been entered by such a thick and long member. She enjoyed the feeling, immensely.
With the last bit of strength she had, she moved her head towards his messy, cum-stained, ass juice streaked dick marveling that it still stood half-hard and was dripping their combined juices in a slow, consistent manner. She stuck out her tongue and gathered a blob of cream/cum off of his pubic area and then began to dart her tongue around his mound, which was caked with the substance. She cleaned the area then started on his balls, as he spread his thighs. She finished by slowly and erotically licking up both sides of his dick, sucking and licking loudly before finally enveloping the helmet of his dick in her mouth as she swirled her tongue, cleaning him, completely.
"Damn that was good, girl...your body...your titties...those long ass nipples...that red-headed pussy and all that cream and juice you got on this spread...gottdamn...you got fire-water pussy Pat...hot, creamy, and stay wet-wet...figured I'd fuck you dry...BUT that's never going to happen...you can take dick all night...plus, you love sucking and licking on my dick...and you do the shit good, too...real good...mmmm...so, did you like being my bitch, tonight?" he said, as he stroked her hair and she breathed on his dick, unwilling to move from her position of submission to his dick.
"Oh boy...where do I start? I...I...I've never been done like this...never...never ever felt or experienced what my body did tonight...I mean...squirting? How wet I was and stayed the entire time...how big you were...how you seemed to split me open and keep me open...the way you stretched my hole and how I could feel every millimeter of your cock inside of me...every ridge...every vein...every flex of your dick...how I creamed you again and again and again...all night, I leaked on you...I was embarrassed at first but I was so shocked that it was happening and it kept happening...after the first few times, I just let it happen...didn't seem like I could do anything about it anyway...and Brian, I let you fuck me in the ass! I've never done that nor had the inclination to want to do it...but I'm glad it happened the way it did...you know...like, it was unplanned and in the moment and it felt soooo good...damn...and I liked cleaning you the first time and I really liked it, just now... I like knowing that I'm giving you as much pleasure as you're giving me..." she said as she kissed the tip of his dick, slowly running her tongue around the rim.
"Well baby, as my woman for the night, I usually have my woman sleep with my dick in her mouth...hope you don't mind..." he said, while already knowing her answer as she continued to lick and tongue his dick.
"Good night baby..." she said as she closed her eyes and tongued the tip of his dick until she fell into a deep sleep.
Chapter Twelve
They didn't see each other after that encounter. Brian, upon returning to his room that morning had a message on his room phone from his mother and uncle. His younger brother had been shot and was in the hospital but the prognosis was not good. He had to return home and just as he did, his brother passed away. The stress and grief and the vulnerable condition of his mother caused him to come to the decision to move home and finish his studies at the University of Pittsburgh.
Brian had called Patricia soon after returning home to tell her of the situation and his eventual decision to stay. She had been heartbroken but completely understood his decision. Not long after, Bill got in touch with her by text then by visiting. Soon, they were back together again and he was proposing marriage as he had convinced her that he had changed and was done with the drinking. He was planning on entered the Army as an officer. He wanted them to have a future together. He asked for her hand and she accepted his proposal. He entered the Army, went to war and when he returned home, he was a different man. He passed when their daughter was two years old. Since that time, six months now, she had been extremely lonely and to be completely honest, horny.
She had never forgotten Brian and their night of passion together. After that night, she had all but convinced herself that not another dick on planet Earth could pleasure her the way his had...and to be completely honest to her late husband's memory, he had never come close to bringing her to the intense orgasms or wetness she had experienced with her first Black man...and now that man was cumming to see her again. She couldn't wait to see what would happen!
THE END
|
Things didn’t just go back to the way they were, after that. One conversation couldn’t just erase years of separation. But it was still easy, in a way, even when Toshinori’s voice stuttered, unsteady and unsure when he said Shouta’s name. Even though they were caught in this uneasy space of both nothing and something, of knowing and not knowing all at once, it was still easy. Toshinori made everything easy. That was just who he was: being with him was always as easy as breathing.
“Aizawa,” Toshinori said, sitting on the ratty old couch in Shouta’s apartment while Shouta rummaged through the kitchen.
“You don’t have to be so formal, you know,” Shouta said, finally settling on tea.
“O-oh?” Toshinori said. Was he blushing? Shouta couldn’t see with his back turned to him, but it sounded like he was. Like he would be. “What would you prefer to be called then?”
Shouta hummed, flicking on his stovetop.
“Maybe,” he paused. “Sho-chan?” Toshinori said, like he was holding back a laugh.
Shouta dropped the teabag he was picking up. “Christ, who are you, Midoriya?” He scoffed. His face felt hot. “You didn’t call me that when I was five, you’re not starting now.”
Toshinori just laughed harder in response.
“I have a name, Toshinori,” he said, putting the tea bags into the mugs. “Call me by it.”
“Alright, Alright. Shouta it is.”
Oh.
It had been over twenty years since Toshinori had last called him by his name. After months of Aizawa or Eraserhead, his name was almost shocking to hear. Shouta. It sounded good. He’d forgotten, how it felt to hear Toshinori say his name. How it sounded.
Toshinori was smiling, just a bit too dorky, a bit too wide, and something inside Shouta ached.
Fuck. He wanted to kiss him.
XXVI
It had never been a problem before. It wasn’t that he hadn’t known that he was in love with Toshinori; it’s just he never used to have to do anything about it. Being in love with Toshinori was a simple fact, like grass being green. It just was. He hadn’t had to deal with all of the fucking pining that was involved; Toshinori had been too far away to pine over. He hadn’t had to deal with the staring. And god, he must’ve developed some kind of sixth sense for it, because every time he looked over it felt like Toshinori was looking at him. It was obviously a coincidence, of course— Toshinori didn’t even look away when Shouta caught him in the act—but his subconscious just couldn’t seem to get that.
Shouta hated it.
That wasn’t it, of course. He’d forgotten how touchy-feely a person Toshinori was; as a child he’d soaked up affection like a plant would sunlight. He’d figured that Toshinori had grown out of it: before, he’d kept a professional distance from Shouta. That’d been hard enough. Now, though he faltered a little each time, he was still affectionate. And it was a hell of a lot more touching than Shouta was used to, from him. A hand on his shoulder here, a brush against his arm there, casually pushing aside a lock of Shouta’s hair—
He couldn’t live like this.
“Jesus, Shouta, what’s the matter with you?” Mic asked around a mouthful of jello.
“Don’t mind him,” Nemuri said, picking haphazardly around her own lunch. “He’s just upset ‘cause he’s pining and he didn’t realize that was a thing before.”
Shouta glared.
“Oh, he’s got it bad,” Mic cackled with glee.
“Remind me why I’m friends with you.”
“Aw, don’t be like that,” Mic said, ruffling Shouta’s hair like he was some kid who dropped an ice cream cone. “But like, seriously though. I’m confused,” he said. “Like two weeks ago, weren’t you gonna like, be all, ‘oh Toshinori, I’ve been in love with you forever,’ and then like. Make out with him on a bearskin rug in front of a fireplace or something?”
“That’d be assuming our beloved Shou-chan ever actually got to the ‘I'm in love with you’ part.”
“He said he was looking forward to being friends again,” Shouta grumbled. “What the hell was I supposed to do with that.”
“Ooof, that’s rough buddy.”
“If you just listened to me instead of bemoaning how in love you are, you’d know that Yagi likes you too.” Nemuri rolled her eyes. Traitor. “He only said that because he thinks you don’t like him.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Listen, Shouta, I know you think you’re being painfully obvious but I think you’re really underestimating how oblivious All Might can be.”
“Listen, he doesn’t want me. It’s fine. I don’t need to be consoled.”
“But what if he did?”
He looked at her once and then walked away. It was time for class.
XXVII
“Shouta!” Toshinori called, jogging up to him after his class finished. He was red in the face and breathing a bit too heavily, but he was still smiling. Of course he was smiling. “I’m glad I didn’t miss you,” he said, his grin almost as bright as the goddamn sun. “I was wondering if we could meet up tonight and go over the rubric for next week’s papers.”
He almost, almost agreed. There were few things he hated as much as whatever the hell passed as Toshinori’s arbitrary grading scale, but. “I’ve got patrol tonight.”
Toshinori’s face fell, but he was obviously attempting to hide it behind a curtain of his hair, turning his face away. “Ah, I see.” He coughed. “Perhaps another time, then. Time stops for no essay, after all!” The joke fell flat, turning into an awkward cough.
He was like a kicked puppy, Christ. “Toshinori,” he said. “Wait.”
“Huh?”
He sighed and looked away, running a hand through his hair. "After. I patrol early today anyway—meet me after."
Toshinori blinked, taken aback. “Oh, I—thank you.” His face had turned a light shade of pink. Jesus.
"I get off at eleven," he said, looking away. "Unless that's too late for you."
"No! No, uh, that's fine," Toshinori coughed. “I look forward to seeing you!”
Shouta doubted it, but only somewhat. Even when the staff went out for drinks, Mic had told him, Toshinori hardly stayed out past eleven, let alone would he enjoy staying up talking about papers with Shouta until the late hours of the night.
Yet Toshinori was still so obviously happy still smiling in that awkward, self-conscious way, and his face was still the slightest shade of red.
Shouta sighed again, and looked away. That was the problem with Toshinori: He made people want to believe in impossible things.
But Shouta’d never been one to believe in the impossible. “See you later,” he said, walking away.
“See you,” Toshinori echoed.
Shouta didn’t even have to look to behind him to know that Toshinori was still smiling.
XXVIII
“You know, we don’t have to do this, if you’re too tired,” Shouta said, after the third time Toshinori yawned in the middle of his explanations.
“No, no, I’m fine,” Toshinori said, clapping a hand over his face, undoubtably to stifle yet another yawn. “Really, you went out of your way to meet me so late, it’s my fault in the first place.”
“Well, you’re hardly going to learn anything when you’re like this,” Shouta said, shutting his folder of notes.
“No, I can!” Toshinori said, grabbing the hand Shouta still had clasped over his notes. “Besides, this is nice.”
“You’re practically falling asleep on my couch.”
“I am not,” he protested, frowning. “Besides, I meant—well, it’s like old times, isn’t it? Though I certainly remember you being the one to fall asleep first at all of our sleepovers.”
Shouta’s lips twitched into something like a smile for a second. “Yeah, well. You got old.” He said.
Toshinori spluttered, turning bright red. “I’m not—I mean—” he broke off into a coughing fit, hunching over and clutching at his chest. Shit. Shouta didn’t even hesitate before sliding next to him, running his free hand along Toshinori’s back until the coughing subsided.
“Are you alright?”
“Yeah,” Toshinori said eventually. “That’s hardly the worst it’s been.” He sighed, staring at his hands. “You were right, I guess. I did get old.”
He frowned. “Toshinori,” he murmured, low and cautionary, like suddenly Toshi was a small animal that spooked easily.
“Ah, sorry,” Toshinori flushed, only light pink this time, looking away again. “What am I doing, acting all glum for? It’s not like I didn’t know that.” He laughed, but it felt wooden and forced. “Being with you almost makes me forget.” He said. "Everything's the same as it was before.”
“Toshinori—”
“Ah, I’m sorry again.” He turned away, yellow hair falling into his face. "What were we talking about again? Grading curves?"
Shouta took in the stiffness of Toshinori's shoulders, the tight set to his jaw, and decided against pushing this further. Instead, he reached out, slowly, carefully, with enough time for it to be more than obvious what he was doing, and tucked Toshinori’s hair back behind his ear.
He could feel it when Toshinori’s breath hitched, stuttering inches away from his wrist. Shouta flinched. Toshinori’s eyes darted to his, his face still slightly red. Neither of them moved. His hand was still touching Toshinori’s hair. Toshinori’s mouth had fallen slightly open. Shouta wondered if he had began to turn pink, too.
“Shouta,” Toshinori murmured, almost breathless, his eyes open and wide.
He should let go of him, Shouta knew. He should drop Toshinori’s hair and slide further to the side, avoiding eye contact and pretending like this had never happened in the first place. He was leaning forwards before he even knew what he was doing.
When their lips connected, it wasn’t magical, or full of fireworks, or anything like one of those trashy romcoms Hizashi liked to force Shouta to watch with him. It was just warm. Simple. Too simple to justify the stress this sort of thing usually warranted. It was easy.
He couldn’t even bring himself to feel regret the moment he pulled back.
Toshinori brought his fingers to his lips, and looked away, his face even redder than before. “I—you—me—” Toshinori stuttered.
“I love you, Toshinori,” he said, finally. “I always have.”
“What,” Toshinori said, as flustered and dumbstruck as if Shouta was attempting to explain to him advanced mathematics. “But—that’s—huh?”
“I'm in love with you." He said.
“But—why?"
"Why." He repeated. He had spent how long holding back from telling Toshinori he loved him, and all he got back was a blank why. Shouta wanted to kill him. Shouta wanted to kiss him. "Toshinori, I've been in love with you since I was four years old. You might as well ask me why I breathe air."
"Oh," Toshinori murmured. “Oh.”
“It’s fine,” Shouta said, turning away. “You don’t have to say anything.”
“Shouta, wait,” Toshinori said, grasping after him. “I—um—you meant that?”
Shouta shot him a look. Yes, he kissed him and confessed his love like a goddamn schoolgirl because of a fucking joke. Sure. That’s what happened.
“Because I, ah,” He coughed, nervously toying with his fingers. He looked up. “I like you a lot, Shouta. Romantically.”
“What.” 404 error, does not compute, what the fucking hell—
“I never imagined, well.” Toshinori laughed again, but it was more like a self deprecating rush of air than a laugh. “Well. I’m hardly the ideal these days.”
“Toshinori,” he said, slowly, carefully, and not without some frustration, like he was explaining a mathematics lesson to Denki for the tenth time in a row. “You goddamn dumbass,” He said, taking Toshinori’s face in his hands.
“Maybe,” he said. “But only when it comes to you.”
Not much had changed in that regard, at least.
He kissed him again. Toshinori smiled when he did.
|
DEAN POV
Dean blinked his eyes open and realized that the haze of his heat had gone. He didn’t remember much of the last week as his heat must have triggered the rut the alpha was close to and everything over the last few days was blurry in his mind.
He could remember them getting into the room, the first knotting and maybe the second, but after that there were only flashes of memories. He knew the alpha was a good alpha. Dean wasn’t sore and he had been well taken care of.
Licking his lips he tried to wet them. He was parched and his stomach was growling. He wasn’t sure how much they had stopped to eat and drink. He tried to work some saliva into his dry mouth and blink away the last of the sleep. He realized a heavy arm was draped across his middle and he was pulled up against the front of the alpha. He scented the room to see if there were still traces of rut but he couldn’t smell anything but a new and delicious scent.
It was the alpha’s normal scent, so that meant he wasn’t in rut, but it was laced with a woodsy component now, not unlike Dean’s own. He smelled like a wood stove on a winter’s day with a little cinnamon in it. Dean scented again and sighed.
The alpha behind him stirred and rumbled and Dean shifted to twist his neck when he felt the twinge of pain. It was surface pain, like a wound, not something protesting the movement inside his neck.
He froze. The alpha’s arm had tightened on his middle and Dean tried to relax. He could feel his heart rate increasing as he slowly lifted his hand to his neck where it was tender. He knew what he would find before he touched it, but feeling the mating bite over his gland was a shock.
He was mated.
He couldn’t believe it happened like this. He was mated to an alpha he didn’t know. He didn’t really even remember. Flashes of blue eyes, strong muscles and a chiseled jaw floated through his mind.
He tried to take deep breaths so he wouldn’t panic. What would happen now? What would his life be like? Where would he go? Would the alpha want him as his mate? Would he take him home and take care of him? What if he didn’t want him? Dean was most certainly going to be fired. First of all, you don’t mate the clients. Second of all, he couldn’t continue sex work while he was mated. Alphas wouldn’t want him now that his scent was laced with another alpha’s.
He didn’t even know the alpha’s name. A hysterical bubble of laughter escaped him.
The alpha shifted again behind him and Dean thought he was waking up. This was confusing and terrifying, but he needed to face reality. He’d been dealt bad hands before, he would be able to deal with this just like he had with the others.
He took a deep breath to fortify himself and nearly moaned. The alpha smelled better to him than anyone ever had. He wanted to whine and bare his throat again and Dean realized that it would be like this from now on. This was his alpha.
He closed his eyes and took one more breath before he shifted and slowly adjusted himself to his other side. He saw that the alpha was awake and wore an expression on his face that Dean’s probably matched. It was a mixture of disbelief, regret, worry and embarrassment. But there was also acceptance and determination which settled Dean a little.
“Hi,” Dean whispered.
“Hello,” the alpha said. His voice was as deep as Dean remembered it and a shiver went through his body.
They stared at each other for another minute before Dean decided to get the awkward part out of the way.
“My name’s Dean Winchester,” he told the alpha.
“Castiel Novak,” the alpha replied. He reached up gently and touched the bite on Dean’s neck. The wound was still sore, which meant it probably wasn’t that old, but it didn’t hurt when the alpha brushed over it. In fact, it felt good and the tension that had built up in Dean’s body relaxed again.
Dean was slightly alarmed at how his body responded. He had never even really dated an alpha, so this was unfamiliar to him, but he also knew that this was typical behavior. His omega would respond to his alpha now that they were bonded.
“I’m sorry for this,” the alpha said softly. “I don’t remember biting you.”
Dean nodded. “I don’t remember it either. I don’t remember a lot of the last week, to be honest,” he said. The alpha continued to stroke Dean’s neck and Dean arched it for him. The alpha’s eyes widened slightly at his submission.
“I never intended to mate you against your will,” Castiel said. Dean shook his head.
“It was both of us, Cas,” he said. He didn’t realize he had shortened the alpha’s name until it came out. He flushed a little at the familiarity but he continued when the alpha didn’t correct him. “I don’t remember anything. I was too far gone in the heat. I’ve never had a heat like that.”
“I’ve never rutted like that either. It must be our scents together. I would have never mated you without your consent normally.”
“I understand,” Dean told him. And he knew the alpha was sincere. He could scent it on him now that Dean’s head was beginning to clear a bit. He could make out several nuances in the alpha’s scent beyond just their mated pheromones surrounding them. Dean also knew that it wasn’t either of their faults really. Biology fucked them over sometimes. “I had never felt like that before. Even before the heat hit, it was more…” Dean shrugged. “Just, more, I guess.”
The alpha nodded. “More,” he agreed. They were silent for a few minutes before Cas spoke again. “I need to make some calls,” he said.
“Right, I’ll just…” He trailed around as he glanced to the floor where the scraps of lace lay in tatters.
The alpha must have understood because he pulled away and stood. He found his button up white shirt and handed it to Dean.
“You can put this on. I’ll just step outside. I’ll send for someone,” he told Dean. Dean scooted to the edge of the bed and took the shirt.
“Thank you,” he said. His alpha nodded and grabbed his pants to put on. Dean watched the alpha check his pockets and nod to himself before he looked at Dean once more. He looked in control and that made Dean feel slightly better. He could scent the confusion and wariness coming from the alpha, but there was no rage or disgust in his scent.
“I’ll be back shortly,” Cas said. Dean nodded, not sure what to do otherwise. He watched Cas leave and he looked around the room. There were the marks of several days of heat and rut sex. The bed was destroyed and soiled beyond recognition. There were a few water bottles and plates of food scraps, indicating that they had at least done something to try and take care of themselves. Someone would have brought them food and water.
It wasn’t uncommon for a cycle to be triggered and the club had plans in place to help manage it. Dean had never been one that had to have his heat with a stranger in one of the private rooms downstairs though. That was a first for him.
He threw the sheet back and stood. He needed to accept whatever was coming and figure it out. Castiel seemed like a decent guy, so maybe Dean wouldn’t be out on the streets. He needed to be on his best behavior with the alpha though, until he knew what was going to happen. He pulled the shirt through his arms and the scent of the alpha wafted up to his nose. He pressed his nose into the collar where it was the strongest and sighed. His alpha smelled good. He pulled away and began to button up the shirt. It was big enough to cover half way down his thighs, so he was decent enough.
Dean was still trying to process the events of the past half hour when the door was opened. There was no knock and he was surprised to see Hael open the door. Hael was a beta who was Abbadon’s second in command. She had always had a holier than thou attitude towards a lot of the omegas and she was furious now. Dean recoiled a little bit at her hostility, wondering what was going on.
“What have you done?” she hissed at him as she pushed the door closed behind her. It didn’t close all the way, but Dean was still trapped in the room.
Dean’s eyes widened. “Me?” he exclaimed. “I haven’t done anything! I can’t help that we triggered each other.”
“I know this was a plan. All you omegas are the same,” she seethed as she stalked forward. Dean took a step back from her. “How you got Abbadon to agree to let you take those alphas, I’ll never know. You aren’t good enough to service them.”
“Hey,” Dean began. He shifted and turned his head to face her and she gasped. Before Dean could react she had reached up and pulled his collar down.
“What is that?” she screeched.
Dean glanced at the door, but he didn’t see any sign of Cas. He tried to shake Hael off of him but she had a strong grip on his collar.
“Get off of me, Hael,” Dean told her. “It’s none of your business.”
Her eyes widened and Dean could scent her outrage. “He mated you.” Her voice was flat and cold and Dean knocked her hand away from his body.
“It’s none of your business,” he repeated.
She shook her head in disbelief and Dean could scent her anger. “You planned this all, didn’t you?” she asked. Dean frowned at her and shook his head but she continued on before he could speak. “You found a way to have an alpha mate you. And not just any alpha. I didn’t know you had it in you, Dean.”
“I didn’t do anything,” he told her.
Hael was smaller than Dean was and he knew that even as an omega he was stronger than her, but something in her face made him cautious. He had never seen that look in her eyes before and her scent broadcasted her rage. He stepped back away from her again.
“This is disgusting. You’re not good enough to be anyone’s mate, Dean, let alone an alpha like Castiel Novak. You’re nothing but a homeless, filthy whore. He won’t want you and when he’s done with you, no one will take you, not even us. And then-“
“What is going on here?”
Dean looked up to see Cas push the door open with Abbadon right behind him. He could see that Cas was angry and his scent hit Dean’s nose as he fully entered the room. It was the same woodsy mountain air he had before, but it stung a little now. It was sharp with his anger and Dean tilted his chin slightly.
He had already backed up from Hael as far as he could go and his back was pressed against the unyielding wall behind him. He licked his lips and lowered his eyes. Hael had been right in most of what she said. Dean was a whore, he was homeless if he couldn’t stay here and now he was mated to an alpha who was so far above him that he couldn’t imagine that he would want Dean.
“I was just making sure Dean understood his new role,” Hael told Cas smoothly. Cas nearly growled and Dean bared his neck further in response to the angry alpha.
“It sounded more like you were degrading him and threatening him,” Cas said. “Abbadon, is this how the omegas of this institution are treated?”
“No, Alpha Novak, I can assure you, it is not the way they are treated,” Abbadon was quick to say. Dean could scent that she was shocked at Hael’s behavior, but not surprised.
“Dean is my mate and will be treated as such. Now, we need the clean room and food that I requested.” Dean was grateful for the alpha taking control. He hated to say it, but Hael had shaken him a little bit. He was already unsure about what would happen and her words made him feel hollow with fear.
“Of course, Alpha Novak,” Abbadon told him with a smile. “I’m sure that there are things to work out between the two of you.” She gave Dean a quick glance and he nodded at her. “Hael, please come with me.”
Cas glared at her and watched her carefully as she flounced out of the room. Dean breathed a sigh of relief when she was gone. Dean wondered, not for the first time, who this guy was. They waited in silence for another moment before there was a gentle knock on the door. Cas moved to open it and Dean saw Amelia, another omega that he was friendly with.
She smiled and waved at him. “I have a room for you,” she told them both. “If you’ll follow me?”
Cas nodded and held his hand out for Dean to precede him out of the room. He put a hand on the small of Dean’s back as he walked barefoot down the hallway and into a new room. It had been set up with a small table and there was already food on it. It was a full meal, and Dean was impressed at the kitchen to have been able to produce it so quickly.
“Thank you,” Cas told her as she led them in. He moved away from Dean and he bit his tongue to keep himself from whining.
“Can I get anything else for you, alpha?” she asked.
Cas shook his head. “Thank you, we are fine for now. I’ll call for someone if we need anything.”
Amelia nodded and flashed a smile at Dean before she let herself out. She shut the door behind her softly and Dean was alone with his alpha again. He dug his toes into the plush carpet nervously as he waited for the alpha.
“Come, Dean,” he commanded gently. “I’m famished, so I know you must be. Please, don’t wait on me.” Cas gestured to the chair closest to him and Dean moved to sit down.
Once they were seated he didn’t know how to start a conversation. He felt awkward and worried. He picked up his fork and realized that the alpha was right, he was starved. It seemed like they both needed to eat first and talk later. They ate in silence for most of the meal but as they started to slow, Dean saw Cas shift in his seat.
Dean swallowed his food around the sudden lump in his throat. His fear must have been evident because Cas’ nostrils flared and he looked at Dean carefully.
“I’m not going to abandon you, Dean,” he said. He looked Dean right in the eye and he could see the alpha was telling him the truth. His scent was calm and settled and Dean relaxed slightly. He nodded and took a shaky breath.
“I wasn’t sure…” he said with a shrug. “So, then, now what?”
“Well, I thought we should get to know each other a little,” Cas replied. “For example, I know what you do for a living-“
Dean winced slightly and he could feel the heat in his cheeks.
“- and it’s fine, Dean. I won’t pretend that I’m better than you are as I found myself here in the first place,” Cas continued. Dean licked his lips and put his fork down, the rest of his appetite gone. He nodded and Cas continued. “Do you know what I do for a living?”
Dean shook his head. “No, alpha. I’m guessing maybe I should, though, if you’re asking.”
“I’m the president and co-owner of Novak Networks,” Cas told him.
Dean could feel the blood that had rushed to his face drain out of it just as suddenly. He thought he was hearing things. There was no way that he had mated – oh no. Castiel Novak the alpha had introduced himself.
Castiel Novak. He didn’t know the alpha, but he knew Novak Networks. It was one of the main news affiliates in the country. Dean was mated to a Fortune 500 company owner. No wonder Hael was so angry.
“Dean?” Cas prompted when he was silent for too long.
Dean shook his head slightly and blinked out of his thoughts. He looked at the alpha and tried to formulate words through his shock. He cleared his throat. “Abbadon didn’t tell me who you were,” he began. “I don’t know you, but I know your company.”
Cas nodded. “My brother, Gabe, was with me at the lounge as well as another business associate of mine, Luc St. Tan.”
Dean swallowed and sincerely hoped that the alpha that had fucked him over the table was not his new brother in law.
“Luc has since flown back to Chicago and Gabe has been in charge of the company for the last three days,” Cas continued.
Dean began to nod when he registered that the alpha had said three days. “Three days?” he asked. His voice was an octave higher than usual and he knew that his scent was broadcasting his rising panic again.
“Yes, Abbadon told me that it had only been three days. She’s gone to get your in-house physician,” Cas told him. His scent was neutral and Dean tried to breath deeply to quell his panic. “Whatever happens, Dean, I’ll take care of you.”
Dean’s wide eyes looked into Cas’ calm ones and he tried to nod. He nearly jumped out of his chair when there was a slight knock on the door. Cas called for whoever it was to enter and Dean watched as Abbadon and their doctor, Joshua, entered the room.
Dean liked Joshua. He was a kind, older gentleman who was always respectful and careful with the omegas. Dean trusted him. He was the first doctor he had ever been treated by who he trusted. Seeing him now, though, Dean thought he might throw up.
“Hello Dean,” the beta greeted him. Joshua moved carefully and with purpose. He was always calm and efficient and it usually helped Dean to relax and feel comfortable, but today it did nothing for him.
“Joshua,” Dean managed to murmur. The doctor smiled sympathetically at him.
“I hear that we had a short heat,” he said as he set his bag on the bed. Dean could only nod silently. “Alright then, I’ll need to look you over. Do you want your alpha to step outside?” he asked Dean.
Dean’s head whipped around at the sound of the low growl from Cas. The alpha quickly cut it off and Dean saw he had clenched his jaw. He could see it ticking in the corner of his jaw. He blinked and looked from Joshua to Dean.
“I’ll do whatever you want me to, Dean,” he told him. Dean’s surprise was evident but Cas only nodded that Dean had heard him correctly.
He looked back to Joshua and bit the inside of his cheek. “I’d like him to stay,” he told the beta. Joshua nodded and gestured for Dean to move to the bed.
“I’ll be right outside,” he heard Abbadon tell Cas. “Let me know what you need.”
“Thank you,” Cas told her as Dean sat on the bed. He moved closer to where Dean and Joshua were then and Dean tried to calm his racing heart and shallow breaths.
“Alright then, Dean, I’m just going to get some vitals first. Routine things you’re familiar with, okay?” Joshua’s soothing voice and scent of gardenias washed over Dean as he nodded and closed his eyes.
He followed Joshua’s directions to open his mouth and breath deeply. The doctor didn’t mention the fact that his pulse was high or his deep breaths weren’t as deep as they should have been, nor did he mention the fear and panic that was surely saturating the air in the small room.
He took a moment to check his mating bite and put some ointment on it to help the healing along.
Dean tried to calm himself down but he couldn’t. The situation was already a mess with an accidental mating, they didn’t need this on top of it. Cas told him he would take care of Dean no matter what happened, and Dean wanted to believe him. So far Cas had shown that he would take care of Dean. He had defended him against Hael’s hurtful words and had fed him. He told him he would keep Dean as his mate and wouldn’t abandon him. Dean hoped it was true.
“Dean.” Joshua’s voice changed slightly and he opened his eyes. “I can take some blood to be absolutely sure, but I think that your alpha would probably be an easier test.”
Dean pressed his lips together. He didn’t mind Cas being close and scenting him, that wasn’t it. It was just the fact that he would have an answer one way or another if Cas scented him. His alpha would be able to detect the faint sweetness in his scent. The blood test would only back up his alpha’s nose.
He looked at Cas and nodded his head. Cas moved closer from where he was still standing separate from him. Dean moved over on the bed slightly so that Cas had more room to sit down and he laid his sweaty hands flat on his thighs to stop them from shaking.
Dean sucked in a deep breath of Cas’ icy scent and tipped his head, exposing his throat and scent gland on the opposite side from where his mating gland was. He closed his eyes as he felt Cas’ arm snake around his waist and pulled him close.
Dean shuddered when he felt the alpha’s hot breath on his skin. Cas pressed his nose into the juncture between Dean’s neck and shoulder where the scent would be strongest and ran his nose up and down. The slight stiffening of the alpha combined with the increase in excitement in his scent told Dean all he needed to know.
He looked warily at Cas when he pulled away. He smiled at Dean and cupped his jaw. Dean didn’t need the confirmation, but he knew that Joshua did.
Cas nodded his head and looked to the doctor. He pulled Dean closer to his side as he spoke. “I can smell it. There’s a faint hint of sweetness there.”
Joshua nodded and smiled. “Congratulations,” he told them. “If you can smell it and your heat stopped on day three, Dean, that means that you probably pupped the first day or very early on the second. It might have been one reason that you mated him, Alpha Novak.”
“Thank you, Joshua,” Cas told him quietly. He turned to Dean and gently tilted his chin up until Dean was looking into his clear blue eyes. “Do you want to do a blood test to confirm?”
Dean licked his lips before he spoke. “No, Cas, your nose is just as good.”
“Then we’ll forgo that and get you home.” He turned back to Joshua. “Would you tell Abbadon that we are finished and that Dean will need to get his things from his room? I assume that I will not be allowed up to the private quarters.”
“I’ll do that,” Joshua told him as he packed up his bag. “Good luck to you both,” he said as he headed to the door.
Dean didn’t resist when Cas pulled him into his arms and tucked his nose into his neck. Dean let him mold him how he saw fit and relaxed against his strong chest. Dean breathed in and out, focusing on his scent and the calm the alpha was exuding.
He heard the door open and close and knew that Abby was there again.
“Joshua said that Dean needs to get his things from his room,” she said, confirming that was correct.
Dean heard the rumble of Cas’ deep voice as he answered her. The vibrations through his chest to Dean’s ear helped to calm him down further. He took a deep breath and took all the pieces of the last few days and pulled them apart in his brain.
Heat.
Mating.
Unemployed.
Pup.
Once Dean had sorted everything in his mind he felt like he could think more clearly, even if there were no answers and he was still reeling from the events of the last hour or so. He had gotten good at putting things away to be able to push through in the moment.
“Dean?” Cas asked. Dean jerked up and realized that Cas had probably called his name a few times.
“Yes, sorry,” he said, flushing.
“It’s alright,” Cas reassured him. “I know you’re exhausted and you’ve had a long few days followed by a lot of new information to process.”
Dean nodded when it seemed like he was expecting a response.
“I want to get you home so that I can get you settled and we can decide what we are going to do. In order to do that, I need you to go with Abbadon to your room and pack your things. She’ll escort you so that no one will stop you.”
Dean nodded again and the alpha released his hold, allowing Dean to stand. He glanced up at Abbadon’s face, but she wore a neutral look. Her scent matched it and Dean knew that she was purposefully concealing her feelings about what was going on. He glanced back to his new mate and the alpha smiled at him.
“I’m going to call for a car and it should be here about the time you get back,” Cas told him.
Dean nodded and moved towards the door, the dismissal clear. He walked silently with Abbadon to the elevator that would take him upstairs to the omega’s private quarters. He wasn’t even sure what time it was.
They were quiet as they exited the elevator and Dean pressed the keys to the passcode lock on his door. It opened into a small room that was neat and tidy.
Every omega had their own room with a lock on the door. There were several common spaces throughout the floor of rooms but everyone was set up on their own for privacy. It was one perk of working here.
Dean went to his dresser first and pulled on a pair of boxer briefs and a pair of pants. He kept Cas’ shirt on. He pulled on socks and his boots and he felt better. Like he was more in control.
Dean walked to the small closet and pulled out the large duffle bag he had when he arrived. He shook it out and put it on the neatly made bed. He began to pull out all his clothing from the closet and the dresser. It wasn’t much and what he had was not new by any stretch of the imagination, but everything was clean and folded neatly.
He moved to his nightstand and began to tuck his things into the bag. He put the few books he owned in there along with his bathroom materials from the caddy on top. They didn’t have single bathrooms but shared a locker room together to shower and groom themselves.
He tossed in his slippers, his baseball cap, his sneakers and a few precious keepsakes from his family. He grabbed his wallet from the nightstand drawer and took another look around.
The walls were bare and nothing was left on the dresser or nightstand. He moved to pull open every drawer to make sure before he headed to the closet. There were very few things in there. He had one nice button-down shirt and a pair of dark slacks that he could wear with it. He pulled those out of the closet on the wire hanger and laid them gently down into the bag. He looked around and was satisfied that he hadn’t missed anything.
Abbadon had been silent the entire time Dean was packing. He looked up to her and nodded.
“I’ve gotten everything,” he told her. He wasn’t surprised to hear how thin and shaky his voice sounded even to him.
“I’ll take you back downstairs,” she told him. She led the way out of the room and back to the elevator. On the way down, she turned to Dean and gave him a small smile. “This could be a very good thing for you, Dean. Alpha Novak seems quite taken with you, and I assume there is a pup?”
“There is,” he told her. He looked down at his boots. “I’ll try and make the best of it,” he told her. “I just don’t know what that means.”
“You’ll figure it out, Dean. You’re a strong omega to have endured the things you have. Maybe this is your reward.”
Dean huffed a laugh at that and exited from the elevator as it landed on the first floor. Cas was there waiting for him and Dean went straight over.
Cas reached out and took the bag from him and frowned. “Is this everything?” he asked.
“Yes,” Dean told him quietly. He didn’t need to be reminded of how little he owned or what his position was.
“Alright. The car I called for has arrived and is waiting outside. Are you ready?”
Dean shot him a look. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” Dean mumbled. Cas must have heard him because he bid Abbadon good-bye and gently herded him forward with a hand on the small of his back.
Dean took measured steps to the doors. Things were moving too fast. Three days ago he had been heading to work on a normal Wednesday night. Now apparently, it was very late on Saturday night and he was headed to a strange alpha’s house. An alpha that was his mate and father to a pup that had been conceived during the heat that he had shared with him.
Dean swallowed thickly and tried to focus on putting one foot in front of the other.
Dean took in the dark night sky, the bright glow of the lamps and the low hum of a city that was still awake. Dean wasn’t sure what time it was, but the sun was long gone and the deep dark of night had settled over the sky.
There was a car idling at the sidewalk that Cas guided him towards. It was a sleek black town car, something Dean had never been in before. There was a driver who exited upon their arrival and took the bag from Cas with a greeting.
“Good evening, Alpha Novak,” he said.
“Alfie,” Cas greeted him back. “Thank you for coming so late.”
“My pleasure sir,” the beta, Alfie, replied.
Dean felt awkward and out of place. He wasn’t sure what to do and he was uncomfortable. He had been the one in the service position all his life. He didn’t know how to act on the other side.
“Alfie, this is Dean, my mate,” Cas continued. Dean was surprised he was introduced and tried to smile at the beta. The driver smiled back and Dean could see that he was about the same age as Dean.
“It’s nice to meet you, Omega Novak,” Alfie told him and Dean was a little jarred by the title. He hadn’t considered that he was now a Novak omega. Dean managed a smile to the beta and Cas opened the door for him to slide in while Alfie put his bag into the trunk.
Dean slid across the soft leather bench seat and Cas followed him inside. Dean realized his hands were shaking and he pressed them between his thighs to stop the trembling. The reality of the situation was now crashing around him as the shock wore off.
He thought about where they were going. He tried to process that he was moving to a new place with a strange alpha. Alfie returned to the front seat and they pulled away from the curb. Dean snuck a glance at the alpha next to him and found his eyes on Dean.
Dean appreciated the steady gaze and calm scent because he knew his must be going in many different directions. Dean was scared. Every single thing in his life had been turned upside down and now he had no choices about what would happen. He was mated and pregnant and had no family or resources to help him outside of his alpha. He would be completely dependent on Cas.
“We’re going to my apartment on the Upper West Side,” Cas told him. Dean nodded slightly.
“Okay,” he whispered. There wasn’t really anything else he could say. He was in the car, headed to the apartment where, presumably, he would live with the alpha.
Cas laid his hand on the seat between them, palm up. It was an invitation and Dean didn’t hesitate to put his own on top. Cas laced their fingers together and squeezed his hand. Dean was able to breathe a bit easier, the tight band across his chest easing.
He didn’t know this alpha, but his instincts had been honed pretty well the last few years, and he could tell that this one wasn’t dangerous. Cas had given him nothing but kindness and respect, even if Dean was a whore.
He watched the city go by as they made their way to Cas’ house. Dean thought about the places he had lived in his life and nothing compared to what he was about to enter. Cas must have a nice apartment. There was nothing middle class about the Upper West Side and Dean knew that he was going to be in a place that was even nicer than the lounge at the club.
That would be his new home for however long this alpha decided to keep him. Dean swallowed down his unease and held Cas' hand more tightly. He had wanted a mate and pups, but he didn’t think he would ever get them, let alone like this.
Cas would be his sole source of support and safety. While a part of him was grateful that someone else was looking out for him again, it also terrified him to be at the mercy of an alpha he didn’t know. He had never been bothered by the fact that his mate would be those things to Dean, but this was not what he had envisioned. He thought he would have at least known the alpha’s name before they mated.
The idea that Dean’s omega was so dependent on the alpha was also something that he worried about. It wasn’t just the financial aspect or the fact that a mated omega was much safer than an unmated one. It was that he was bonded to this alpha. His omega was chemically tied to him and Dean’s body and mind would seek him out and need him in ways that Dean wasn’t sure he was comfortable with when he didn’t know his mate.
Dean continued to turn over his thoughts in his mind while they journeyed on. Cas stayed silent but squeezed his hand every now and then. Dean was grateful that the alpha let him be alone with his thoughts and didn’t try to make small talk or press him with questions. There would be plenty of time for that later.
Maybe Cas was trying to process too. He seemed confident and in control on the outside, but maybe he wasn’t so calm inside.
Dean didn’t have time to speculate further because they slowed in front of a tall, well kept building. Alfie pulled to the curb in front of the impressive doors and a doorman immediately stepped out to open the door for Dean, who was curbside.
“Good evening, Alpha Novak,” the door man greeted them softly. Cas shuffled Dean out of the car and took his hand again.
“Good evening Jesse,” Cas greeted the beta.
Dean stayed silent and let Cas lead him by the hand into the luxurious building. Dean immediately felt out of place. He looked around the quiet, open foyer and noticed a concierge desk and several common spaces.
Dean caught sight of a clock above the elevators that Cas led him to and realized it was almost eleven o’clock. They had been in an unused hallway once they were moved and Abbadon had them led out a side door for privacy, but Dean knew that normally he’d be working his way through the crowd in the lounge at this time.
At his old work.
He risked darting another glance around as he waited silently with Cas. He had never been in a place that was this nice before. He wasn’t sure if he should touch anything and watching Jesse bring in his tattered duffle made the contrast between his life and Cas’ all the starker.
Cas turned to Jesse and thanked him for bringing the bag. He shouldered it and said good night to the beta who tipped his hat before he went back to his post. Dean clung to Cas’ hand as the elevator opened and they stepped inside.
“Jesse is our usual night doorman. He’s friendly and good at his job. This is a well secured place, so you will be safe here.” Cas looked down at him and Dean nodded. He wasn’t sure what else to do or say. He glanced down and realized that Cas had pushed the button for the top floor.
Dean’s stomach sank. He wasn’t sure how much money Cas had, but if they were going to the penthouse in this building, it was significant. He waited in silence. He tried to take deep inhales of Cas’ scent and remain calm. He knew he wasn’t succeeding when Cas let go of his hand and pulled him into his side. Cas wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him close. Dean didn’t fight the urge to let himself lean on the alpha and he wrapped his own arms around his middle.
When the elevator dinged a moment later, Cas didn’t let Dean go, as he thought he would. Instead he just stepped forward with Dean supported by his arm. Dean went with him without delay and his eyes widened at the sight that greeted him.
The elevator opened right into the apartment, but this wasn’t an apartment that Dean would ever expect in New York. The foyer he had was large and open and Dean could see that it led into a living room. There was a kitchen beyond and a stairwell that led to another level upstairs. There was a hallway with more doors and Dean could see a beautiful terrace outside. Dean’s entire room at the club could fit into the foyer.
They stepped into a modern living room with a large leather couch and chairs that Dean thought looked incredibly uncomfortable. There was a large TV above the raised fireplace and a view out of the windows that was breathtaking.
Behind the couch was a table big enough to sit six people and beyond that was the entrance to the kitchen. Dean only caught a glimpse through the open door, but he could see a large island and stools sitting at it.
Everything was neat and clean and Dean wondered how much time Cas spent here for everything to be so sterile. There were no dishes or dirty socks on the floor. There were no books or magazines or anything that made him think someone actually lived in the space.
“Let’s get you settled, then, alright?” Cas asked him. Dean nodded and followed the alpha to the stairs.
There were many more doors up on the second floor than Dean thought there would be. Cas must have noticed his surprise because he turned.
“There are four bedrooms and two bathrooms plus the master suite,” he told Dean. Dean swallowed hard and followed Cas down the hallway.
When they stopped at an open door in the middle of others Dean was confused. He didn’t think the master bedroom would be here. He quickly realized that Cas had led him to an extra bedroom. He tried to keep his scent neutral but inside he was reeling again.
Part of him was relieved that Cas wasn’t expecting him to jump right back into bed with him and he appreciated the alpha thinking about giving him some space while they got to know each other, but the other part, the mated omega part, only felt the rejection of being separated from his mate.
Maybe it was just as well. When Cas got to know Dean, he would probably realize that he didn’t want to be mated to him anyway, so Dean shouldn’t get comfortable here.
Cas put his duffle on the bed and turned to him. Dean tried to give him a smile but it felt brittle. He was exhausted and Dean knew it was affecting his ability to think clearly. The heat had taken a lot out of him and he had only eaten one meal a while ago. It was late, but he needed to eat and drink some water. He knew that Cas needed it too.
“Make yourself at home, here, Dean. This is your space and home now, too.” He looked around the room before looking back at Dean. “I hope you like it here. There are several others if you don’t.”
“Oh, no,” Dean was quick to reassure him. “This is wonderful, alpha, thank you.”
Cas looked at him for a moment and Dean tried to smile. “Alright. Well, I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”
Dean nodded and Cas closed the door behind him. Dean stared into the empty room. |
JIMIN
Jimin was staring at Namjoon who was sucking on the end of his pencil looking rather pensive. He wanted to gauge Namjoon’s mood and at the moment he seemed like a volcano with bubbling lava threatening to burst at any given moment.
He grunted scratching something in his notebook.
“I think I gotta start over,” he said more to himself.
“You can’t get it…?”
“Not now Jimin,” Namjoon said holding up his palm. “I have to focus.”
Jimin sighed. This was not going anything like he had planned it for it to go. They were actually studying instead of talking which was what Jimin had envisioned when Namjoon had said yes to meeting up. Jimin knew it was unfair because he had literally asked him for help with Math and Namjoon was just keeping his promise.
“Namjoon…,”
“What?” Jimin he said keeping his book down. “I told you I need to focus…”
“You can leave that problem for now,” Jimin suggested. “We can move onto the next one.”
Jimin had to do it for his sanity. He wasn’t letting Namjoon sit there and do equations for the next 15 minutes.
“Fine,” Namjoon sighed as he leafed through the pages of the book to find the next problem.
“This one?” he asked to which Jimin nodded.
“We already went through this before,” Namjoon said. “Have you been practising?”
“I have…,” Jimin began. “But you know how I am with Math…I just forget stuff sometimes.”
It was a lie, Jimin had been practising a lot. He had to maintain his grades or else he would be kicked out of the exchange program and he wasn’t gonna take any chances with it.
“Fine,” Namjoon sighed. “But you gotta focus…so you can remember it later on okay?”
Jimin nodded as he watched Namjoon explain the same problem again. Though he was only half-listening. After a few problems, Jimin had finally hit his limit of feigning interest in Math.
“Let’s take a break,” Jimin said closing his book shut.
“We have barely finished 5 problems.”
“I know,” Jimin said. “But if I learn too much all at once. It just confuses my brain.”
“Fine.”
Namjoon shut his book and picked up his phone completely ignoring Jimin’s presence.
“So…Namjoon what’s up with you lately?”
“Nothing much,” he replied not even looking up from his phone. He hadn’t even tried feigning interest in what Jimin asked let alone ask him about anything. Jimin couldn’t understand what could have happened that Namjoon was suddenly so cold and sullenly. What exactly had he done? Or was it something that Namjoon was going through personally that he felt like he couldn’t tell Jimin?
Jimin cleared his throat. Namjoon was still ignoring him.
“Hey…Namjoon about that crush of yours…how is that going?” he asked. Surely, this would help them in making conversation and maybe Jimin would finally find out why Namjoon had been avoiding him like he was the personification of the black plague.
Namjoon set his phone down sitting up straighter.
“That’s a long enough break,” he said. “5 minutes is enough to recharge your break. Now let’s get started.”
Namjoon opened the textbook marking something with his pencil. Jimin could sense that he was avoiding the conversation but Jimin wasn’t going to be discouraged so easily.
“You didn’t answer my question Namjoon,”
“Look, Jimin,” Namjoon said his voice laced with anger. “I took time out especially for you because you need help. I have lots of things to do. Festival duties and I too just like you have an exam coming up which I need to study for.”
“Why are you getting so angry Namjoon?” Jimin asked hurt.
“I am not angry.”
“But you are…,” Jimin said. “All I asked was a simple question.”
“Which frankly is none of your business Jimin,” Namjoon said. “About whatever I do with my stupid crush or whatever”
“Namjoon…,”
“Jimin, I really don’t like distractions when I am studying…” Namjoon said wearily. “So, can we please continue?”
“Fine,” Jimin said as he closed his book and began gathering his stuff.
“What are you doing?” Namjoon asked. “Are you leaving?”
“Yes, I am sorry to have disturbed you so much.”
“Jimin come on now…”
“Thanks for the help.” Jimin quietly said as he left Namjoon’s dorm. He heard Namjoon say something as he left but he didn’t bother to let him finish as he walked off, his eyes blurry with tears forming. It wasn’t just the fact that Namjoon was so rude it was just that Jimin had always considered him a good friend but suddenly he hated Jimin’s guts.
Jimin stopped on his tracks wiping the tears that were forming. He took out his phone and called his mother who picked up on the third ring. He leaned against the wall smiling immediately after hearing her loud hello over the phone.
“Hey, mom.”
“Why did you call?” she asked. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah mom I am fine,” Jimin said. “I just missed you”
“I missed you too…I always miss you.”
“I know.”
“Are you studying well?” she asked. “Did you study today?”
“Yeah mom, I was just studying.”
“Did you eat?”
“Yes.”
“Eat well…you looked so skinny on video chat the other day. You always have me worrying about you, you silly boy.”
Jimin laughed.
“And take care of yourself okay,” she said. “Call more often…your poor parents just want to hear your voice sometimes”
“Okay mom,” Jimin sighed. “I will call more often.”
“There are a lot of customers now,” she said. “I have to go now.”
“Okay mom, take care,” he said as his mother hung up. It felt a lot better talking to his mother. Sometimes he felt so alone in this strange country and hearing her voice always made him feel like he was right at home eating the hamburgers she would make when Jimin would score well in his exams to reward him since they were always his favourite.
Jimin smiled to himself holding his phone close to his chest.
TAEHYUNG
Today was the day, Taehyung had told himself. The day had finally come when he would lay it all out, the entire truth, no bullshit, no more lies, no more games. He would go naked well…with his feelings.
He had even brought a rose…cheesy a lot of people might say but he remembered Jimin mentioning that he liked red roses once in passing and it was just one added nice gesture. Besides, it was a flower you can never go wrong with flowers.
He heard a knock on the door and immediately stood up, straightening his hair and clothes before he opened the door.
“Hey Jimin,” he said. Jimin didn’t say anything but instead just hugged him immediately catching Taehyung off guard who just hugged him back slowly patting his back as he closed the door with his free hand. When Jimin didn’t move he could sense something was wrong.
“Jimin,” he said. “Are you okay?”
Jimin stopped hugging him and just shook his head no.
“Come on sit down,” Taehyung said. “Tell me what’s wrong”
Jimin sat down on the bed, Taehyung could see he looked like he was on the verge of crying.
“Tell me,”
“Namjoon,”
“What about him?”
“I don’t know…we just had a fight,” Jimin said. “If I can call it that.”
“Fight…about what?”
“He got very angry when I asked him about his crush.”
“Oh.”
“I don’t know Taehyung,” Jimin sighed. “He was never like this. He was always so nice but lately, it feels like he hates my guts.”
Taehyung listened.
“He stopped sitting next to me in class. He always avoids me at any cost. And today it was like he hated to even be in the same presence as me.”
Jimin looked at Taehyung.
“Sometimes I feel like I am this horrible person.”
“What…no,” Taehyung said. “That is not true.”
“But it is,” Jimin said. “I drive everyone away. I just feel like every person I have met here since I got here. They all just hate my guts now.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do,” Jimin said. “And it is my fault.”
“Jimin…,”
“I don’t know why am I like this,” Jimin said as he stood up from his spot. “I don’t want them to hate me. All I want is a friend…that is all I have ever wanted since I got here. But I just drive everyone away like I am so repulsive.”
“You are speaking utter nonsense now Jimin,” Taehyung said.
“I am sorry Taehyung,” Jimin said. “I don’t know why am I acting so crazy. I just didn’t expect Namjoon of all people to hate me especially when he has been so nice.”
“I just…I just don’t want to feel so alone all the time.” Jimin finished.
Taehyung stood up from his spot and hugged Jimin tightly who rested his head on Taehyung’s shoulder.
“I am your friend Jimin,” Taehyung said. “And I always will be. You don’t have to feel alone ever as long as I am around.”
“Thank you, Tae,” Jimin said. “I don’t know what I’d do without you to keep me sane”
“You don’t have to know,” Taehyung said. “I will always be around.”
Jimin stopped hugging Taehyung and smiled.
“So, you wanna watch that movie you really like?” Taehyung asked. “Again.”
Jimin nodded. They sat together on Taehyung’s bed the laptop on a pillow as they watched the movie together. Jimin rested his head on Taehyung’s shoulder his hand on Taehyung’s thigh the other periodically fishing through a bag of popcorn.
Taehyung smiled to himself. It was a good day even though he couldn’t confess to Jimin and he could see the rose that he had brought for Jimin on the table next to his bed slowly wilting away. It was definitely not as fresh as the florist had claimed.
But none of it mattered because Jimin was with him and things were as perfect as he had ever wanted them to be.
YOONGI
Days for Yoongi would always be the same. The lectures of his professors that lasted too long and then his job that paid far too little but there was one highlight and that was having the best roommate in the entire world.
He would admit Jimin wasn’t the best roommate by most people’s standards. Though to give him credit where it was due, he no longer left wet towels on the bed and there were no more dishes filled in the sink left there to ‘soak’.
Yoongi was almost ready to leave the bar to go back to home. The home sweet home was a dorm room which was barely bigger than his room back home. Yoongi also made enough to stop living there and that he could easily rent a flat near the University. But he liked the tiny dorm room because well Jimin was there. There was no beating around the bush with that.
“Yoongi,” he heard a voice as he was about to leave. It was Miyeon one of the bartenders.
“Hey, Miyeon,” he said.
“I was heading home. So um I thought we can walk together. You are going to the bus stop right?”
Yoongi nodded. She smiled before they left the bar and walked together.
“So uh how's Uni going?” she asked. “I mean classes and stuff”
“Good…they are good,”
Miyeon had dropped out of University. She claimed that she was taking a break year and that she would return after a year. But it had been two years or so he had heard from his co-workers. Yoongi didn’t like to judge her. He was sure she had her reasons.
“So um are you free this weekend?” she asked looking at Yoongi as they reached the bus stop.
“I uh guess so,” Yoongi shrugged. “Why…do you need a shift covered or something?”
“No actually I uh…,” she said shifting from one foot to another as she scratched her forehead.
“I was wondering if you would be free to uh grab some drinks with me or something I don’t know…”
“Oh.”
Miyeon looked at him as if judging the expression on his face.
“I am sorry Miyeon but I don’t think I can…,” Yoongi began when she cut her off.
“No, I get it I get it,” she said chuckling a bit. “It’s fine if you are not interested.”
“Yeah…it’s just I um I like someone,” Yoongi said.
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Who is it? It’s Chaerin right…I mean I have seen the way she looks at you sometime. Not subtle.”
Yoongi laughed.
“No…it’s not Chaerin or anyone from work. It’s someone from Uni.”
“Oh…cool.”
Yoongi just nodded looking at the street to see if his bus was coming already so he could escape this awkward situation. But it was nowhere to be seen.
“We don’t have to uh make this awkward…,” Miyeon chuckled. “I thought I should just say it upfront.”
“Oh yeah I mean it's no big deal right,” Yoongi said.
“Yeah.”
Yoongi’s bus had finally shown up. He heaved a huge sigh of relief.
“I uh will see you tomorrow then,” Miyeon said as he began to walk off.
“Yeah, and again I am sorry…,”
“Don’t be.”
“See you,” Yoongi said as he got in the bus. He took the seat at the back and looked back at Miyeon who was standing by the bus stop as the bus drove off.
Yoongi sympathized with Miyeon more than he realized. They weren’t so different after all each stuck on a person that had someone else in their mind.
Yoongi sighed internally as he sat back wondering why your heart always pined for the person who would be the first one to break it.
JUNGKOOK
Jeon Jungkook's mind was a mess, such a mess that even his coach had commented on how distracted he seemed.
“Kid, you gotta focus,” he said. “You are slacking off”
“I am sorry, coach.”
“You know at this rate, I’d have to kick you out of the team,” he said in a firm voice. “You got in because of your talent. Don’t throw that all away okay”
Jungkook nodded. He felt guilty. He could only imagine how mad his parents would be if he were to be kicked off the college team. The disappointed narrowed eyes from his father, his mother’s slow nod with a sigh that he would see after every meeting at the school that never seemed to leave him even though it had been so long.
It wasn’t that Jungkook wasn’t dumb. He didn’t enjoy school. It was that simple much to his parent’s dismay but he was good at football. And here he was in University solely on that and slowly it seemed that he was losing that too.
Jungkook left the ground. He didn’t want to go back to the frat house. So he instead headed to Yugyeom’s dorm room. His best friend who opened the door positively beamed upon seeing him. It felt really good when someone was that happy to see you.
“You okay,” Yugyeom asked as Jungkook entered the room and deeply sighed burying his face in a pillow.
“Not really, no,” Jungkook said as he sat up.
Yugyeom sat down beside him, a concerned expression on his face.
“What is it?” he asked.
“For starters,” Jungkook said. “I am doing shit at football. Like losing my form. I have exams that I haven’t studied shit for. And I like some boy who couldn’t care less about me.”
“Back it up for a second there dude,” Yugyeom said. “Did you just say you are in love with a boy?”
It was nice to know that his best friend’s priorities were sorted.
“What suddenly it’s hard for you to hear or something?”
“What the fuck Jungkook?” Yugyeom said. “Who is it?”
Jungkook just looked at Yugyeom. He couldn’t even make himself say it. Yugyeom’s eyes widened, that for a second it looked like they could pop out of their sockets.
“I fucking knew it.”
Jungkook sighed burying his face in his hands.
“Oh my god…all these years I have known you,” Yugyeom said. “And for the first time, you tell me you like someone.”
“Well I…,”
“So, what’s the plan?” Yugyeom asked. “What are you gonna do to get him?”
“Well, as of now there is no plan…”
“You’re gonna tell him, right?”
“I don’t know about that…”
“What the hell Jungkook why would you not tell him…?”
“I don’t know what he feels for me,” Jungkook said. “And from all our interactions he seems to hate me.”
“You can’t be sure about that.”
“I don’t know Yugyeom,” Jungkook said as he got up from and began pacing around the room. “I like Jimin a lot and I don’t want to mess it up.”
“I know…but you got to tell him Kook or how is he ever to decide if he likes you,” Yugyeom said. “You have to give him the choice first.”
“Well…,” Jungkook began but he couldn’t argue with that. He had to tell Jimin. But he couldn’t even imagine what Jimin would do, react or say. All he could picture was Jimin’s usual glare that he secretly enjoyed a lot.
“So, are you going to tell him or not?”
“I think I will…,” Jungkook said.
Yugyeom squealed. His voice so high pitched Jungkook was convinced a human could not have made that sound. He couldn’t fathom why exactly Yugyeom was so excited over this.
“So,” Yugyeom said. “When are you going to tell him?”
“I um…have to think about that still.”
NAMJOON
Namjoon looked at himself into the mirror and it was almost like he truly despised what he saw. He didn’t know when he had turned so bitter that he burst like that on Jimin for no apparent reason.
And now he regretted it so much like his heart was threatening to burst out of his chest because of all the guilt bubbling up inside it.
The image of Jimin’s hurt face refused to leave his eyes as if it had imprinted itself there. How could he have hurt him so much?
Namjoon left the bathroom and threw himself on the bed. He looked at his phone that was lying by his pillow. All he had to do was text Jimin and tell him how sorry he was for everything he had said before. It had to be easy right?
Yet, as soon as he grabbed the phone it almost didn’t feel enough. A text seemed disingenuous, a cop-out almost. Maybe Namjoon could call that is if Jimin picked up. He sighed burying his face in the pillow. He couldn’t even bear the thought of seeing Jimin in class tomorrow and what would he even say to him.
Namjoon knew he had to do something.
He looked at the phone. It was past 8, the morning when he had yelled Jimin seemed like a distant day that almost didn’t happen. Namjoon opened up the chat app his finger hovering over Jimin’s profile before he typed the message.
‘Hi’
A few seconds later Jimin came online. He didn’t reply but the message bore the dreaded blue ticks.
‘Jimin I am sorry’
The message was again read.
‘I want to tell you something’ send Namjoon.
‘It’s okay’ Jimin typed back.
‘No, it is not. I want to meet you. I have to tell you something’
‘I said I forgive you’ came Jimin’s text.
‘I know. But I still want to meet you.’
‘Fine’
‘Meet me in the café near campus. In 20 minutes’
‘Okay’
‘See you’ sent Namjoon. Jimin read it but didn’t bother to reply.
Namjoon sighed as he stood up from his spot on the bed. He grabbed his jacket and left his room realizing it was a tad too chilly with his flimsy jacket as he walked to the café. The last time he remembered being nervous was when he was checking the results for his college entrance exams. He knew he had done well but his heart was still beating like crazy as he was sat in front of his laptop to see his results. However, this time he wasn’t as confident.
The café was filled with the usual crowd. There was no sign of Jimin yet. Namjoon ordered two Americanos for both of them as he waited for Jimin to show up. He did show up just as one of the waiters brought over the coffees when Namjoon had almost given up on him coming.
Namjoon smiled as Jimin sat on the chair a neutral expression on his face.
“I ordered for us,” Namjoon said. “Americanos I hope you don’t mind.’
“I don’t like Americanos.’
“Oh, I am sorry Jimin…I uh didn’t know.” Namjoon said. “You don’t have to drink it.’
“I won’t.”
“You want to uh get something else…,”
“No, I am fine.”
This was a different Jimin, the one who spoke in straight sentences and seemed to have a permanent scowl on his face. Namjoon knew he deserved every bit of cold treatment that he was receiving.
Namjoon sipped his Americano, it was almost scalding hot for some reason. He immediately set the cup down catching Jimin’s attention as he stuck his tongue out.
“Are you okay?” Jimin asked.
“Uh yeah…just the damn coffee was too hot.”
Namjoon noticed Jimin almost smiling. He was almost positive it was a small smile. Maybe he wasn’t in that much of a bad mood as Namjoon had anticipated as he sat up straighter.
“Jimin.”
Jimin who was looking out of the windows looked at him.
“Yeah.”
“I am sorry,” Namjoon said. “For behaving the way, I did this morning.”
“I told you I forgive you.”
“I know but I do think that you deserved a better apology, one in person.”
“It really is no big deal Namjoon…,”
“And that is not all Jimin,” Namjoon said holding up his finger. “Like I said I have something to tell you”
“What is it?”
“The reason I got so touchy about…um, my crush is…,”
“Is?”
Namjoon took a deep sigh.
“It’s you…”
“It’s me what…now?” Jimin asked.
“I have a crush on you Jimin…,”
“What?!”
|
“Okay...nice to meet you?” says Brian looking around.
Will sighs in exasperation, while scrubbing his hands under his eyeglasses and over his eyes and face. “Okay. Whatever. I’m...leaving.” Will grinds out. His jaw locked in frustration. He begins to unbutton his heavy wool coat with one hand, while pulling off the scarf with his other.
As Will opens his coat, Hannibal smells blood. His eyes dart to Will’s faded hunter green shirt. There is a blossoming of blood underneath the ribs on his left. What had started out as a steady trickle has started to gush. The smell in sweet and warm. Hannibal resists the urge to lick his lips.
“Where are you planning on going Will?” He asks.
Will looks up at Hannibal. His eyes briefly land on Lecter’s iron oxide colored eyes. He can feel his interest. Will decides to let his vision rest on Hannibal’s pocket square.
“I’m going home where I plan to hang out with my pack and get shit faced.” He murmurs.
By now, Jack and the team have noticed the blood running down his shirt. Jimmy states, “I think you need to go with the EMT’s first.”
Will turns towards him with an expectant look. “You’re bleeding, dude!” Brian finishes for Jimmy.
Will starts to shiver after taking off his coat. The shock finally settles in, with a push from the cool breeze. His hands drop the garments in reflex, his hands move up to hold his side. Will feels a whimper start low in his throat and steadily rises in volume. He’s tries to control the whimper but he can’t concentrate on his voice while shaking. The omega cry makes Jack turn on his heel and yell for the EMT’s. Hannibal puts his arms under Will’s, gently positioning him on the ground.
On the other side of the police line, two EMT’s jump into action. They grab their gear. They jog over to where Will is sitting on the ground. Lecter is putting pressure on Will’s side kneeling beside him.
Will’s vision is tunneling and his hearing is muffled. He hears the EMT’s speaking with Lecter. He feels someone lowering his body gently to the ground. Will sees green eyes and a concerned frown of lips. He realizes its Matthew Brown.
Will slams his head back in panic and feels a throbbing pain. “Whoa! Hey buddy it’s going to be fine, don’t panic” Matthew tries to soothe Will.
“Holy shit! Just stay away from me!” Will tries to sit up, only to be pushed back down by several pairs of hands. “How did you get out of jail?” Will groans out.
“Is there something I should know?” asks the other EMT. Matthew grins and shakes his head. He chuckles “Nothing that I’m aware of.”
Will is struggling against the EMT’s and Hannibal, as they try to assess his injury.
Mathew grabs Will’s face and forces eye contact. “Sir! If you keep fighting us we are going to restrain you! Do you understand?”
Will stops struggling. “I’ll sign a waiver. I refuse treatment!” He wheezes out.
He feels the blood rise to his throat and tastes it in his mouth. Will barely suppresses a cough. His blood clings to the edge of his lips. Hannibal’s eyes dilate in hunger when he sees the blood. Will notices Hannibal’s eyes the moment it happens. Will starts fighting again, pushing away from Lecter. He pulls his body toward Matthew.
“William! You can’t refuse treatment. You are injured and going to the hospital.” Lecter calmly states. Hannibal grabs Will's arms holding them down.
“Why!? I have rights! Or don’t omegas have rights?” Will growls back.
Matthew, a beta, lifts his eyebrows and looks at Hannibal sidelong. He tries not to smile. It’s not every day an omega talks like that to an alpha.
Hannibal looks at the other EMT. “You are going to have to sedate and restrain him.”
“Hey! Stop! Don’t you fucking touch me!” Will spits out like an angry cat.
He is ignored while his sleeve is torn up the side and a sedative is injected. Will feels his wrists tied with velcro restraints to the side of the gurney. ‘When did that happen he thinks?’ Then everything fades to black.
***********
Will shifts uncomfortably on a bed. The sheets are scratchy, the bed is hard, and he smells disinfectant. ‘Hospital’ he concludes. He barely cracks his eyes. They feel crusty and heavy. He moves his head to the left. Will sees an IV pole and several bags. He moves his head to the right to see a dark skinned man sleeping next to him. He looks familiar. He attempts to remember through the haze of drugs.
He recognizes him. It’s Tobias Budge!
‘That can’t be! Holy Fuck! Holy fuck! He’s fucking dead! Hannibal killed him!’ Panic swells deep in his chest. He starts to hyperventilate. The EKG and oxygen monitor sets off an ear piercing alarm, alerting the staff to his distress. It also wakes up Budge.
Budge’s brow furrows in concern, his eyes showing worry.
“Will! You’re awake! Are you in pain? We were so worried about you!” He puts his hand on Will’s clammy forehead.
Will pulls out the IVs and pulls off the monitor strapped to his chest. He crashes out of bed as he tries to escape Budge. Budge comes around to the side Will has fallen out of. Will crawls as far under the bed as he can. He kicks at Tobias’s hands.
The nursing staff rushes into the room, followed by Lecter.
*******
While it takes three alpha orderlies and three beta nurses to get Will back into bed. Lecter pulls Budge outside the room. Both alphas bristle at each others presence, while watching Will fight the good fight. Lecter turns on the mask and introduces himself.
“I’m Dr. Hannibal Lecter. I was at the crime scene when Will was found.” “Oh, sorry! How rude of me. I am Tobias Budge, one of Will’s alpha sponsors.”
“Alpha sponsor?” Lecter’s mouth becomes a thin line. He recovers quickly looking unruffled. He is looking forward to getting to know William. This is a small hindrance.
“Will is an up and coming composer, as well as a violinist. Since he is unmated and unbound he has to have either an alpha or beta sponsor to look after him when he travels. Ms. Kimore is his main sponsor but she had to go out of town. He was staying with me for the weekend.” Tobias explains with a smile.
Hannibal thought William’s name had sounded familiar. Ms. Kimore had asked about throwing a dinner for him a month ago. Lecter remembers reading about the omega in an article last year. An omega whose new operas had inspired a new interest in the theater. William would only allow his operas to be performed, if he was there personally to guide casting, rehearsals, and stage planning. Ms. Kimore had talked about his very brash and independent nature.
“He’s brilliant but can be difficult to get along with. Artistic nature you know. We have been ‘courting’ him for months now, trying to convince him to let us perform one of his new operas. He’s finally agreed.” The beta socialite had smiled. Lecter could tell it was a coup for her, as he remembers the conversation.
Lecter clears his throat. “So William was in your charge when he was found stabbed at a crime scene.” Lecter projects a mask of calm but with an edge of smugness in his voice.
Budges eyes narrow and his smile tightens. His alpha pride has just been bitch slapped. “Yes and no, I was staying with him at Ms. Kimore’s house...”
“But you are an unbound and unmated alpha.” Interrupts Lecter pushing Tobias’s irritation further.
“That is correct, and normally Ms. Kimore would not have asked me to stay. William tends to be prickly about his independence being taken away. But he has been sleepwalking. She was afraid something would happen.”
‘Indeed it did.’ Thinks Lecter.
“I had a meeting that evening. I arrived late to Ms. Kimore’s house. I assumed William was asleep when I arrived. The clothes he had on were from that day. He was working with the staff at the opera house. I am...in the dark as to what really happened after that.” Sighs Tobias.
A nurse comes out of Will’s room. “We had to sedate him. I think it would be best if you both left for now. He needs his rest and no more cause for agitation.”
Lecter bows his head. “I can certainly agree with that. Could you please call me when he does wake up again? The FBI and I need to speak with him.” Hannibal asks. Throwing in the FBI will give him more authority to ask about Will.
“Certainly, doctor.” The nurse smiles.
|
Dipper Pines had never wanted a life full of action and adventure and living on the high seas. He never even wanted to leave his home, aside from special events he was forced to go to. He preferred to hide away in his room with his books and his drawings and let his older twin sister Mabel handle everything.So he certainly had never, ever, wanted to be hiding in his room for a different reason, listening to the whooping laughs and dying screams of the household staff and his parents. “The one time Mabel and my great uncles aren't here...” He whispered, holding his head in terror.
Mabel was born five minutes earlier than Dipper. While it may seem like a small number, his family had a thing about the oldest twin being given all the special training and the younger was left behind. Which suited Dipper just fine, but he did have to hear Mabel gripe about how a lesson went. It came in handy for the few times Dipper went out, since Mabel never left his side and protected him. But, it also got her to leave him alone in the house with their parents while she trained with their great uncles. Which is where they were at this moment, when pirates were attacking their house.Finally the screams died down and he thought that the attackers had left. He considered looking out to check, but he'd read enough murder mystery novels to know that THAT was what got you killed and so he stayed right there where he was. He heard footsteps approaching, confirming that they were still here, and silently congratulated himself on not falling for such a cliche murder mystery trap.“I don't see the twins anywhere.” He heard the voice of someone around his own age, mid-teens, and looked out through a gap in the bedspread and the floor. There was a blonde teenage boy dressed in blue and black. He'd almost wonder what he was going here, but the blood staining the blue vest was...telling.“Then use your sixth sense to find them.” He heard a high voice say. “They're around here somewhere.”“Yes, Captain.”Dipper held his breath and stayed perfectly still. The blond teen lifted his hand to his head and Dipper noticed a rainbow star on a bracelet he wore. 'That's...the Gleeful Family insignia.' He thought, resisting the urge to gasp when the teen's eyes started to glow a blue-green color.The furniture in the room started to glow and then begin to lift off the ground. Gasping, Dipper tried to keep the bed down but it escaped his grasp and he fell to the floor, exposed to the attackers. Whimpering, he ran and hid behind a curtain, curling up with his hands over his ears.“That's enough, Gideon. You can put them down.” The high voice said, and then a one-eyed sandy-blond man dressed in yellow and white approached the curtain. “You may as well come out, child. It'll be easier for you.”“Y-You're going to kill me!” Dipper cried.The man smirked and knelt down, offering a black-gloved hand. “No, that would be a waste. Come out. Where's your sister?”Dipper glared at him through the sheer curtain. “She's out. And when she comes back, you'll be so sorry!”“Will I?” The man hummed.“Yeah! S-She'll kick your butt and Great Uncle Ford will send you to the gallows!” Dipper clutched at the curtain.“Mm, yes, he does seem to like doing that.” The man hummed. “Which is actually why we're here.” He reached out and lifted Dipper by the back of his vest, chuckling at his squirming around. “We intended to take both of you, but just you will do, I suppose!”“L-Let me go!” Dipper cried, thrashing around as the man carried him at arm's length like one would a cat. “Let me go, you...you murderer!”“All the people your uncle puts to death and you have the gall to call me a murderer.” The man tsk'd at him. “Aw, little pine tree. Your attempts at bravery are adorable.”“You are a murderer, though.” The teen, who had been called “Gideon”, commented as they stepped into the blood-soaked hallway. Dipper paled and went silent, no longer thrashing around, as he was carried over the pools of blood covering the wooden floor and the bodies they came from.“True, true.” The man cackled and pushed open a damaged door, entering the red-stained living room. Dipper looked around in shock and then tears started to slip down his cheeks as he body jerked with sobs. “Aw, are you crying, little tree?” The man looked at Dipper, who was covering his face with his hands. “You should really envy them. Death is better for them, considering what else we could've done.” He smirked and ruffled his hair. “And what we have planned for you.”Dipper sobbed harder and Gideon groaned, holding up a hand. A glowing ribbon came out of his pocket and shoved into Dipper's mouth and then he pulled out some rope and bound his hands. “Just shut up already.”“Gideon, be gentle.” The man scolded. “We don't want to hurt him too badly...yet.” He smirked.They stepped out of house and joined the other pirates that were terrorizing the estate. Nodding, he motioned with his hands to the others and let out a high whistle before carrying Dipper to the ship docked at Pines family's private dock.“Let's shove off, before ol' Stanford gets back!” The man said as everyone took their places on deck. Then he walked over to a fancy door and opened it, throwing Dipper in. “You'll stay here from now, little tree. I hope it's comfortable for you.” He cackled and shut the door, locking it with a key. Then he slipped it into his pocket and went to the wheel. “Let's shove off!”Dipper listened to the sounds outside his prison, struggling with the ropes around his wrists. Growling, he spit out the ribbon in his mouth and leaned against the door. “Mabel...” He whispered, closing his eyes. “Please come back before they leave...”His pleas went unanswered, and he could see through the window and feel from the movement of the ship that they were escaping with their prisoner. He banged on the door one, twice, three times before he finally just gave up and started to sob on the floor. Blissful sleep came to take him away after he'd exhausted himself from crying and he gladly let it. |
Connor was almost in shock. He kind of had understood that Jude’s foster dad wasn’t Jude’s favorite person in the world, but him doing something like that? Burning Jude’s parent’s things?
“He didn’t know about that pendant. I’ve always kept it secret. From everyone.”
“But that’s crazy? Who would do such a thing? It’s messed up Jude.”
If only you knew what messed up means in this house.
“Yes… yes it is. But nothing to do about it now. Please, can we talk about something else?”
Jude had opened up his heart more this night to Connor than he’d done with Hannah or anyone else in his entire life.
Connor was still processing things. He looked at Jude and Jude looked desperate in his need not to continue talking about this.
“Ok… but we’re going to talk more about it someday, ok?”
Jude nodded. Fair enough.
“You know I haven’t thanked you. For making your mom apologize to me. About Lena.”
Jude was changing the subject but he had really thought about saying this to Connor before. Connor was still thinking about what Jude had just told him about Phil. The things Connor wanted to do to that piece of sh-… Once again he had to shrug it off as Jude wanted to talk about something else.
“It wasn’t me. I didn’t tell her or anything. She apologized because she wanted to.”
Jude looked surprised. “Really? Ok, that’s good. I just, I just didn’t think she liked me.”
Connor shook his head.
“It’s not your fault. It’s not you she doesn’t like.”
Jude looked at Connor with a confused expression.
Connor looked down and sighed.
“My mom… Jude, my mom is not well.”
“She’s been in and out of hospitals… mental hospitals, for as long as I can remember.”
Jude listened as it was apparent that was what Connor needed.
“She’s trying but sometimes it’s just not enough. Managing my soccer career is the only thing she’s good at. The rest… not so much.”
Connor continued, talking from his heart. Connor leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
“They think I don’t know but I do. Every time she does something right I know it’s really my dad that’s talked sense into her. I pretend it’s her but I know it’s not, it’s all him.”
“Just a few weeks ago I… told her something and she couldn’t handle it. I know it’s partially because she’s sick but it really… hurt me. And then a few days later it was suddenly ok. I know it was my dad. I don’t know what he did but it worked. Tough love perhaps.”
When Connor was finished he met Jude’s eyes. Jude saw that Connor’s eyes were glossy.
"Sorry... It's just, I've never told anyone before."
Jude was searching for something comforting to say, considering all the times Connor’s done the same, it was the least he could do. Connor beat him to it.
“Hey I’m sorry… I shouldn’t complain to you, of all people, about my parents.” Connor looked genuinely sorry. Jude knew it was because he was. He was sorry because he was perfect.
“No don’t be. I’m happy you told me. I want to know these things.” Jude replied.
Connor gave Jude a smile as a thank you for listening.
“Can I ask, what did you tell her that she couldn’t handle?”
Connor chuckled. That was the question now wasn’t it. Of course Jude had to ask it. Connor couldn’t lie to Jude but… telling the truth wasn’t that easy either.
“I mean you don’t have to tell me… I just…”
“No, no it’s ok. I’ll tell you.”
Connor took a moment, gathering his thoughts.
“Did you mean what you said before… that you don’t want to lose me as your friend?”
Jude nodded. “I did. I do mean it.”
Connor nodded as a response. He searched Jude’s face for a sign that he was lying. He found nothing of the sort.
Connor closed his eyes and forced down a gulp. He opened his eyes and looked straight into Jude’s. Before Connor had even opened his mouth to speak, Jude was transfixed by the hazel eyes looking at him. Connor's next words didn't help Jude's ability to do much advanced thinking.
“I told her. I told her I was gay.”
Not that Jude was doing much breathing before but if he was, he wasn’t any longer.
Connor looked at Jude nervously, trying to gauge his reaction. If Connor would describe Jude’s reaction with words they would be that he looked like a mix of surprised, scared and... something else, something Connor couldn't put words on.
After what felt like an eternity when Jude still hadn’t said anything, Connor needed to know.
“I hope that’s… ok.” Voice sounded small, far from the way Jude was used to hearing it.
With that, Jude was forced back into reality. He blinked several times and shook his head to clear it.
“Yeah. Yes of course. I was just… surprised, sorry.”
Jude was smiling. Jude didn’t even know it himself, it was entirely unintentional. Seeing Jude’s smile did the trick and Connor’s nervousness from before started to ease.
“Is your dad ok with it?” Jude wanted to know as he liked Adam.
Connor almost laughed out loud.
“Yes, he is very ok with it. In fact, I’m pretty sure he prefers it this way. Even though he’d never admit it of course.”
Jude snickered, he had a feeling Adam wasn’t the type of person to judge.
“That’s good. Adam seems cool. Must have felt good to tell him and to have his support?”
Connor nodded. “Yeah. Don’t know what I would have done without him.”
Jude understood. He was in all honesty so used to not being himself at home that he didn’t even consider it a burden most of the times. But sometimes, sometimes he allows himself to fantasize about living somewhere completely different from where he’s living now.
“How long have you known?”
Connor looked over at Jude.
“That you are gay, I mean. How long have you known?”
Connor hesitated a moment before answering. When I looked at you sounded a bit too cheesy even for Connor.
“Not long… In a way I think my dad knew it before I did.”
“When wa-.“
Jude was interrupted as Connor’s phone started to ring. Connor picked it up.
“Speaking of him… it’s my dad. Probably wondering when I’m coming home.”
Jude listened to the conversation, only hearing Connor’s voice do the talking.
“Hi dad.”
“I’m sorry, I forgot the time.”
“Ok…” Connor looked a bit bummed.
“Ok, I will.”
“No I’m…” Connor bit his lip. “I’m at Jude’s.”
Connor was shaking his head and closing his eyes while rubbing his eyeballs with his thumb and middle finger.
“Just stop.”
“Dad…”
“I’m hanging up.”
“Then just stop.”
"Yes he is sitting next to me."
Connor sighs.
"Please just stop..."
“No, he isn’t at home. I don’t know where he is.”
“Ok I’ll be here. Bye.”
Connor hung up his phone.
“He’ll be here in fifteen minutes.”
Jude nodded.
The two of them sat in silence, both thinking about what Connor just had said and what it meant. Connor had mixed feelings. It felt good to tell Jude that he had come out to his parents. Still, he could tell that Jude himself was conflicted about something.
When the silence had become uncomfortable Connor finally had to know something.
“Hey… did you mean it?”
Jude looked confused.
“Did I mean what?”
Connor bit his lip, Jude noticed the adorable jaw moving slightly before Connor spoke.
“That you liked me… like that?” Connor was nervous, Jude noticed that Connor’s voice became unsteady as he finished the sentence.
Jude looked into Connor’s eyes. He couldn’t lie to Connor even if maybe, maybe, this time it would have been for the best. This path is so dangerous, he knows, and not only for Jude. But no, Jude couldn’t lie to Connor looking at him like that.
Jude nodded.
Connor’s lips were instantly drawn upwards. He even let out a puff of air at the relief.
“Did you?” Jude looks at Connor’s face. He notices Connor’s hair, it’s a little out of place probably from the running earlier that night. He looks at his chin dimple and smiles internally before looking him into the eyes. Connor’s warm hazel eyes tells Jude everything he needs to know before Connor speaks.
“I did.” Connor is looking fondly at the shorter young man sitting beside him. He still got some blue make-up left on his cheeks and around the eyes but the rest is gone from wiping away tears. He looks at Jude’s nose and can’t help thinking how weird he is for wanting to kiss it before he once again is looking Jude in the eyes.
Of course he’s looked at them before. After all that’s what started all of this. However, this time, it’s different. Jude’s eyes are still huge and with the perfect shade of brown but there’s something there… a… spark. Something. Jude looks happy. He’s seen Jude smile and laugh, but has he seen this before? He’s not sure. That spark there is new for sure.
Jude still has a hard time placing how he feels about this. Well no he hasn’t, but the thing he’s still not getting is how this perfect boy who’s sitting on his bed this night could be real. Connor Stevens, the kindest, most caring and undoubtedly the best looking person in existence… is sitting here, telling him he likes him. Him, Jude Jacob, Mr. Nobody. Connor is even wearing an outfit to make him look even more like a greek god or something, like that needed to be spelled out. Jude's starting to feel dizzy.
Connor’s pulse was quickening. He and Jude were entering that place again where it was nothing else, he felt it the second it happened and everything else started to fade.
Just before it was too late Connor managed to snap out of it, there was something he had to do first.
“Jude, can I get your phone?”
As Jude was also semi-disconnected he needed a few seconds to process what Connor had said.
“Umm… what? Ok.” Jude stood up and went over to the desk where he’d left it before sitting down on the bed.
As Jude was getting his phone Connor also got off from the bed and walked up to the nightstand and picked up his own phone. Jude saw that Connor fiddled a few moments with his phone before pressing down on a button. After a few seconds Connor’s screen goes dark and Connor tosses his turned off phone on Jude’s bed.
Connor reaches out his hand to Jude as they’re standing close in the middle of Jude’s room.
“Unlock it and give it to me.”
Jude frowns but Connor seems to be serious.
“Trust me.”
“As long as you’re not checking browser history…” Jude says while snickering before handing over his unlocked phone to Connor. Not that he was kidding about the browser history.
Connor smiles before pressing down on Jude’s phone. When Jude’s phone goes dark Connor tosses it on the bed as well.
Connor looks back at Jude and the way he looks at him makes Jude’s heart skip a beat. Connor has a look of determination in his eyes. Jude cannot breathe, he has to tell Connor that he under no circumstances is allowed to look at him like that. It’s not fair.
“Why did you turn off our phones?” Jude's whispering.
“Not taking any chances this time…” Connor says while taking a step towards Jude. |
"Um.. Narumiya Mei? Inashiro's ace? Kinda short with blonde hair."
Chris raises a hand to stop Eijun from talking because although he knows that whatever the pitcher will add to that description will be funny (he will not laugh when they're trying to have a serious discussion) without him meaning it to be, he still needs to process this seemingly small tidbit of information that his kouhai has just dropped on him. He has so many questions. "I know him. Honestly, I’m just surprised. Just.. Give me a second. You're sure it's that Narumiya Mei? Not some look alike or something?"
Eijun smiles sheepishly as he nods. He would have cackled at Chris' morphing facial expressions as he comes to the dawning understanding of who’s currently helping Eijun at the moment but he keeps himself from doing so because he, himself, still can't believe that this is actually happening - that there are actually two people out there setting aside their own personal time to help him find his footing back in baseball and Inashiro players at that! 'Huh. I guess it's pretty weird since I got the yips because of our game with them in the first place. Not that it was their fault! But it kind of just went full circle.'
Chris closes his eyes, heaves out a deep sigh that sounded like it resonated from his very soul and nods decisively. 'Panic about that later, get the whole story out now then help Eijun practice.'
"Okay, okay. So why Narumiya? And how did you convince him to teach you? Last time I saw you guys together, he was pretty pissed off with how you shut him down with only three inside pitches."
Eijun gulps and fiddles with a lose string in his training jersey. 'This is so embarrassing! Where to start, where to start? So there I was, bawling my eyes out in front of the vending machine and wailing like a newborn baby.. Wow, I sound like a certified idiot. Shisho is so going to be disappointed.'
"Sawamura, I'm not mad and I won't get upset with whatever you have to tell me. There's no rule that prohibits you from being friends with other baseball players from other teams. I just want to make sure you're okay - with him and whatever he's teaching you." Chris pats Eijun's shoulder with a small smile.
Eijun sags to the wall behind their seat in relief.
“Um so we had that practice game in Fukuoka a while back? I didn’t play and I don’t know.. I was kind of out of it the whole ride there and I thought that maybe running around the stadium would help clear my head. It didn’t and um.. I.. Uh..” Eijun trails off as he sneaks a look at his senpai as he waves a hand vaguely at himself. “I kind of broke down in front of a vending machine after? Hahaha” He chuckles in a self-depreciating manner trying to write the whole thing off as a joke.
Chris merely puts his hand in the small of Eijun’s back to anchor his pitcher into the present.
“So, I.. You know.. Was sobbing my eyes out and stuff. And Mei found me there. It was so embarrassing!” Eijun narrates with a light flush on his cheeks. “I was a mess and I didn’t even realize it was him because I kept on looking down at my shoes! Um anyway, we got to talking after I bought us both a drink. He asked what was wrong and I just.. It was a bad day. Don’t worry, I didn’t say anything specific! And we only talked about me, not the team or anyone else! I promise, shisho!!”
“Sawamura, relax. I believe you. Go on.” Chris softly interjects so Eijun would be able to stop himself from getting too worked up.
“I ended up mentioning that I was upset because I couldn’t pitch anymore. Narumiya-san’s a surprisingly good listener.” Eijun’s lip twitches up in barely concealed amusement. “Then he asked for my number before we left. We continued talking after that and he invited me to go out last weekend.”
Chris nods his head in acknowledgement. ‘So that’s where he went.’
“It turns out we were going to watch this university practice game between Keio and Waseda. It was a really good one! Keio’s pitcher didn’t break down even when he pitched a dead ball! And the Waseda batters were really tenacious. They didn’t even give up even if the score gap was widening more and more. The defense of both teams also showed amazing plays.” Eijun excitedly babbles on with a few hand gestures; the tense air dissipating in the face of his eagerness to tell Chris about the game he has witnessed.
Chris smiles softly as he looks at Eijun and couldn’t help but say “I’m glad you had fun.”
“I did! Then uh..” Eijun bites the inside of his cheek trying to settle down his nerves. ‘Here goes nothing.’
“They offered to teach me a new pitch.” The pitcher awkwardly points with his thumb towards the training equipment. “They told me that I could get over my yips someday but for now, they wanted me to try a different pitch that I can use so my training time doesn’t go to waste. They’re um..” He sheepishly smiles at Chris. “Not impressed? With me being in a separate training regimen from everyone else where all I’m allowed to do is run laps around Ground B.”
Chris eyes soften in understanding and regret. He would have liked to help his underclassman a lot sooner but with graduation just right around the corner, it was hard to find a long period of time where they won’t need to rush themselves especially if the first year is going to learn a new pitch. Granted, he can’t quite fathom why Miyuki and Kataoka Kantoku doesn’t just help Eijun themselves but he doesn’t want to step out of line by reprimanding their actions when he’s already left the team.
“I’m assuming they showed you how to pitch in the outside corners then?” Chris responds as he glances at the drawn diagram of the strike zone.
“Yes, shisho.”
The older of the two ruffles the other’s hair as he says “I’m sorry, Eijun.”
“Eeeeeh?!?!?” Eijun startles not just with Chris using his first name but mostly about the apology.
Chris shakes his head to stop his kouhai from further reacting. “I’m sorry that you must have felt like you were alone all this time. I heard some stuff from Kanemaru when I bumped into him yesterday in the halls. I’m sorry the other players are being too small-minded that they can’t see how much you’re suffering in your current predicament. I’m sorry for only finding the time to come visit you now and not any sooner. But I promise..” He grips both of Eijun’s shoulders and looks him directly in the eyes. “..to be here from now on as much as I can and to teach you everything and anything that we might have missed the last time around. I admit that it is a bit upsetting that another team’s players have taught you first but I want you to know and remember that I’m still here too. If things are too hard, feel free to call me. I might not be able to answer immediately if I’m busy but I swear to always call back or message you once I am free. Don’t feel guilty for asking and receiving help from people the team might consider our rivals. It is not your fault that you felt like you couldn’t ask your own teammates to offer a helping hand. I know how selfless you always are and I think you have it in your head that you don’t want to disturb anyone else when they’re also occupied with their own training but you are a part of this team, Eijun. I know that if somebody else was in your place, you would have put everything down and do your best to help them. It’s upsetting to think that despite Seidou still having more than 60 players aside from the third years that you’re still doing all this..” Chris gestures around them. “..by yourself. But we’ll get through this, okay? And don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone else about Narumiya and Harada. It is up to you to share to anyone else you deem trustworthy about your friendship with those two.”
Eijun doesn’t know when he had started to tear up but he wipes his eyes, grins and gives Chris a quick hug where the other was too shocked to be able to reciprocate.
“Thank you, shisho! This lowly pitcher will be nothing but a failure without your unwavering support and guidance!” Eijun hollers out, not knowing how else to show his senpai his appreciation.
Chris just pats his shoulder in response and stands up. "Now, let's get you out of this slump. After all, for someone like you who devoted himself to attacking all the time - this is the pitch I wanted you to learn the most."
Both baseball prodigies (because let's face it, who else can pitch probably more than a dozen pitches once he is taught right) spent the night practicing and perfecting Eijun's outside pitches. Within a productive 3 hour one-on-one training session, Chris could see Eijun slowly blossoming more and more into the ace that he would one day become into the future. Chris just wishes he could be there to see the pitcher's dream come true.
Eijun was thrilled that by the end of it, he already has a 70% chance of pitching exactly in his shisho's mitt without any adjustments from the catcher's side. He couldn't help but grin the whole time they were cleaning up their mess and for a second, he could almost forget that his senpai has already retired from the team. He's very much aware of how lucky he is that the catcher is willing to spend his downtime with his humble self rather than rest or take a break from all of the third year's studies and other hardships.
"Oh, oh, shisho!! Maybe when I meet with Narumiya-san and Harada-san again, you can come to one of our training sessions too." Eijun exclaims exuberantly. "So we can have two catchers that can guide us! I feel kind of bad that all we focused on last time was me when Mei-san might also want to practice with Harada-san since he'll also leave for another team soon. And you can catch for Mei-san too! Then if there's a pitcher in your university that has a similar pitching style with him, it will be so much easier for you shisho. I don't want you to get bored with only catching my outside pitches anyway hehe."
Chris nods in acquiescence. He doesn't have anything against dedicating more of his time with helping Eijun but he isn't quite sure how Narumiya will react with his presence. He also knows that he can be more blunt than Miyuki sometimes and he fears about their personality clash exploding in their faces. He really, really doesn't want to cause any more problems for Eijun that the pitcher will end up worrying himself with when he already has enough on his hands as it is. "Sure, just inform me beforehand so I can check my schedule. And make sure to ask for their permission, Eijun. I'm not quite sure if they will welcome my presence. You might be friends with them now but I've never really talked to Narumiya-kun myself. Although Harada and I are on neutral terms as we respect each other as catchers."
"I'm sure it'll be fine, shisho. Mei-san should be grateful that you're willing to catch for him! Shisho is the best after all!" Eijun decisively nods to himself with a beam. If his shisho has never been injured, Eijun bets that he can beat all the catchers by miles! "Ah but I'm not saying that Harada-san isn't great too! He's better with communicating than the stupid tanuki anyway. Harada-san's really patient and he explained a lot of things to me last weekend - like how when I get over the yips, I would have a far better pitching sequence than last time because of the new pitch; that this one would give my catcher more options during a game. He also doesn't tease me or get annoyed when I fumble my pitches. Harada-san says that this isn't my fault. He's kind of like you, shisho. And you're both really mature! Hehe maybe because Mei-san and I are a handful of trouble."
"Ah, well.. You and Narumiya-kun are just.. Energetic and a bit more expressive than the other pitchers. There's nothing wrong with it per se but some catchers prefer for their pitchers not to show too much emotion on the mound." Chris continues their conversation as he helps the first year with their cooldown exercises and with icing his shoulder.
They catch up and talk more as Chris directs the still hyperactive pitcher out of the indoor training grounds and into the dorms.
∻∻∻∻∻∻∻∻∻∻∻∻∻∻∻∻∻∻∻∻∻∻∻
Mei leans on the netted wall of the bullpen with his arms crossed on his chest as he watches Itsuki catch for Hirano while in deep thought.
Once his plans regarding Eijun pulls through, he knows that the other pitcher would need more than just him as a support system especially since Masa-san would have already graduated by then. 'He's a pretty friendly guy and his reactions are always funny whenever I annoyed him but I don't know how the others would react. Tch. Carlos and Itsuki would be easier but it just has to be Katsuyuki that Eijun hit in the head. That guy's more blunt than me and Kazuya combined. And he's way too serious too - kinda has a stick up his ass sometimes. Geez, people need to chill. Why would we lose when I'm the ace? Anyway, the others probably won't mind too much and they'll be able to adjust. AAAAH I haven't even explained to the coach in full! Masa-san really should be helping me but no "Mei, I'm graduating" he says. Oh who cares! At least Kunitomo Kantoku likes him more. It's not my fault they let me be a brat most of the time. Now, I don't know how not to be one! Whatever, I still have a few weeks. Maybe I should still write a will just in case coach finally explodes and accidentally kills me.'
"Mei-san, please. Even if you stand there all day, coach said you still can't pitch for more than 3 hours this week so I'm not going to catch for you. We don't want you getting injured." Itsuki says as he glances at the other. He and Hirano just stopped for a quick breather after the 100 pitches the second year did and grabbed their water bottles for a drink.
Mei merely rolls his eyes and huffs. "I know that." He lightly kicks the dirt under his feet and quickly looks at Hirano to make sure he isn't listening as he responds. "Hey, Itsuki."
"Hm?"
"You train with Masa-san, right? He gives you pointers and all that stuff so you know how to deal with not just the team's pitchers but the notable ones from our enemies too."
"Uh, yes?" Itsuki replies cautiously. 'More like how to deal with your tantrums on the mound, senpai. But I'm not saying that.'
"So? How is it? You really think you can replace Masa-san?"
Itsuki blinks in confusion before furrowing his brows. "No. No one can replace Harada-senpai, Mei-san. I'm aware that I'm one of the candidates that Kunitomo Kantoku might consider for the main catcher position but I know that I'm no Harada-senpai. I lack experience and some of senpai's natural talents are skills that I earned through hard work. So even if I become the main catcher, I'm not going to replace him because I am not him. He teaches me what I need to know and I really have learned a lot but I think there will always be situations where the two of us will choose a different solution." He winces, hoping that none of what he's saying will come out as rude or patronizing because that isn't what he means at all. "I really do admire Harada-senpai. I think he's an amazing catcher and a great captain but that doesn't mean I will copy how he does things. I want to be my own brand of catcher. Inashiro is a team full of star players that would have been ace members if they choose to join any other team aside from ours and I don't want to stand in any of your shadows. I'm going to support the team as much as I can and do my best to not waste the time and effort Harada-senpai puts into me but that doesn't mean I don't have my own goals that I want to achieve."
He sneaks a glance at the older pitcher before continuing. "I'm not Harada-senpai and most of the team might think I will never be as exceptional as him but I still want to be someone good enough that the team will have faith that I can stand on my own and be deserving of the main catcher position should Kunitomo Kantoku give it to me. I know what it means to be your battery partner, Mei-san - to stand by the side of Kanto's best southpaw pitcher."
Mei smirks devilishly at his underclassman. "Good, good. Acknowledging where you are at right now is a good first step."
He pats the other's back condescendingly. "The other teams will eat you alive if you already crumble apart just facing down your own teammates. Inashiro doesn't need a weak catcher and I certainly won't accept a spineless one. You can't be my battery partner if you can't even talk back to me, you'll just be acting as some mindless pawn who only serves to catch wherever I decide to pitch the ball."
Itsuki nods in acceptance of the challenge. He always knew what was in store for him when he decided to enter Inashiro.
After all, he wasn't planning to change positions just because the team's ace is the Narumiya Mei.
"So, Itsuki.. Do you know Sawamura Eijun?"
∻∻∻∻∻∻∻∻∻∻∻∻∻∻∻∻∻∻∻∻∻∻∻
"Chris-senpai! How did it go?" Kuramochi asks the third year as he lugs Miyuki by the wrist behind him. Their afternoon classes has just finished and they were just lucky to bump into Chris while on their way back to the dorms to change.
"Miyuki, Kuramochi." Chris nods in acknowledgement as he ponders on what he's going to say. "Sawamura was feeling better and I already started teaching him how to pitch on the outside corners. His aim and control needs a little more work but since we've only practiced once, his pitches looked good enough for me. I'm afraid that the.. Issue with his inside pitches is still there but that's a mental problem that should fix itself on its own considering Sawamura's one-track mind. He'll be able to work it out once he sorts out his feelings with that last game with Inashiro. Just give him time."
'Ah, I want to say that they should be there for Eijun physically too but I don't think he's ready for their presence just yet. Especially now that Eijun has found comfort and support on Harada and Narumiya and only absence and insults from his own team members. He might not feel comfortable if I urge these two to try to practice with him too. I still don't understand why they won't do it on their own though. Why don't they realize that Eijun would appreciate it more if he actually knows that Miyuki and Kuramochi does care for him? I fear that doing all of these stuff behind Eijun's back might backfire one way or another.' Chris mulls over in his head.
"That's great!" Kuramochi nods excitedly, happy that his kouhai is finally able to do something else other than running on the field during practice.
Miyuki almost smiles but notices something off with Chris' expression that makes him worry. 'But he just said everything is going well? Maybe senpai is just concerned about Sawamura still overthinking our loss against Inashiro and his other failed performances after that? But the first string is not blaming him for having the yips.'
"Miyuki-senpai, will you catch for me?" Furuya obliviously asks as he inserts himself amidst the conversation of the three.
"Furuya.. Yeah, sure." Miyuki distractedly agrees as he looks at his fellow catcher one last time before turning back towards the baseball field. |
Marinette - Ladybug - had asked him what he wanted to watch. Somehow, Adrien agreed to a movie. He has no memory of doing so, but since they were laying side by side in her bed, laptop on her lap as the light from the movie illuminated them in the dark, it clearly had to have happened. He risked a glance to the side, aiming to get another look at the incriminating T-shirt.
There were probably other explanations. She was a personal friend of Jagged Stone. Maybe he sent the shirt to her, or maybe she got it because she was such a big fan of his. Adrien had found a way to get it early - it was possible she managed it as well.
Then his eyes traveled up to her face and he felt his heart flip as she laughed at a joke from the movie. Logic flew out the window. There was only one girl who could make him feel this way, even if he had been steadfastly ignoring how he felt around Marinette. A flicker of a smile came to his face when he realized he’d been denying that crush out of a sense of loyalty to her alter ego.
The smile quickly passed as the gravity of the situation crushed him, doubts hounding his every thought.
There was nothing he wanted more than to stay here like this forever. Close together, the space between them practically nothing. His hand was itching to grab hers, so maddeningly close… but he couldn’t do it. Not yet. He felt lost - confused. There were too many unanswered questions right now for him to make any kind of move. Which just left him beside her, yearning to reach out but paralyzed by uncertainty. One movie ended, another began. Just when he had nearly built up the courage to say anything, a knock on the door jolted him back into reality. The world suddenly became more than just him and her.
“Adrien,” Tom’s voice called through the wood of the trapdoor, “A, um, very large, silent man is standing outside the bakery. We think he is your… bodyguard?”
Relief poured down his spine like cold water even as a part of him was sad to leave. He was galvanized into moving for the first time in hours.
“I, uh… I had fun today…” Marinette fidgeted with her hands as he was halfway down the ladder. Even in his turmoil he stopped to smile softly at her shyness. “Maybe we can…” She waved her hand at the laptop, “...again, sometime?”
A long moment passed before he registered that he needed to respond. “Oh! Y-yeah, I’d like that.” Another pause as they watched each other, words hanging unsaid in the air between them. “I’d better get going.”
“R-right, of course.”
“The Gorilla is waiting…”
“Mmhm, yup.”
“...But I’ll see you at school. Later.”
“Yes! Later is good.”
“And probably after school. Since we, uh, we have a project to do.” He hated that he was rambling but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. He didn’t want to leave her, but he couldn’t stay either.
“Lots of work to do on that project.”
“So… bye?”
“Y-yeah. Night good!” She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again. “Good night,” she repeated, slowly.
He nodded and shut his mouth. He awkwardly climbed down her ladder in silence and left the bakery after a few words of thanks to her parents. The Gorilla was characteristically silent as he drove Adrien to the Agreste estate before leaving for home himself. There was no one to greet him when he got home, so he shambled off to his room in silence.
At least, until they reached the privacy of his room and Plagg emerged from Adrien’s bag.
“Well, well, well,” Plagg said while rubbing his paws together with a nearly malicious glee. “Looks like lover boy has made a discovery.”
Adrien sat down on the side of his bed. “Marinette is Ladybug.” Somehow, saying it out loud made it feel all the more real.
“Marinette is Ladybug,” Plagg nodded.
“I’m in love with Ladybug.”
His kwami sighed. “You’ve made that abundantly clear, kid.”
“...I’m in love with Marinette.”
“Because she is Ladybug? Or was there something there before?” When Adrien opened his mouth to speak, Plagg hushed him. “And be honest!”
Rubbing the back of his head, Adrien struggled to find a response. “Well, I… now that I think about it I guess you could say that I… but…”
Plagg rolled his eyes. “Oh come on, kid. Out with it! This isn’t that difficult.”
“I… love her.” He let out a wistful sigh. “I guess I always did.”
“Great. Now that we’ve got that out of the way, how are you going to break the news to Pigtails?”
“I don’t know, Plagg… This changes everything!”
“Okay kid now you’ve lost me again. Didn’t we just cover that you definitely like this girl? What does this change?”
Adrien began pacing, nervously adjusting his ring as he did so. “Well, Ladybug was always kind of a long shot. She’s just so confident and courageous and beautiful. But I love her and I was hoping she’d be willing to give me a chance.” He stopped and looked at Plagg with a look of anguish. “But Marinette? She is definitely out of my league.”
“What.” Plagg stared at him incredulously.
“Marinette is kind, caring, creative. She could impress my father and Chloe’s mother with her work. There are lifelong designers that couldn’t do that! I can't impress my father! She’s personal friends with Jagged Stone and Clara Nightingale. Everyone loves her - including me, apparently. And apparently she is Ladybug on top of it all. How can I possibly measure up to that?”
Plagg tried his best to face palm with his paws. “You’re a model? And the son of her favorite designer? And you’re Chat Noir?! Does none of this ring a bell to you?”
“I didn’t choose to be a model, or who my parents were. Besides, Marinette isn’t shallow - that’s not the sort of thing she would be interested in. And clearly being Chat Noir doesn’t matter since she… doesn’t…” His eyes widened with sudden realization. “She doesn’t love Chat Noir.” He crumbled onto the bed, hands buried in his hair.
“Woah, woah, kid.” Plagg landed on his shoulder. “Don’t sell yourself short - you’ve got plenty to offer.” Adrien sniffled and looked up. “You’re a sweet kid, and we both know that counts a lot to Pigtails. And you know Ladybug was turning Chat down for someone else - maybe that someone else was you all along?”
Adrien looked to the side, away from his kwami, as he felt the sting of tears. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”
“I mean, yeah. But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.” Plagg zoomed in front of Adrien. “Listen, kid. You can go ahead and keep this to yourself for now, if you want. But you’ve got a patrol with her tonight, don’t you? You’ve got to decide what you’re gonna do when you see her.”
He brushed aside his tears and laid down on his bed. “I don’t know,” he whispered into the vast emptiness of the room. “Nothing, for now. I won’t let her be disappointed in me just because of how I’m feeling. She deserves that much while I get my act together.”
“Kid, I can tell you that I’m sure everything will work out fine. Go ahead and take some you time. I’ll be over here, with uncomplicated cheese and no heartache.”
“Thanks, Plagg.”
------------------------
Marinette landed on a rooftop wholly unremarkable except for the view of the moonlit Seine. The patrol wasn’t going great. Sure, they were covering ground like never before, but only because Chat Noir was being uncharacteristically bashful and quiet. Everytime he caught her staring concernedly at him, he’d blush and look away. It was a far cry from the sly alley cat she’d come to know. The stark difference had almost made her think that there was some akuma nonsense at work.
Now, she was fairly sure she was just dealing with a sad kitten. While that raised questions all on its own, it was at least something that she knew just how to handle.
“Okay, Chat,” she said, putting her hands on her hips, “this looks like as good a spot as any.”
Hesitantly, he shot her a curious glance. “Good spot for what?”
“Training, of course.”
“Ah.” He settled back into his glumness, but took a defensive position.
Instead of taking out her yoyo like he no doubt expected, she kept her hands behind her back and took a few steps towards him. His confusion grew until she entered his personal space and he put both hands on his baton and leaned back, his face a red, flustered mess. She smiled and poke his nose.
“Tag. You’re it.”
And just like that, she had run away. Without looking behind her, she could feel Chat chasing her. It had been too long since they had fun on their patrols, and she knew that he could use the distraction. Besides, he wasn’t the only one who can stand to get things off their mind for a little while. She replayed her time with Adrien earlier that day over and over - whether it was in the comfort of her own head, or dissecting everything with Tikki, she felt like it was an important milestone with them. They might not have made much progress with their school project, but she’d never felt closer to Adrien.
Stolen glances confirmed that her plan was working. Worry had melted from his face, leaving only the joy of the hunt. It was just like when they had first taken up the mantle of superheroes, still exploring the boundaries of their powers. Not that there still wasn’t things they didn’t know - these recent… hiccups with their abilities proved that. But now Marinette felt the weight of her responsibilities on her shoulders, a weight she had only managed to bear this long with Chat’s silliness to keep her sane. If he needed a little of that now, then she was happy to help.
The chase lasted long enough that even her superhuman endurance was running thin. She landed and held up her hands in surrender.
“Okay, kitty, you got me. Can we take a break now? My legs feel like jelly.”
He flashed her a warm smile, her reward for a long run. “Heh. Same here.”
He sat down, leaning against a chimney. She found a spot next to him and before long, mutual exhaustion and the cold had them leaning against each other. She snuggled against him, resting her head against his shoulder. It worried her that he froze for a moment afterward, but soon his head was resting on hers and he’d snaked an arm around her waist. They’d grown close during their long war against Hawkmoth. Personal space had been thrown out the window ages ago, a casualty of cold winter patrols and the close calls of a fight.
Her eyelids became heavy as she got lost in her partner’s warmth. What jolted her awake was a strange rumbling coming from inside her chest. Instantly, she pulled away from her partner, who she noticed was gawking at her in disbelief.
That shock faded quickly, replaced by a wide grin. “Did you just… purr?”
“N-nope!” She lied, unconvincingly.
“That was adorable!” He scrambled closer to her, eyes sparkling. “Do it again!”
“I don’t want to,” she complained. Their little side effects of having their miraculous had been floating freely between them, but she thanked her lucky stars that it hadn’t swapped their powers again. She still needed to speak with Master Fu, but unless she found some time to speak with him outside their schedules, she wouldn’t be seeing him until next week. In the meantime, she’d just have to deal with it.
“C’mon, please? Just one more? You make me do it all the time.”
“Once. I had you purr on command once and you complained the whole time since you found it so embarrassing.”
“Yeah, so that means you owe me one, right?”
Rolling her eyes, Marinette took out her yo-yo. “Good night, chaton.”
“I don’t think I will now.” He crossed his arms and looked away, but Marinette could see his tail sweeping back and forth contently. He was feeling happier, at least. That was all she could really hope for.
“Oh? Is that what you want your last words to me tonight to be?”
There was a pause. He sighed and looked back at her, pouting. “Good night, m’lady.”
“There’s a good kitty. See you later!”
She was too far away to hear Chat Noir sigh under his breath. “Sooner than you think…” |
“[Name]! [Name]! Nii-san wants to learn, too!”
You looked over your shoulder to see Jyushimatsu, who - despite your first thoughts - was actually a really,
really
quick learner, especially with the constant help of his brother. It’s only been two weeks of teaching in total and he could speak pretty well. What was with this family and being extremely good at learning English?
Today, though, Jyushimatsu had one of their other brothers - who also looked exactly like the other two that you’ve met. By now, you had learned from Karamatsu that they were sextuplets, so this didn’t surprise you. The man waved with a small smile, attempting to introduce himself in English. His pronunciation wasn’t too bad, but you could tell that that was really the only thing he was confident in saying.
“What’s your name?”
“Ch-Choromatsu.”
You held out your hand for him to shake, but he seemed afraid. What the heck? Was he worse with human contact than Karamatsu once was? You grabbed his hand and shook it, leaving him a mess when you let go. His face was red and panicky and all Jyushimatsu did in response was laugh.
“[Name]! Teach nii-san English too?”
You nodded. “Sure, but I don’t know if I’d be able to teach two at a time, even with the help of Karamatsu.” You stepped aside, inviting the pair in.
They stepped inside, taking off their shoes by the door. You brought them over to your couch and had them sit down. “Okay, Choromatsu, how much English do you know?”
He didn’t respond but rather continued to smile at you, and when you looked at him like he was crazy, he began to freak out in realization that you asked him something and he didn’t know what you said. “Alright, so pretty minimal. That’s okay.” You patiently smiled at him. “Why do you want to learn English?” You turned to Jyushimatsu, whose face held a familiar smile. “Could you translate?”
He went into deep thought for a second, then quickly spoke Japanese to Choromatsu. When he responded, though, he wouldn’t stop talking for what felt like forever. It was probably only five minutes, sure, but he just would. Not. Stop.
Talking
. When he was done, Jyushimatsu turned to you and said “He does not know.”
You sighed, tilting your head back. You checked the clock really quickly, and even while being upside down, you realized something. You quickly rolled around to face the right way, and when you saw the time, you screamed.
“I’m late for my date!” You quickly got up, stumbling and almost tripping, before running to your room. “Bye, Jyushimatsu! Nice to meet you, Choromatsu! I’ve gotta go!” You ran out of your room with a backpack slung over your shoulder and ran out the door. They just sat there and watched as you ran out. Jyushimatsu yelled out a “Bye-bye!” In response, but he was pretty sure you didn’t hear it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“I’m here! I’m here! I’m sorry I’m late!” You yelled, running over to Karamatsu and practically tackling him. You were panting hard, because you hadn’t stopped running the entire time. “I brought what you asked me to.”
“Ah, don’t worry about it, my [Name]!” He removed his sunglasses and bent down to look you in the eyes. “If this is what life wanted, was for you to be late, then it will all work out in the end. Fate has a way of bringing us together in the sweetest of ways, don’t you agree, my love?”
You snorted, covering your mouth with your hand. “What are you talking about?”
He took your hand and knelt on one knee, his eyes closed for dramatic purposes. “Today, my dearest, we have the world in our hands. Where should the wind take us?” He looked up at you, eyes blazing with determination.
“You told me to bring a blanket. Shouldn’t that mean you already have a plan..?”
“Ah.” He looked down in fake sadness, but you knew it was really because he was embarrassed, and he really didn’t want you seeing his reddened face. “So the secret is out.”
“Come on, then.” You grabbed his hand and pulled him up. “Show me what you’ve got planned.”
He led you out of town to a large, grassy area. Karamatsu pointed out a nearby hill, and led you to the top. You took out your blanket and spread it out, and the two of you laid on it and stared at the sky for a while. You would point out pretty clouds from time to time, laughing at how much some of them resembled animals. One time, Karamatsu pointed at the sky and said “That one looks like you.”
“I don’t get it,” you had responded. There were only a few clouds in the sky, and all of them were thin and tiny. You could barely see most of them.
“Right there,” He pointed again.
You followed his arm and you ended up staring directly into the sun. You hissed and looked away quickly, wiping your eyes. You had to blink the bright spots out of your vision, then you playfully punched Karamatsu in the arm. “What does that even mean? I’m hard to look at?”
“No, my dear [Name].” He rolled over, propping himself up on his elbow to look at you. “It means that you are so beautiful that you blind me. I can’t look at you without needing to turn away from you, the light of my life.”
“That was… really cheesy.”
“Hey!”
“I guess it was kind of sweet.”
“‘Kind of’?! I tried
really
hard to come up with that one. Do you have no appreciation for the poetic talents?”
You sat up now, facing him with a bewildered look. “Hang on, ‘appreciation’? ‘Poetic talents’? Where did you learn those words? I never taught those to you.”
“Yes, I taught them to myself to impress you.”
“Honestly,” you scoffed, laying back down and closing your eyes. “The fact that you even decided to learn English impressed me enough. You learned it so quickly, too. You don’t need to learn more to impress me, you’ve gone further than I ever expected you too.”
You let the sun warm you as you rested. When Karamatsu didn’t respond, you looked up to see him on the verge of tears. You sat up quickly and addressed the situation. “Are you okay?! What did I do?!”
“I… I actually
impressed
you?” He sniffed, rubbing his eyes. “No one’s ever told me that before. A-Are you sure?”
“What do you mean, ‘are you sure’? Would I seriously lie about something like that?” You sat up completely, sitting criss cross in front of him. Karamatsu mimicked your actions. “Obviously, I’m sure. If I told you that and didn’t mean it, I would be a horrible person.”
He chuckled and agreed with you, laying back down. You pet his hair and let the gentle breeze blow softly around you. He wasn’t wearing any hair gel today, you noted. He practically sweat the stuff, so it was weird. But his hair was also naturally soft and fluffy and wonderful to run your fingers through so you weren’t arguing. “By the way, Choromatsu approached me earlier with Jyushimatsu. He wants to start learning English with him.”
“Really? Hm.” He readjusted himself on the blanket, pressing his face against your leg. “I was expecting him to ask soon. After he saw how quickly Jyushimatsu was learning, he was interested.”
“Can you help me with him, too? He likes to ramble on a lot and I don’t know how to shut him up.”
He barked out a laugh, his soft cheeks squishing into your knee. “Yeah, he really does, doesn’t he?” He readjusted to snuggle up to you some more. You smiled softly and continued to thread your fingers through his hair. “I never really noticed that, it’s become sort of an everyday thing. My poor brother really doesn’t realize how annoying that must be to others.”
“Hm.” You paused before talking again. “Hey, it’s starting to get dark, do you think we should go back?”
“No. I like this.” He was practically glued to your leg by now. “It’s… nice. At least for a few more minutes?”
A few more minutes turned into a few more hours.
It was night time by now. The sun was completely down, and the sky had been completely cleared of clouds, and the moon shone brightly. The stars were visible, too; the part of town you were in was usually too bright to see them, and if they
did
show, they were usually very dull. It made you really happy to see them this bright tonight.
After the two of you had packed up, you held hands and began walking back into town. It was silent, and for some reason, Karamatsu had gotten really nervous. His hands were getting clammy and he wouldn’t even so much as look at you. You were worrying now; was something wrong? He didn’t seem to want to talk, so you didn’t ask.
You ended up at the bridge in the nearby park. It was nice having that be right in between both of your houses, because it was such a pretty and calming place to meet up for days out on the town. It was really beautiful at night, too; this was one of the only places in town that you could see the sky clearly.
“Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“W-wait, actually.”
You turned to face him, and he grabbed your face in his hands. They were clammy and trembling, and his face was a pale white underneath that layer of explosive blush. He froze up and stood there, his touch on your face becoming light and uncomfortable.
“Are you okay-?”
He captured your lips mid-sentence.
He was trembling, and you could feel the heat from his face (it hurt almost), but it was sweet nonetheless. Just as you began to press back on his lips, he pulled away and just stared at you for what felt like hours. The blush covering his face didn’t die down, and neither did yours. After a while, you spoke up.
“Does this mean you’re ready?”
It took him a second, but he responded with a hasty nod.
Neither of you could do anything except look at each other. You could only focus on his face and examine his facial features - his extremely dilated yet pretty eyes that shone underneath the moonlit sky, his thick eyebrows creasing from nervousness as if he were about to pass out, his hair messier than normal because of the breeze and the lack of gel. His glasses were placed on his head, but they looked like they were going to fall off. You could see the night sky in the reflection.
Somehow, without you knowing, your body pressed into his and you held him. He held back almost too tightly as he buried his face into your neck. You breathed in his scent - no cologne today, thank god - and sighed.
“I’m ready too.”
|
The Northern Palace:
Shang Qinghua sighs, shifting discreetly on his seat, the hard wooden surface made only slightly more comfortable by the pillow on it.
Mobei-jun’s court council gathers on the 20th day of each month in its entirety, barring an emergency. This being the first such meeting of the year, it has been especially drawn out and elaborate.
First they gathered in the field in front of the palace long before sunrise to ceremonially call forth and greet the light, then walked around the entire palace complex in a procession before getting down to hearing reports and making decisions as usual.
The last matter on the itinerary was supposed to be internal affairs, which should have been simple… if a fight hadn’t broken out between two council members over whose descendant should be assigned into the honour guard.
This being the demon realm, the appropriate way to settle it is battle.
Now, the throne room in the Northern palace is ringing with the echoes of steel striking against steel, as two members of the council brawl on the open space in front of the dais. The other members of the council are looking rather bored, as the fight has been dragging out for some time.
Shang Qinghua is half paying attention and half making notes on palace economy.
Send someone to oversee the gathering and counting of the livestock, he writes down as a reminder. Someone tough, he adds with emphasis.
Demon cows are giant, black-hided animals with sharp horns that Shang Qinghua hopes to never see up close except on his plate. They have nasty aggressive temperaments, and so do the herders that follow them as they rampage across the demon realms.
Shang Qinghua supposes animals, as the demons themselves, have to be tough to survive there. He doesn’t even want to think about the goats and pigs… let alone the wild water horses in the swampier areas.
“My king, do we have any ex-cowherds working in the palace?” he leans in to ask in a whisper.
Mobei-jun gives him an odd look, but then seems to consider it seriously.
“One of the cooks,” he says after a while, gesturing towards his face. “One eye, horn poked it out. Loud.”
Shang Qinghua writes down: loud one-eyed cook? Before an unusually loud clang draws his attention to the two scrapping demons.
He squints at them. The younger one is starting to look out of breath, and has a nasty wound on his ribs. That’s what you get for going into a fight topless, Shang Qinghua thinks, shaking his head inwardly.
A female demon leans out from the courtier balcony on the left side of the hall and calls out something in a trilling dialect that Shang Qinghua cannot parse, but which causes a wave of snickers and the younger demon to flush in anger.
He rushes in against his opponent.
Shang Qinghua looks up at the female demon, who gives him a sharp toothed smile and a tiny wave. It’s Madam Xun, council member Tang’s wife.
She’s considered something of an exotic beauty in court, with her dark blue skin dotted in luminescent freckles and her long and slender limbs. Her many slender limbs. Shang Qinghua can see some of them sneaking up to tap at the railing as she surveys the fight, the tips of the tentacles a deep inky black that matches her long hair.
She married Tang quite recently, about a year after his wife ended their marriage. Shang Qinghua hasn’t quite gotten the measure of this Madam Xun yet, so he’s watching her closely for the time being.
There’s a loud smash, and he turns to see Tang has hit his opponent with the flat of his broadsword and thrown him across the floor and into a pillar. The younger demons slumps against the floor and doesn’t get up again.
Shang Qinghua sighs and hopes he isn’t dead, because that is going to mean choosing a new council member and it will be a whole new hassle.
“I’ve won,” Lord Tang proclaims, after waiting a moment to see if the other demon will get up again. “I submit to your majesty’s decision,” he says, sheathing his sword and bowing towards Mobei-jun.
Mobei-jun glances at Shang Qinghua, who nods back discreetly.
He might have his reservations about Madam Xun, but he’s fairly sure she’s just a garden variety social climber without any darker aspirations. None of Tang’s household have died since his marriage, even, which is a good sign. Unless Madam Xun is just waiting for them to put their guard down.Still, he has seen the Tang granddaughter training in the yard and she seems as solid as her grandfather. She’ll make for a decent guard, if she can make it through the training in one piece.
“Your granddaughter may test for the guard,” Mobei-jun replies tersely, and Lord Tang nods, his craggy face twitching into the smallest of smiles. Madam Xun trills again from the balcony and claps her tentacles together excitedly in a girlish gesture.
“Anything else?” Mobei-jun asks, in a faintly threatening tone.
A council member stands, and Shang Qinghua groans inwardly. Not elder princess Mo, he thinks, exasperated but very quiet even in the privacy of his own mind.
Mobei-jun’s grand-aunt looks like a stiff wind would knock her over, her skin papery and stretched thin over a skeletal frame. She has a pronounced limp and leans heavily on a cane while walking.
She is also the one person in court no one dares to oppose.
Her sharp blue eyes stare down her nose at Mobei-jun now.
“There is,” she says, as if savouring the words, “The matter of the heir.”
She turns her frosty gaze on Shang Qinghua right after. He manages just barely not to twitch in his own seat next to Mobei-jun’s.
He used to sit at Mobei-jun’s feet like tradition dictated, until he decided his consort should have a seat beside him. Shang Qinghua never quite figured out if it had been influence from Luo Binghe or an idea he came up with on his own.
Honestly, he could have lived without the extra attention, but it had turned out alright in the end. It may even have made him more respected in court, which had certainly made his life easier.
But, right. Heirs. Obviously there aren’t any, since Mobei-jun’s consort of getting on ten years is a man.
This isn’t the first time it has come up either.
Princess Mo taps her clawed fingers on the silver handle of her cane, like an irritated metronome“The family line must continue,” she says, cold steel in her voice. “If necessary, there is the option of taking another spouse,” she adds pointedly.
Everything Shang Qinghua has ever heard her say has been pointed. Her mouth turns down at the corners, deep grooves carved around it.
Mobei-jun stares back at her, and Shang Qinghua swears he can see electricity in the air.
“No,” he snaps, causing Shang Qinghua to wince. My king! Don’t piss off the scariest woman in court, please!
“Mobei-jun,” Princess Mo says quietly but with no less threat. “You know that what I say is true. But indeed, I cannot force your hand.”
She bows, showing the elegant top of her strictly bound hair.
Scary!
The meeting concludes on a stiff note.
Later that evening, Shang Qinghua is feeling very relaxed, tucked safely under fluffy layers of stuffed blankets and heavy wool, his body still pleasantly sore and glowy from the sex they had earlier.
Idly, he thinks of the hurdle that had seemed like initially.
It had been such an odd period in his life, going from getting unexpectedly kissed while one of his legs was still broken, to suddenly getting married, all while he was still trying to wrap his mind around the fact his king liked him, apparently?
It had seemed too good to be true, right until the moment that Mobei-jun had laid him in bed and… yeah, their first time was less than successful.
For a while he’d though it had been a terrible mistake, honestly, what with the first attempt that ended in him screaming and kicking Mobei-jun off of the bed. The way Mobei-jun sighed at him, sounding bored and disappointed, when they’d tried it the other way around was almost worse in terms of trauma. Just the memory was enough to make Shang Qinghua cringe, even now.
But hey, it had turned out great in the end. Excellent.
If either of them was a woman, the heir issue would definitely be a non-issue by now, Shang Qinghua thinks. If anything, he’d have had to do some research into what this universe has for birth control. He’s pretty sure he wrote in some herbs somewhere in there.
He imagines it, a line of tiny half demon kids toddling after Mobei-jun like baby ducks. Tiny serious Mobei-juns… aw. That’s too cute. Or would they look more like him? Mobei-jun’s genes are clearly superior, but that’s probably not how biology works, even here. Too bad it won’t happen either way.
He chuckles, and Mobei-jun raises his head from where it is pillowed on Shang Qinghua’s shoulder.
“Hm?” he asks.
“Nothing,” Shang Qinghua replies and commences petting Mobei-jun’s thick hair, slightly coarse from the cold. He hums contentedly, a deep sound Shang Qinghua can feel vibrating through his chest where they are pressed together.
“Was just thinking about the heir thing,” he continues lightly.
He’s not going to say he was imagining either of them being pregnant or the kids they could have had. He’s not sure how Mobei-jun feels about children, but assuming he did want any, it would be cruel to point out it’s not happening. Not just like that, anyway.
And as much as Shang Qinghua hates to admit it, it is starting to become an issue, politically. No heir means someone might get the bright idea to try to knock Mobei-jun out of the equation to claim the throne. It’s not very likely, and they’d have to be either very strong or very lucky to succeed, but one never knew.
“Hm,” Mobei-jun says, lifting his head. He’s frowning, but more in a listening than angry way.
“Adoption… wouldn’t work, would it?” Shang Qinghua asks. “I looked at the historical records and noticed the inheritor wasn’t always a direct son.”
Mobei-jun shrugs.
“It has happened,” he says.
“Oh?” Shang Qinghua asks, interested.
“Has to be a close relative, though,” Mobei-jun says, his frown deepening with distaste before he adds. “Only one close enough currently would be his child.”
“Oh,” Shang Qinghua replies, his face falling. Him in that tone is Linguang-jun. Who has no children either, or seemingly any interest in making any.
Shang Qinghua can suddenly understand why Elder Princess Mo is getting edgy about this. He himself might still not really understand the nuances of it it, but the ancestral power of the Mo-clan is some serious stuff. Besides making Mobei-jun strong(er), it has a whole mystical connection with the land and whatnot.
It being lost because there is no one to inherit would be… bad.
Most likely it’s not an issue that Shang Qinghua will ever personally have to deal with, because anything strong enough to take out Mobei-jun and possibly Luo Binghe will most likely have done for him as well.
Still, he’s helped run the realm long enough that he feels some responsibility to keep it running even for the future generations. If for no other reasons than not to have wasted all that hard work, anyway.
Mobei-jun is staring at him, something unreadable in his expression.
“It won’t be a problem,” he says, in a voice that is as soft and unstoppable as an avalanche.
He must have read the dark place his thought went there for a moment on his face, Shang Qinghua realizes uncomfortably.
He laughs.
“Of course not!” he exclaims, a bit too jovially. “You’ll figure something out, my king!”
“Yes,” Mobei-jun says, and lays his head back on Shang Qinghua. It’s heavy on him, but comforting as well.
*
He’s a bit surprised the following day to find Mobei-jun in the library, together with Elder Princess Mo and her chambermaid, a demoness only slightly less ancient than her. They are seated around a desk piled with scrolls and manuscripts, at which Mobei-jun is glowering at when Shang Qinghua walks in through the door.
Shang Qinghua blinks at the three icy stares trained his way and backs out quickly, almost running into Madam Xun in the process. She lets out a little trilling shriek and drops the pile of books she was carrying.
“Ah! Prince Consort Shang Qinghua, I’m so sorry,” she apologises, fluttering multiple tentacles and blinking her wide luminescent eyes at him.
“No no, that was my fault,” he waves her apologies away, leaning down to pick up a book that had fallen on his foot. Luckily it was light one, a narrow volume with a paper cover. The cover has a pattern of plum flowers over cracked ice, and the calligraphy on it reads: Heart of Ice, part 10: Spring Thaw, Dispelling Enmities.
Clearly from the human realm, the make, materials and calligraphy look far too delicate to be demon made.
He hands it back to Madam Xun, who smiles demurely in thanks.
“Was the library taken?” she asks. “I was thinking of getting some studying done… you know, trying to get to know the local history,” she adds with a giggle, one of her tentacles covering her sharp teeth. “I adore my new family, but they are ever so lively, it is difficult to concentrate on reading...”
Shang Qinghua looks at the small pile of books that the rest of Madam Xun’s tentacles have nimbly gathered up. Most have the same cover pattern.
History? He politely refrains from pointing out they are clearly cheap romance novels while Madame Xun chatters on cheerfully. Demons can be a bit unaware when it comes to human genres, there is no reason to embarrass her if she has made an honest mistake.
“Have you ever read them?” she asks, fluttering her long lashes at him in a way that might be flirting but mostly comes across as a bit ditzy.
The more Shang Qinghua talks with her, the more convinced he is that she is exactly what she seems. Thank the gods, that’s one less thing to worry about for him.
“Ah, no, don’t think so?” he replies absently.
“You really should!” she enthuses. “The description is ever so lovely. I heard the author is working on a new volume so I’m trying to catch up before that. Remind me to loan you the earlier parts sometime!” she concludes, beaming at him.
She reminds Shang Qinghua distantly of Ning Yingying, bless her.
“That would be lovely, thank you,” he agrees politely, thinking that he might check it out for old times sake. As an old producer of entertaining literature and all that.
Madame Xun giggles, hiding her mouth once more.
“I mean, I’m sure the, ah, flower arrangement scenes are nothing like the real thing~” she twitters in a strange non-sequitur. Flower arrangement? What does that mean, Shang Qinghua wonders. Does he even want to know?
“Pardon?” he says, and she frowns.
“Was that the wrong word? Ah, you know,” she says, and makes an evocative gesture with a couple of tentacles.
“Ah!” Shang Qinghua squeaks. Oh no. He is not discussing porn with the wife of a demon with a sword as big as he is! “Oh no, look at the time, I apologise but I really have to go… go get some work done. Lovely to meet you!” he babbles before making an escape.
*
In the afternoon, Mobei-jun takes care of some repairs to a wall of the palace that has acquired some concerning cracks spiderwebbing towards the heavy ceiling. He stands there a long time, hands pressed to the grey ice and his brow furrowed, as the wall slowly knits together with the help of the ancestral magic of the Mo clan.
These things always tire him out, so afterwards he naps while Shang Qinghua reads over some personal correspondence in bed, snickering at Cucumber Bro’s wonderfully sarcastic description of the antics at the latest immortal conference.
After a while he realizes Mobei-jun has woken up and is observing him.
“What?” Shang Qinghua asks, putting the letter down.
“Talked to great-aunt,” Mobei-jun says, after a slightly too long pause.
“I saw you in the library,” Shang Qinghua replies, feeling a sudden ill premonition. “Was this about the heir issue?” he asks.
Mobei-jun nods.
“We discussed options,” he says gruffly.
What had she said at the council meeting? That they could find a second spouse? Shang Qinghua’s heart drops into his stomach, the pleasant mood of before thoroughly dispelled. He does his best to keep his expression neutral, however. There’s more at stake here than his feelings.
“I see,” he says.
“Should we?” Mobei-jun asks right back.
“Should we what?” Shang Qinghua wonders.
“What my great-aunt said, at the council meeting.” Mobei-jun says, his expression grave. “Getting an heir,” he clarifies, a faint dusting of blue on his cheeks.
Shang Qinghua’s sits on the bed, smile frozen on his lips while his thoughts spin wildly.
“You… want to?” he asks carefully.
Mobei-jun’s gaze turns more intense, until Shang Qinghua has to look away.
“It is important.” he says, and then, quieter. “And I do want to. Do you?” he asks.
Shang Qinghua draws in a breath, sharply, still hanging onto his calm expression by the skin of his teeth. What does he think about it, about Mobei-jun finding some lady demon and doing her rather than Shang Qinghua? Sure, sounds great, except the part where she will definitely murder the pesky first spouse in her way, he wrote the book on harem intrigues, he knows how these things go down.
He can do this, he tells himself. Just don’t panic and do or say anything hasty.
“Great! Great idea! Don’t know why we didn’t do that sooner!” he babbles, his voice breaking slightly on the last word.
Shit. He panicked, he thinks as Mobei-jun frowns at him.
“We don’t… have to,” he says slowly. “If you’d rather not?”
Shang Qinghua takes a deep breath.
Mobei-jun is right, this is important. For the realm and also for Mobei-jun’s safety, though he is probably not thinking about that. That’s Shang Qinghua’s job, worrying about politics. So he should do it.
“No, I really do,” he says, trying to convince both Mobei-jun and himself.
*
~*~
Far northern demon realm:
The far northern demon realm is beautiful. During the day, the snow that covers everything glitters when it is clear, the smoothness of it broken by jagged formations of ice in different shades of grey, blue and bottle green. The frequent snowstorms that cover the landscape turn everything a hazy white, the sky, the earth and the air.
At night, it’s even more breathtaking, with the frequent waves of multicoloured light writhing across the sky like dancing dragons, dimming the strange constellations of the demon realm behind them.
It is also, as Shang Qinghua knows very well, at least as deadly as it is beautiful. The only reason his lungs haven’t seized in the frigid air is because he starts every day with a lovely brew of his king’s blood. As such, he’s aware of the extreme cold, but feels it no more than Mobei-jun or the other ice demons in their little entourage do.
Shang Qinghua swears after they return to the palace in the lesser reaches of Mobei-jun’s realm, he’ll never again complain about the cold there. Relatively, it is practically balmy there.
Mobei-jun still insists on bundling him up in the sled in multiple layers of furs with no skin visible, hardly even his eyes behind the slats of the snow goggles.
Most of their group wears them, barring Mobei-jun himself. Shang Qinghua presumes he’s too cool for snow blindness. Hopefully.
Besides the cold, the landscape houses other dangers as well, from monsters to sudden cracks in the ice to treacherous canyons hidden under a layer of piled up snow.
The party they are with, consequently, consists mostly of the court’s permanent party of hunters. They spend more time out here than they do in the palace, only returning every now and again with goods to sell in the south.
Years ago, the furs and monster parts they didn’t use themselves were sold to demons or a few brave (and usually quite sketchy) humans who would trade with demons. Since then, Shang Qinghua had seen to creating contacts that ensured they could sell them more directly and for better profit.
Most cultivators are still leery of buying from demons, but there are a few who have understood the advantages of quality and competitive prices. And of course Cang Qiong gets a first look at the stock.
Currently, most of the hunters are busy slaying a group of large worm like creatures that burst through the snow just ahead of them earlier. The first of them had tried to eat the leading sled cat (Shang Qinghua is not sure that’s what they are, but they kinda look like giant cats to him) but it had fought back.
The senior members of the party haven’t joined the fight this time, instead choosing to hang back near Shang Qinghua and Mobei-jun’s sled. Judging by the casually evaluating look that the hunting party leader is giving the fighters, she sees this as an appropriate challenge for the younger generation rather than any cause for concern.
Shang Qinghua winces as one of the worms opens a maw full of rotating rows of needle-sharp teeth, and then spits out a slug of poison that causes the snow it hits to melt and fizz. A young male demon barely avoids it, rolling away in the snow.
“Sloppy,” Linguang-jun remarks laconically.
He’s keeping slightly more distance with the sled, but Shang Qinghua has noticed the justifiably dark looks Mobei-jun kept throwing at him anyway. It’s been a bit of a tense trip.
Shang Qinghua wouldn’t go so far as to say he trusts Mobei-jun’s uncle now, but he has been a member of the hunting party for many years and caused no new trouble since then.
“Hmph,” Xue Liang grunts, throwing her long silvery braid back as she does.
“The mother should turn up any moment, don’t you think?” Linguang-jun mutters, throwing a sly look from beneath his lashes at her.
Xue Liang glances at him, her face unimpressed.
“I should think so,” she agrees drily, just as a much larger worm appears on the scene, throwing powdery snow everywhere.
“Hmph,” Mobei-jun says, sounding grumpy.
“Shouldn’t take much longer,” Xue Liang tells him. “The bigger worms are slower.”
Indeed, the rest of the hunters seem to have an easy time with the big worm, dodging the bursts of poison and the barbs at the other end with ease.
“Besides, this colony is pretty small, it must be a new one,” Linguang-jun says and yawns. “It’s been a very peaceful trip, hasn’t it? Must be the awesome aura of the king,” he adds towards Mobei-jun, who glowers back at him.
“I for one appreciate that!” Shang Qinghua throws in, hoping the two of them will continue to maintain their fragile peace.
Linguang-jun gives him a brief cool glance and then turns away as if dismissing him. Mobei-jun is still glaring at him, but for Mobei-jun it’s a mild threat. Perhaps a medium threat at most?
Shang Qinghua frees a mittened hand with some effort and pats his king’s arm, hoping to signal that it isn’t worth it to start a fight with his uncle, especially when they are stuck in the middle of the freezing nowhere.
When he glances as Xue Liang, there is almost a smile on her usually grave face, before their attentions turn to the hunters at a loud thud. The last worm falls on the snow, headless and twitches a few last times before it stills.
The two demons with halberds who finished it off look at each other triumphantly.
“Idiots!” Linguang-jun bellows abruptly, causing them to start and turn towards him guiltily.
He stomps over to yell some more at the abruptly wilting pair, something about poison glands and ruining the pelt that Shang Qinghua quickly tunes out.
“He seems to fit in well,” he remarks in the general direction of Xue Liang.
She shrugs, just enough to lightly shift the soft white fur over her shoulders. She’s all dressed in white and light grey as is the rest of the party, almost melting into their background.
“He does his part,” she says neutrally, and then glances at Mobei-jun who still looks impatient. “I’ll go help out so we can get the carcasses handled as quick as possible and be on our way,” she adds magnanimously.
Shang Qinghua sighs inwardly and reminds himself how much revenue each monster they have stopped to take apart will bring to the court.
Shang Qinghua has been impressed by his king’s restraint during the trip, the way he has respected Xua Liang’s position as the mistress of the hunt. He’s still her king, of course, but out here they are in her territory, and essentially at her mercy.
He knows how ill that must sit with Mobei-jun, but for some reason he was adamant on this diplomatic mission.
He does take his responsibilities seriously, Shang Qinghua think with a warm glow of admiration and pride. That includes visiting all corners of his realm on numerous diplomatic and mystical occasions, as Shang Qinghua has learned over the course of their marriage.
At first, Shang Qinghua had thought the mission was for getting the… other spouse, what with the big deal made of it, but his subtle inquiries had shown that wasn’t the case. In fact, there has been no outright mention of any plans so far.
Maybe Mobei-jun hasn’t officially agreed to them yet. Shang Qinghua should ask him, but he would rather enjoy the time he has left with just him and his king, like this mission. Even if it’s not exactly pleasant being stuck in freezing temperatures for days on end.
This is the first time they’ve ventured this far north, but it was only a matter of time, he supposes.
They don’t have much choice about the company either. Coming out here with a group of demons that did not know the landscape as well as the hunting party did would be extremely dangerous even for his king, mystical connection with the land or not.
Sadly, many of the monsters are too stupid not to attack them despite his presence, Shang Qinghua thinks as he glances towards the demons busily butchering the worms. That better not end up in his dinner, he thinks at the cuts of almost neon green flesh they are carving out.
He watches as Linguang-jun holds out a particularly bright piece of… something towards Xue Liang, his mouth curved into a sickle-like grin. She accepts the morsel absently and bites into it before walking on to direct another group of demons working on a smaller worm. Linguang-jun stares after her intently.
“He’s not trying to poison her, is he?” Shang Qinghua whispers, leaning towards Mobei-jun. His king gives him an odd look, then shakes his head. He looks… kinda like he just saw something unpleasant, and Shang Qinghua cannot blame him. Several of the demons are snacking on bits of worm in between work. Blegh.
“Only the poison acid glands of large furred snow worms are inedible,” Mobei-jun tells him, in the tone he gets when he’s imparting some knowledge that most five-year-old ice demons are aware of. “They disrupted those on the big one,” he adds. “The big ones tend to taste bad anyway, but it does make the skin less valuable.”
“Ah,” Shang Qinghua replies, putting the information aside in his don’t really need to know this but ok- pile.
When they set out again, only a few hours remain before sunset. They have to make camp at night, because even demons’ night vision doesn’t make the icy wasteland safe to travel in the dark.
Big things come out , as Mobei-jun said the one time he’d asked. Shang Qinghua has made a point of not coming out of his tent when he hears strange noises at night, because he would rather not know more than that.
Linguang-jun runs along the sleds like most of the hunting party, looking as untouched and graceful as he always does. The younger demons who got yelled at earlier keep a respectful distance to him, still looking despondent.
Overall, sending Linguang-jun away with the hunting party has worked much better than Shang Qinghua had expected.
When he’d originally pulled Xue Liang aside to insinuate that he’d overheard Linguang-jun saying he’d like to try his hand in hunting but would never ask unless Xue Liang specifically asked him to join them, he’d been working on a vague memory of his lost outline regarding Mobei-jun’s family and the details of their ancient drama.
He hadn’t even recalled Xue Liang, Mobei-jun Senior’s abandoned first wife, until the hunting party visited while Shang Qinghua was in residence and she turned up leading it in all her handsome glory.
Since then, and after the last time Linguang-jun made a nuisance of himself, Shang Qinghua had been wracking his brain for a way to get rid of him barring asking Luo Binghe to kill him dead enough he would stay that way (and even if he had agreed, Shen Qingqiu would have killed him for using poor innocent Luo Binghe as an assassin… oh Cucumber Bro).
Out of the recesses of his memory, a side note had floated up: when he was younger, Linguang-jun sincerely admired his elder brother’s wife. When he’d written it, Shang Qinghua had thought it would be ironic, considering the later wife-stealing, and would give Linguang-jun’s resentment further flavour. But then his computer had crashed, he’d forgotten half the outline and ended up using even less.
But still, admiration! He could use that if any of it remained, he thought. Besides which, hopefully Linguang-jun would be too proud to turn the offer down? And then maybe he could get eaten by a monster or something like that.
It has been a few years now, and he hasn’t, but at least he seems too busy to be plotting, Shang Qinghua thinks. Maybe he really has found a place where he fits in? As unexpected as that is for an ex-courtier like Linguang-jun.
Shang Qinghua used to get the feeling Xue Liang had been surprised too, but now their rapport seems very good, from what he has seen.
The horrible possibility they might be plotting together flashes in his mind. He doesn’t think he ever wrote Xue Liang like that, though. She was a noble, loyal woman. Even when her cad of a husband abandoned her, she had simply moved on.
Ah, it really was a pity he’d never done anything with that in the original story… but well, she’s flourishing here, and hopefully keeping Linguang-jun from being a problem. Win-win, right?
...he really hopes they aren’t plotting together.
*
They make camp besides a large cliffside of greenish grey ice. The members of the party dig shallow pits and line them in chunks of frozen snow, which will be useful if they are hit by strong winds during the night. They also provide extra insulation, since it’s cold at night even for ice demons to sleep in. At least any ice demon that isn’t Mobei-jun, carrying the accumulated power of his lineage.
Shang Qinghua sleeps wrapped up in even more layers that he wears during the day. He can only faintly feel where Mobei-jun lies at his back, a heavy arm thrown over the furry burrito that is Shang Qinghua currently.
He really misses the ice palace, and how comparably cozy it is, Shang Qinghua thinks, sighing and wriggling slightly inside his covers to reposition his arm. He misses being able to cuddle properly. Not to mention other things that require nudity.
Shang Qinghua has spent most of his time on this trip sitting in a sled and staring at white snow. It’s been days . It’s not healthy for him.
“Sleep,” Mobei-jun’s voice rumbles from behind him, mildly exasperated.
“I’m trying,” Shang Qinghua replies, perhaps more snappily than he intended, because Mobei-jun goes still for a moment and then shifts around to stare down at Shang Qinghua.
He can’t actually see it because it’s pitch black in their tent, but it has happened often enough before he knows the feeling . He’d bet this is one of Mobei-jun’s what’s wrong with my fidgety husband now and possibly, should I be concerned ?
Shang Qinghua sighs deeper and goes slack in the rolled up furs that constrain him.
“I’m just… bored. Have too much time to think all day,” he mumbles sulkily.
“Hm,” Mobei-jun says. “It has been pretty uneventful.”
He has mostly been sitting in the sled as well, presumably to protect Shang Qinghua in case anything the hunters can’t handle appears. He’s probably bored as well. Shang Qinghua doesn’t really want it to be more eventful, he just wants something to do. But that isn’t going to happen.
“Should be at the village midday tomorrow,” Mobei-jun adds, patting Shang Qinghua’s back hard enough to be felt through all the layers as he lies down again. “Sleep.”
Shang Qinghua snorts through his nose, but he tries to focus on Mobei-jun’s even breathing and eventually manages to fall asleep as well.
*
The next morning they set out on what should be the last day of travelling until the reach their goal, a small settlement very far north. They get up before sunrise while the sky is still a powdery purple above the snow. During the night, snowdrifts have piled around the tents of the camp, weighing the fabric down at the edges.
Shang Qinghua wakes up with stiff joints, the deep cold starting to creep in on him as the effects of the blood he had the previous morning weaken.
He gets up, trying to keep the covers around him and feeling grubby in the clothes he hasn’t removed completely in days. Before he has really even woken properly, Mobei-jun pushes a warm bowl into his hands. It smells of herbs, spices and underneath that, the iron tang of blood. The taste is tolerable, if not what Shang Qinghua would choose to drink.
He holds back a sigh and upends the bowl, drinking it quickly enough that he doesn’t taste it too much.
“Thank you, my king,” he tells Mobei-jun, his voice still hoarse from sleep. It’s hard to see well inside the tent, but he thinks he sees a faint smile hover on Mobei-jun’s lips for a moment. Ah, sometimes his king is cute as well!
Soon afterwards, they set off, as the sun inches over the horizon. The smooth movement of the sled is almost lulling Shang Qinghua back to sleep when he startles awake at a soft exclamation. Maybe another monster attack, he thinks in exasperation.
It’s not. Instead, his eyes open to a brightness that is dazzling even through the goggles. The sun has fully risen, and it’s surrounded by spears and curves of light that seem to fill the entire sky.
Xue Liang is smiling faintly, the corners of her eyes crinkled.
“That’s an impressive halo,” she comments from her position close by. “It’s a good sign.”
Good sign for what, Shang Qinghua wonders briefly, and then supposes it’s just in general, or for whatever they are doing here, which, if he is completely honest, he’d kinda zoned out on.
He had been preoccupied, and besides, these missions were pretty much always the same. Greet the locals, eat something that hopefully didn’t contain anything too unpleasant, Mobei-jun might beat up some local warriors in a playful tourney (or just because they challenged him). Sometimes there is a magical cave or a mystical glowy thing or both.
Shang Qinghua hasn’t been his king’s consort for all these years not to know how these missions go. They are pretty much routine by now.
Mobei-jun grunts and brushes powdery snow that has caught on his furs, throwing Shang Qinghua a glance from the corner of his eye.
Shang Qinghua closes his eyes against the light and dozes some more.
“There’s our welcoming committee,” Xue Liang says sometime later, waking him up.
When he squints, after a while he can also make out a small group in the distance.
As they approach, it clears up into a group of three demons wearing what are most likely their best holiday fur attires. One of them, an small old woman with a face like dried fruit, is also wearing a hat that is a third of her full height and is decorated heavily with gemstones. It looks like it should be too heavy for her, but she seems unbothered by it.
Her eyes are pale enough that Shang Qinghua wonders if she is blind, though she does turn towards them as they approach.
Mobei-jun goes right to her, ignoring the two younger demons in the group. Shang Qinghua thinks they might all be related, possibly three generations of the same family judging by their ages. The youngest, a man with gems decorating his horns, looks both very excited and nervous.
“Priestess,” Mobei-jun says shortly, with as much respect as his voice bends to.
The woman nods just as snappily, more an acceptance of the greeting than a show of respect. Her voice creaks as she speaks:
“Welcome, Mobei-jun, to you and your consort,” she tilts her head at Shang Qinghua, her wrinkled lips twisting in consideration. “This the one?”
“Yes,” Mobei-jun replies in a dark tone, clearly hearing the implied questioning of his choices.
Shang Qinghua is glad that topic is left with the priestess only giving him another dubious look and then seemingly shrugging it off. The last thing he wants is to see his husband defending his honour to little old demon ladies who can probably curse someone’s head off.
He focuses as she pulls out a package wrapped in soft looking fur and a red cord.
“The gem,” she says matter of fact, holding it out with both hands.
Since Mobei-jun is just staring at the package, Shang Qinghua hurries to accept it for him.
“Thank you very much!” he says, beaming at her.
She hands him the package, face neutral now.
“It should be worn to skin until you get to the innermost cave of the mountain,” she explains, gesturing towards a jagged peak rising far in the distance towards north. “It takes three days to reach, and one more inside. The stone will—”
“I know,” Mobei-jun interrupts her, abruptly and very rudely. Shang Qinghua gives him a Look, but finds that Mobei-jun is already staring at him. He looks so intense for a moment that back in the day Shang Qinghua would have wondered how he has pissed him off.
He used to be so bad at reading at his king, he thinks, shaking his head at past himself.
Well, sometimes it’s still hard to tell the difference between say… angry Mobei-jun or a bashful Mobei-jun. Wait, bashful? He looks again, and that is indeed a healthy robin egg blue flush on the sharp sculpted plains of his gorgeous face.
Oh, maybe it’s one of Those missions.
“Hm, well, at first you should get some rest,” the old priestess says, amusement lurking in her eyes. “And food. Lots of food.”
She twinkles at Shang Qinghua. Oh no.
*
The settlement really is small, consisting of a few families living in an underground compound carved into a mountain. The mountain top barely peeks above the ice and snow, and the only reason Shang Qinghua knows it’s one is because he is told so. And because the compound goes very deep down.
He is taken on a tour and shown a very very deep hole on one of the lower, not populated levels, because the compound is also way bigger than seems necessary. Very big and very old.
One of the demons throws a stone into the hole. It pings around and then just… fades away.
“Why do you have that?” Shang Qinghua asks, staring down into it. The demon shrugs.
“Dunno. It’s a deep hole.” she says cheerfully, and scratches at her ear. “Heard someone tried to go in there once, but they never came back, so no one knows what’s in there.”
Shang Qinghua peers down into the darkness. He shudders and asks if they can go back to the upper levels.
There, at least, it feels a bit less like a grave, and while it’s still chilly by human standards, it’s at least warmer than on the outside.
During the banquet later, Shang Qinghua sees several members of the hunting party sitting very companionably with the locals. One man has several kids crawling all over him, and there is something of a resemblance between him and the eldest of them.
Ah, that would make sense, he supposes.
The food is reasonable, though Shang Qinghua skips the chilled raw meat with strange colours. And the fermented meat dishes. And anything with insect or monster in it.
Xue Liang shakes her head at him and tells him he could use the nutrients disapprovingly, while eating some bluish meat daintily with her fingertips.
“Excellent flavour,” she tells the cook laying out a dish of medallions of… some kind of fish? Or possibly snake. The cook nods back gravely.
Linguang-jun is giving the cook an evil eye while stroking the blade of his knife for some reason. Shang Qinghua notices this mainly because he’s used to watching out for him. Well, as long as he isn’t giving the evil eye at him or Mobei-jun, he supposes.
He’s still holding the wrapped package, feeling a strange compulsion to keep ahold of it. It’s most likely some minor plot device, he presumes as he strokes the short haired fur. There is something hard within it, probably the gem the priestess mentioned.
“Are you sure,” Mobei-jun asks, leaning close to him. He has that intense look again. This one is shaded more towards concern.
“Uhh, it’s not dangerous, is it? The gem?” Shang Qinghua checks. “It’s not going to try to take over my mind or anything?” he adds with a suspicious look at the bundle.
Mobei-jun shakes his head.
“No. But I would carry it, if you want.” he looks conflicted about it.
Shang Qinghua really wants to keep holding the gem. Definitely some kind of charm on it.
“Still, I would be honoured if… if you would,” Mobei-jun continues, sounding almost pained at having to say something heartfelt. Aw. “I will protect you from any dangers,” he adds with a general glower.
His king is so cute, Shang Qinghua thinks with a warm glow in his chest. He pats Mobei-jun’s chest.
“You always do,” he tells him warmly, and then looks curiously down in his lap. Is the gem warm even through the furs? There’s definitely something emanating from it, like an almost physical glow. Very curious.
*
The next day, they head out. Turns out they will be making the journey underground, by foot, which has sides and sides. The bad, that’s six days of walking there and back. The good, the underground is a lot less breezy.
The old priestess fusses over them in a faintly ceremonial fashion, brushing both of them over with a small decorated broom. Mobei-jun leans down so she can reach.
“There you go,” she says afterward. “You get going now. Have fun,” she says and makes a shooing motion with the broom.
Mobei-jun nods back at her gravely, and then leads Shang Qinghua up a slope. It’s a slow descent, but it’s a while of trekking in the snow before the dark opening of a cave becomes visible in what had just looked like a snowy hill.
They stop at the mouth of the cave, yawning out of the icy landscape, as Shang Qinghua finally unwraps the gem like he has been itching to do. It is, like he expected, glowing. The colour is surprisingly familiar, and he laughs as he sees it.
“It’s like your eyes, my king!” he exclaims, and meets the same eyes over the stone.
Mobei-jun nods wordlessly.
Shang Qinghua lifts up the stone to look at it more closely. It has a soft inner glow that flutters rapidly like the heartbeat of a small animal. There are no holes or setting to the gem, it’s simply been wrapped in a silk cord to form a chain.
Mobei-jun helps him put it over his head and to get it under all the layers he is wearing, until it’s laid against his skin.
“Huh, it really is warm,” he remarks, putting his hand over his chest, where the gem now rests.
“Mm,” Mobei-jun agrees, his face grave and yet somehow soft.
Shang Qinghua had worried that the caves might get tricky, but in the end most of them are easy enough to traverse and the three-day trip through the cave complex is fairly uneventful. More of a three day hike than an adventure, for which Shang Qinghua is thankful.
Mobei-jun’s aura is out in full, and maybe that’s why they only encounter a few strange beasts, and most of them get out of their way post-haste.
Mobei-jun almost seems disappointed no one wants to fight him, Shang Qinghua thinks as the many legged and eyed spiny creature they found in an underground lake skitters away while letting out a high-pitched whining noise. It had seemed mildly threatening until Mobei-jun had pulled out his sword, and then it turned on its many heels and ran.
Shang Qinghua pats Mobei-jun consolingly on the arm.
“I’m sure we’ll find some braver monsters on the way home,” he assures him.
Mobei-jun gives him an unimpressed look and Shang Qinghua sighs.
He can’t help thinking how much Cucumber Bro would appreciate all the weird monsters they’ve been seeing on this trip. He’ll have to take care not to tell him too much or he’ll insist Shang Qinghua write all his impressions down, and then will complain they aren’t detailed enough. Nerd.
“For now, why don’t we admire the natural beauty of these sacred caves… I’m assuming they are sacred, right?” Shang Qinghua comments.
Mobei-jun looks amused, which for him is a very subtle expression. He looks around himself at the cavernous space of this particular cave, their immediate surroundings lighted faintly by the line of night pearls set to mark the path through it. On one side, the dark underground lake the monster had appeared from stretches out into the darkness.
Mobei-jun raises an eyebrow at Shang Qinghua, who snickers.
“Ok, maybe not the most aesthetic one, but it has…” he makes a waving motion. “Spooky charm.”
“Spooky charm?” Mobei-jun repeats.
“Yes, very much… but why don’t we move on,” Shang Qinghua suggests, glancing anxiously at the still water. It’s very dark, and who knows what kind of ancient monsters might dwell there besides the cowardly spiny thing. He never wrote about this part of the world, which means it could be anything.
“Maybe the next one will be more like that one with the big crystals, I liked those.”
Mobei-jun nods, and they walk on. Shang Qinghua lets Mobei-jun walk between himself and the dark lake until they’ve come away from it. Sometimes he hears distant splashes out there, and it’s not good for his heart.
The next day of travel is even more uneventful, lulling Shang Qinghua into a sense of security where he is more bothered by his sore feet and muscles from all the walking than the weird caves they are travelling in. He’s walking along, explaining some old story to Mobei-jun and barely paying attention to where they are.
“So then I said, Liu-shixiong, the peaks have already used up this month’s budget for repairs, which I mentioned to you the other day, and—AAAH,” the last is him screaming because there is a huge dragon in the cave, it’s wagon sized head just a few steps from the entrance.
Shang Qinghua skitters back and hides behind Mobei-jun, who has drawn his sword again. It’s very quiet for a moment except for Shang Qinghua’s heavy breathing, and then he dares to open one eye and peer around his king.
“Is it… sleeping?” he asks in a whisper. “Or dead?”
On a closer look, the dragon is very still where it lies curled up on the cave floor. Its scales are a bluish white and grey colour. In fact, maybe that is frost on it? And lichen. Or something like that.
Mobei-jun grunts, then goes over to the dragon’s flank despite Shang Qinghua’s protests. He pokes at it with a booted foot.
“Dead,” he says, then glances up at where the light filters faintly into the cave through some opening up above. “Thought so, even the legends don’t mention dragons this far north. This one must have frozen a long time ago,” he says, glancing over the carcass calmly, before frowning and looking closer at something.
Shang Qinghua comes closer too, curious if still wary. There is something rounded that the dragon’s clawed front foot is curled around.
“Oh, is that an egg?” he asks. “A frozen dragon’s egg would be a cool souvenir…” he thinks aloud, at the same time noting the egg is firmly wedged in the limb.
“Step back,” Mobei-jun tells him, and when Shang Qinghua does, he bends down to wedge his hands onto the dragon’s foot. Muscles in his shoulders ripple, Shang Qinghua can see them straining against the fabric of his jacket. There is a loud cracking sound and the dragon’s dead limb moves just an inch.
“Oh!” Shang Qinghua says, having been distracted by the display of strength.
“Thanks. You didn’t have to,” he preens, before frowning. “Are you sure we can take that? It won’t be cursed or anything?”
“The dragon’s spirit is long gone,” Mobei-jun replies, picking up the egg and balancing it in one hand. It looked small next to the dragon but it’s actually pretty big. It more elongated than any bird egg he has ever seen, with a pretty iridescent sheen under the layer of frost.
“Ok, cool,” Shang Qinghua says, pulling out his extra qiankun bag and then some clothes he had put in it that needed to be washed once they got home. They’ll be perfect for wrapping the egg in, not that it would get jostled and break in the bag anyway, but he’ll feel better wrapping it.
“Cucum… Shen-bro will be so jealous,” he says gleefully. “Or I could give it to him as a gift, I suppose… but he already has so many things,” he mutters.
Mobei-jun looks restless, so they move on quickly after that, leaving the dead dragon behind.
Thinking about it, shouldn’t they reach their destination soon? It’s the third day, and they’ve been walking a while.
They’ve been downwards slowly, Shang Qinghua thinks, and it becomes clearer on the last leg of the journey. The caves and tunnels get smaller, not small enough that they have to crawl, but definitely less cavernous. They also get warmer, until Shang Qinghua finds he has to loosen his heavy clothing, sweat beginning to gather on his skin. Mobei-jun just takes his coat off entirely.
“Is the mountain volcanic?” Shang Qinghua asks curiously.
Mobei-jun shrugs.
“Never been before,” he says and ducks a stalactite hanging from the ceiling. There have been more of those than during the rest of the trip in the caves, Shang Qinghua notes. Probably because the air is both warmer and more humid in this part of the caves, compared to the dry cold that seems to be the standard around these parts.
They pass through another tunnel, the ceiling low enough that Mobei-jun has to bend almost in half and even Shang Qinghua is uncomfortable, a crick starting to form in his neck when they finally step out of it and into a wider cavern.
“Oh, wow,” he says, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Pretty.”
Lots of stalagmites and stalactites here, cascading from the ceiling and floor, some of them forming thick pillars all around the room. The air is pleasantly warm.
It’s also filled with blue light, and at first Shang Qinghua can’t tell why, until he takes a closer look at the wall near where they entered and sees that it is studded with stones that are glowing, some very faintly and others more vividly. Actually…
“Is this where the gem came from?” he asks.
Mobei-jun nods, his eyes reflecting the light in the cave, seeming to glow in the low light.
Shang Qinghua takes out the one he is carrying to compare it, noting the light in it seems brighter and the surface is smooth and polished. He’s still feeling that weird attachment to it, for it being a pretty rock. Not even the prettiest rock he has seen, honestly. Just very lovable, somehow.
“So, now we’re here, what do we do?” he asks, looking around.
Besides the aforementioned features, there is only a small pool at the far end, the water also glowing softly, presumably from more glowing rocks under the surface. Shang Qinghua walks over, noticing the water is steaming. Hot spring? Are they allowed to bathe in that, he wonders. A warm bath sounds great about now.
His hand is hovering right above the water’s surface, and then he hesitates.
“Can I touch this?” he asks, having been burned before. It could be acid for all he knows. Mobei-jun is right behind him, having predictably followed on his heels.
“We have to bathe in it, first,” Mobei-jun replies, the words clipped.
“Oh, nice!” Shang Qinghua exclaims, testing the water with his hand as he’d planned to. Pleasantly warm, but not too hot. Mobei-jun will probably think it uncomfortable, he thinks with a glance towards him. He’s staring at the water, blue glow reflected on his skin and looking otherworldly.
“It’s been a while since I’ve been able to take all these clothes off,” Shang Qinghua comments absently, starting to strip.
Mobei-jun’s head turns to him abruptly as if it’s on a swivel, and Shang Qinghua realizes that may have come out a bit… hah. How is that he can only flirt by accident but not on purpose, the laments, feeling caught off guard.
“Ahah,” he says. “I mean”, it’s been a while since both of us have been naked, together” which is what he just said but more awkwardly phrased. Damnit. “It’ll be nice to get clean, and warm. At least for me, I’m guessing for you it’ll be more ceremonial?”
Mobei-jun nods, still laser focused on him and each new strip of skin revealed. Shang Qinghua is used to it, but in a completely new location it’s unusually exciting. He’d try to put on a show but knowing himself he would trip and give himself a concussion, so he just takes his clothes off while occasionally looking at Mobei-jun.
After disrobing, they sink into the water, Mobei-jun grimacing faintly even as Shang Qinghua practically melts, all tension leaching out of him.
“This is perfect after that long walk!” he enthuses, and Mobei-jun looks somewhat gratified.
“Had to be done,” he says.
Shang Qinghua nods.
“I know,” he says, luxuriating in the warmth. “you have your duties as king.”
That reminds him of the whole… descendant issue, which he has tried not to think about. As long as no one says anything he’s just going to delay it, is what he has decided.
He looks up and find Mobei-jun giving him a searching look.
“What?” he asks.
“We don’t… have to,” Mobei-jun says, tone almost cautious. “Even having come here.”
He reaches out, laying a hand on Shang Qinghua’s chest. There’s something round and hard resting against his skin, and he realizes he never took off the gem. He looks down, and the gem is glowing very brightly in the water.
“Have to…?” Shang Qinghua asks, distracted by the glow that now seems to pulse in the same rhythm as his heartbeat. His heartbeat that is speeding up.
“This,” Mobei-jun says, his long lashes lowering over his icy blue eyed, as he leans in to kiss Shang Qinghua.
Ha, he thinks, it is that sort of mission!
“It’s fine,” he replies breathily as they separate some moments later, Shang Qinghua’s lips feeling pleasantly bruised. He glances at the jagged stone floor of the cave, pursing his lips.
“I brought bedding,” Mobei-jun says quickly, and when Shang Qinghua turns to him he looks… eager. Shang Qinghua licks his lips.
“Always prepared, my king, so dependable” he says, to see the blue flush grow deeper on Mobei-jun’s pale skin. Flirting in bed is actually way easier, that he can do! Well, in a bath, right now, but the mood is right.
Mobei-jun picks him out of the water, drying Shang Qinghua’s body for him before letting him return the favour in an almost ceremonial fashion. There’s a pause, as they stand there holding each other’s arms, and then Mobei-jun gets a rolled-up mattress and some pillows and blankets from a qiankun bag, making a rather comfy looking bed right there in front on the pool.
Shang Qinghua appreciates the view of his husband setting out the bed, entirely naked in the blue light, his hair pulled up into a quick bun to keep it out of the water earlier. It reveals a rare view of his snow-white neck, and the smooth plains of his back, spine curving all the way down to firm buttocks, shifting as he reaches out to arrange the pillows.
Here and there his skin is dotted with tiny blue freckles, which Shang Qinghua has found adorable since the first saw them.
Mobei-jun’s cock hangs heavy beneath his body, already half-hard, and Shang Qinghua has to swallow the saliva gathering in his mouth.
“My king,” he mutters, voice coming out low, and Mobei-jun glances up at him. He frowns down at the bed, before seeming to deem it satisfactory, and then sits down and leans back on it, looking up at Shang Qinghua in his usual imperious way.
“You would lie with me, Shang Qinghua?” he asks, in a way that sounds oddly formal.
Shang Qinghua laughs, feeling both excited and nervous as he often does in situations like these. At least there is no audience this time, he tells himself, and feels the excitement winning over.
“Yes, sure,” he replies, and as Mobei-jun gives him an impatient look, adds: “I would, Mobei-jun, if you want to?”
“Yes,” Mobei-jun replies gravely, which is an odd contrast to his nakedness, how he’s as vulnerable as he ever gets (except when Shang Qinghua has him beneath himself in bed, writhing as he pushes into him, or uses one of the jade dildos they have until Mobei-jun asks him for what he really wants, which is always Shang Qinghua in whatever form he can have him).
“Come,” Mobei-jun tells him, and he goes.
*
There is most certainly something magical happening between the necklace and the cave, Shang Qinghua thinks distantly, more focused on the long dexterous fingers inside him aided by a generous application of ointment. It’s not that he wouldn’t usually be enjoying that, but he’s had these feelings enhanced before, and this feels like that.
“My king, ah, please,” he gasps, writhing shamelessly on Mobei-jun’s fingers and then leaning down to bite the join of his neck and shoulder.
That causes Mobei-jun to draw in breath as well, his erection pulsing where it’s pressed into Shang Qinghua’s hip. He’s so big, it’s always a challenge, but in this case Shang Qinghua can’t wait for it.
“Wait,” Mobei-jun says, his eyes closed and expression almost pained. There is slick precum smeared on Shang Qinghua’s skin where Mobei-jun’s cock lies against him.
Desperation is such a good look on his king, he thinks, reaching out to play with a sapphire coloured nipple and enjoying the sounds Mobei-jun makes.
Mobei-jun grabs his wrist, holding it firmly as he glares at him.
“Stop,” he orders. Growls it, practically.
Shang Qinghua snickers, feeling giddy because this beautiful man is so hot for him he cannot bear it. He still can hardly believe it.
“Then… you should give me what I want, my king?” he asks, letting his voice go soft and watching as Mobei-jun’s nostrils flare.
“Yes,” he says, dazed, and then seems to refocus. “The gem, we need to… use it first,” he says.
“Use it?” Shang Qinghua says, looking down at the brightly glowing stone. He’d almost forgotten about it, but now he’s been reminded the odd protectiveness he felt before flares up again, especially when Mobei-jun reaches out to lift it off him.
“Don’t,” Shang Qinghua says, feeling discontent with the idea of parting with it.
Unusually gentle, Mobei-jun kisses him, cradling the back of his head.
“I just need to take the band off, then I’ll give it back,” he says after the kiss, trying to untangle the silk cord before Shang Qinghua shakes his head and takes over.
Once they are done, the stone sits bare in Mobei-jun’s hand, before he draws Shang Qinghua into another kiss, this one deep and dirty.
“How will I carry it without the…” Shang Qinghua mumbles, then gasps as Mobei-jun’s big fingers return to his hole. Along with them is a bigger, round pressure. Is that the… oh.
It is the stone, he realizes, flushing at the idea. It’s still pleasantly warm, an odd counterpoint to Mobei-jun’s cooler fingers. He shifts restlessly as the delicious, almost painful pressure opens him up.
“Wait, wait, how will it come out?” he asks, suddenly anxious despite the fact that he is very very turned on and the stone entering him feels amazing in that magically amplified fashion.
Mobei-jun gives him a long look.
“It won’t,” he says, as if it’s supposed to be obvious.
At Shang Qinghua’s no doubt startled expression he continues:
“It won’t be a problem. The texts say it melts away after use.”
“Oh, I see. That’s nice,” Shang Qinghua babbles, shifting again. The stone egg feels great, amazing, not as hard and intrusive as one might expect, but he still feels empty, a feeling that only increases as the minutes pass with just it and Mobei-jun’s fingers still inside him.
Finally, they pull out and Mobei-jun repositions them, his breathing choppy. Shang Qinghua feels his cock at his entrance, entering slowly. It’s bigger than the stone was, slightly cool.
He tenses as it enters him, kneeling rigidly above Mobei-jun, hands on his hips keeping him securely where Mobei-jun wants him. He can hear and see him struggle to maintain that control and not simply thrust in wildly.
“Yes, do it,” Shang Qinghua gasps, grinding back onto Mobei-jun’s cock until he grunts and tightens his hold on Shang Qinghua’s hips to keep him from sinking back all the way. The almost bruising hands feel good too, so he writhes in place.
“Shang Qinghua,” Mobei-jun snaps roughly. “Stop moving.”
“Un,” he keens. “Want it. My king!”
Mobei-jun leans his head on his shoulder and draws a deep breath as if gathering himself, and then very very slowly enters him all the way, while Shang Qinghua does his best to stay still. He feels dazed by the end of it, babbling something that doesn’t even make sense to him.
They kiss again, which grounds him and also makes him hyperaware of just how full he is. Shang Qinghua presses his hand to his stomach, almost able to imagine he can feel the cock inside through it.Or the stone? Huh, did it disappear already? Weird. Well, that’s fine, he’s kind weirdly ok with it becoming part of him he supposes. It seemed like a good stone, a good egg, he thinks and laughs lowly, before grinding his hips just a little.
“So big,” he mumbles, and then is distracted by the intense gaze on him, how tight Mobei-jun’s fingers still are on his hips.
“Won’t last long,” Mobei-jun says through grit teeth, right before urging Shang Qinghua to lift himself up and sink back down on his cock, slowly. He’s so sensitive the slow movement is both wonderful and torturous.
“M-me neither,” he manages, right on the edge himself. He grabs his own cock and Mobei-jun takes over, thrusting into him in short little movements that seem to jar Shang Qinghua’s entire body. He’s so big even not aiming he keeps pressing against the sensitive spot inside him on every other movement, or maybe Shang Qinghua is just hypersensitive everywhere.
Mobei-jun’s gaze has gone soft in the special way that only happens when he is about to come, when all of his steely control is gone. He thrusts in hard enough that it should hurt, but only sparks heat deep inside Shang Qinghua, pleasure that radiates all through him.
“Going to come,” Mobei-jun says, the words choppy and breathy. “Put a child inside.”
Shang Qinghua shudders and tenses, crying out at another ruthless thrust inside, so so deep. The idea of it is too much, too hot, and for a mad moment he thinks it’s true and not just unusually inventive dirty talk from his king.
A flash of resentment, among the careening pleasure that it should be him, not anyone else...
It doesn’t matter, he decides, tension building quickly until it snaps. He comes, abruptly spending all over Mobei-jun’s perfect abs and chest. While he’s still twitching with the aftershocks, Mobei-jun curls upwards, pressing him down hard and grinding in a way that has Shang Qinghua gasping, his spent cock letting out a few more spurts.
He can feel some of Mobei-jun’s spend leaking out around his cock, shuddering with delight at the idea of how messy he must be inside, how slick and wet.
There is stillness for a moment, until Mobei-jun pulls out and arranges them into a more comfortable position on their sides. Shang Qinghua can feel wetness leaking out where they were connected, which usually would be kinda gross at this point, but he’s still feeling warm and glowy about all of it.
“Haha,” he says, “good thing clean-up will be so easy,” he mumbles into Mobei-jun’s chest.
“Hm,” Mobei-jun replies and strokes a hand along Shang Qinghua’s back and all the way down to his hole. And presses them in.
“Oh,” Shang Qinghua says. That would usually be too much so soon. It’s not.
“Will I be able to walk home?” he asks, having a sudden premonition that they won’t be just doing it the once. What did the priestess say, one day in the cave? One full day of fucking? Which he is all on board for, except for that small logistical question.
“I’ll carry you,” Mobei-jun tells him with a gentle kiss to his temple, even as his fingers are doing filthy things to Shang Qinghua’s insides.
“Well, that’s all right then,” he says.
*
When they leave, a day or so later, Mobei-jun first carefully pulls out one of the gems in the wall, which he wraps up with great reverence before returning to where Shang Qinghua is sitting gingerly on a flat stone.
He’s not sure his feet would carry him, so he’s just going to sit right there before his king helps him up.
“What’s that for?” he asks lazily.
“For next time,” Mobei-jun explains and then picks him up easily.
“For us?” Shang Qinghua asks, amused, and Mobei-jun’s eyes flash.
“...Possibly?” he says. “If you want.”
“Hmm,” Shang Qinghua mumbles, drowsy in the secure carry. “Wouldn’t mind… not right away, mind, the sled ride is a pain,” he adds.
Mobei-jun snorts, a soft whuff of air on Shang Qinghua’s temple.
*
~*~ |
Sarah yawned and rolled her shoulders as she finished cleaning the last room for the night. The Lengram Motel had two main buildings with a parking lot in between them. Each building had about thirty rooms and only one person to clean them all.
With a heavy sigh, she put the garbage bags on her cart, did a final check and locked the door. As she turned around, she bumped into someone.
He wrapped his arms around her and caught her before she fell over.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," she spluttered.
He released her and stepped back. "No, it's okay."
She looked up at the man and her lips parted. She hoped she didn't look as stunned as she felt. He was probably about 6'4 and had the build of a professional football player. He had perfect black skin that looked porcelain smooth. His hair was short and curly and he had an exquisite jawline. The black vest he wore barely contained his incredible muscles. It was a very tight fit and she could see a perfect outline of his six pack and his big pectorals. His arms and shoulders were enormous and a few thick veins ran down his biceps.
She noticed he had a black eye and several cuts around his jaw and cheeks. Sarah was about to ask him what happened, but decided not to.
"Um, well, have a good night," he said, giving her a polite smile. His voice was deep, but he sounded a little nervous and although he smiled, there was no happiness in his eyes.
"Uh, y-yes. Also. You. You, too. I mean, uh, have a good night, too."
She mentally kicked herself for sounding like an idiot.
His smile widened a bit and he gave her a nod.
She watched him enter his room, which was beside the one she just finished cleaning. He had a beautiful back and the way his ass flexed as he walked made her breathe in suddenly. It looked like he wasn't wearing underwear. She couldn't tear her eyes away from him.
She pushed her cart along and couldn't help glancing into his room when she sensed a sudden movement. The curtains weren't fully drawn and through the sliver, she saw him slip his vest off and use it to wipe his face and chest. She gasped at his broad, sculpted back. The summer heat made him glisten with sweat and she couldn't help but stare at a few drops run down that rock hard body.
When he dropped his vest onto the floor and climbed onto the bed, she quickly moved on before he noticed her peeking.
It had been so long since she had been with a man and even longer since she felt any sort of connection with anyone and someone as stunning as him appears out of nowhere just to tease her. She tried not to think about him and focused on her work.
She threw the garbage bags into the dumpster, put away her cleaning supplies and walked to the motel's front desk.
"Hi, Cheryl. I'm all done for today."
Cheryl looked up from her phone and those green eyes watched her from behind thick glasses. "Alright, then. Head off to bed."
"Okay. Good night."
"Hmph."
Cheryl was an elderly woman who was almost fifty. Her greying black hair was always cut short. After her husband died, she took over managing the motel. She was the reason this place didn't go out of business.
Sarah headed to her own room and locked the door behind her. She had left her radio on and heard the announcer talking about the police looking for someone.
"Anthony Anderson, wanted for assault and theft, is still missing. If anyone has any information, please call the authorities."
She maneuvered around the piles of books scattered around and written notes all over the floor and switched the radio off. She cleaned to earn money, but never cared to straighten up her own room. Cheryl always gave her a hard time about it. She pushed the thought away and went to take a quick shower. She dried herself off and slipped on an old t-shirt and shorts.
Her textbooks were waiting for her at her desk and she wasted no time getting to work. She opened her laptop and turned it on. Sarah switched on her lamp while it booted up. It was incredibly old and slow, but it worked. She bought it for fifty dollars off eBay, so she supposed she was getting her money's worth. It normally took the computer several minutes to load one webpage, but she told herself it was better than nothing. She loaded up the website for her bank account and checked her balance. She was edging closer to her goal and she felt her lips curl into a small smile.
Next, she went to the admissions page for her dream college and stared at the photo of a group of students. A memory she did her best to keep buried suddenly resurfaced.
She felt her eyes sting. "I'm not stupid," she told herself. "I'm
stupid."
She held back her tears, put on her glasses and started studying.
***
Anthony hugged his pillow as he laid down on his bed. The argument he had with his stepfather, Michael, still rung in his ears. When things got out of hand, he left as soon as he could with nothing except the clothes on his back.
He needed to figure something out very soon before he became homeless. He thought about the girl he bumped into just outside his room and felt his heart jump. Her name tag said "Sarah." Anthony thought it suited her. It was a beautiful name for a beautiful woman.
She effortlessly took his breath away. She was curvy and voluptuous with an incredible hourglass figure, a tiny waist, bright blue eyes and her golden blonde hair was tied up to reveal her pretty neck. When he caught her, he felt her breasts push against him. They felt big and soft and although he wanted to hold her for a bit longer, he had to let her go so she wouldn't feel his growing erection. When she stepped back he noticed them jiggle a little bit and he felt his heart stutter.
What he liked about her the most was her wonderful Southern accent. He wanted an excuse to speak to her again so he could listen to her talk.
He shook his head and tried to forget about her. He had more important things to worry about. The bruises from the previous fight he had with Michael and the bruises from the fight before that still ached when he breathed. When he ran out of the mansion, he left behind the picture of his mother. Stupid, stupid thing to do.
"And don't you
come back!" he could still hear his stepfather shouting. "You were never my son!"
He tried to get some sleep, but was too afraid and paranoid to relax. He wished his mother was still here. She would know what to do.
There was a knock on the door and Anthony nearly jumped out of his skin. He jumped out of bed and put his best on. Maybe he should jump out the window and run away. No, if it was the police, then they would have to announce themselves, right? Did someone notice him?
They knocked again. "Anthony, it's me. Open up."
A huge feeling of relief washed over him when he recognized the voice.
He opened the door. "Kyle. You made it.""
"Yeah, I made it."
He stepped past him and entered the room. Kyle was an old detective with white hair and a bushy mustache. It didn't matter what mood he was in, he always looked worried.
"Is there any news?" Anthony asked, shutting the door.
"Yeah, but you're not gonna like it."
Anthony sat in the armchair. "I know, but tell me anyway."
"Well, Michael has a bunch of cops looking for you and before you ask, no. I wasn't followed."
"Okay."
"Michael's also contesting the will."
"What?!"
"He's saying that you were never Martha's son and he claims he has the documents to prove it, so the next beneficiary would be him."
"That's impossible!"
"I know. He must be forging the documents, but right now, we have no proof."
"That's...How could he do this?"
Kyle shrugged. "Because he's a snake, Anthony. He's after your mother's money."
"I never did anything wrong."
Kyle sat on the bed. "Of course, I know that you never did what Michael is accusing you of, but he's telling the public that you're a criminal who took advantage of his kindness and assaulted him. People believe him because on the surface, Michael is a model citizen. He donates to charities, hospitals, organizes fundraisers and everyone sees him as a man who just lost his wife."
"So...so, what do I do? You know I don't have a lot of time left, Kyle."
"I know, Ant. I know. We're working on it. Do you trust me?"
Anthony nodded. "Yes. I trust you, it's just...doesn't running make me look guilty?"
"Yes," he replied honestly. "But if they take you in, Michael will stop at nothing to send you to jail. He's a powerful man with a lot of influence and like I said, the public loves him. Just try to keep a low profile."
Anthony didn't know what to say or what to think. Kyle stayed and assured him for a few more minutes. Anthony told himself that panicking wouldn't help him, so the best thing he could do was to pull himself together.
Kyle stood up to leave and he opened the door for him.
"I'll come through for you, Ant."
He nodded. "I know you will. Thank you."
"Um..." The detective hesitated. "I just want to say that I'm sorry about Martha. She was a good woman."
He didn't know what to say, so he just nodded. With that, Kyle left and Anthony closed the door. He sat down again and put his head in his hands, doing his best to keep the tears at bay. How could everything go so wrong so quickly?
***
Sarah woke up and noticed she fell asleep at her desk again. She checked the time on her radio and saw it was a bit after six in the morning. When she sat up, a page was stuck to her cheek and her glasses were crooked. She pulled them both off and got dressed for work. She rummaged through her things until she found a protein bar and a juice box.
After wolfing them down, she brushed her teeth and went to the front desk.
"Oh, hi, Adam."
Adam always wore his hat backward and always smelled like marijuana. His acne flared up and he could never look Sarah in the eyes. Adam showed her the ropes when she first started working here and had asked her out a few weeks later, but when she said she had to focus on school, he became cold toward her. Whenever she came to him with questions, he would tell her to figure it out herself or just give her a shrug. She tried to explain that it wasn't anything personal, but he didn't seem to believe her.
She tried to rekindle their friendship a few times, but when Cheryl suspected that someone was stealing money, Adam told her that it was Sarah. Cheryl threatened to toss her out onto the street and the more Sarah denied doing it, the angrier she became. When Sarah suggested she check the security cameras, Cheryl asked if she was implying Adam stole the money.
"Are you telling me that my own
is stealing from me, you little inbred bitch?" she screamed.
It was nearly impossible for Sarah to hold her tears back. "No, I'm saying that we don't know who did it, so it's not fair to blame me. I don't even have the key!"
"You came crawling to me after your whore of a mother threw you out of her fucking trailer! This is how you repay me?"
Sarah stayed silent as Cheryl kept shouting at her while Adam tried to contain his laughter. It was $1500 that went missing, so Cheryl said she would take it out of Sarah's pay. For weeks, she had to dig through garbage cans for food and wear the same clothes because she couldn't afford to do her laundry. Ever since then, she did her best to stay away from Adam.
"Mom wants you to clean all the empty rooms, get the payment from the guy in room 202, uh...you know what? Here. Just take the list."
He threw a piece of paper on the desk and pretended like she wasn't there.
Sarah felt her blood turn cold. "Wait. Room 202? You mean Mr. Morgisen?"
"Yeah, him."
"U-um, but..."
"Don't tell me you can't knock on the guy's door and ask him to pay what he owes?"
"No, it's just...Cheryl is normally the one who --"
"Yeah, well, Mom isn't here."
"Adam? Adam, please don't make me go to his room. Not after what happened."
"Grow up and just do your fucking job. Now, get out of my face already."
She left the front desk and looked over the to-do list. Her hands were trembling as she tried to compose herself. There was a great number of things she needed to get done before the day was out. Most of the things Cheryl wanted her to do was for the manager, not the cleaning staff, but complaining about it wouldn't make it better.
Whenever she thought of Mr. Morgisen's face, a wave of fear shook her body.
She leaned against the wall and tried to pull herself together.
"It'll be okay," she whispered to herself. "It'll be okay. Just ask him for the money."
First, she decided to get to work cleaning and grabbed the cart from the janitor's closet. When she walked by the room her mystery man was staying in, she noticed the curtains were open. When she gazed in, the bed was made and everything was in its proper place. She supposed he checked out.
She tried not to feel too saddened about it. Guests didn't tend to stay here for very long anyway. She moved on and started cleaning, which took up most of her day. She had to deal with the usual forgotten socks, food waste and condom wrappers.
Every day, she told herself that she wouldn't be here forever, that this was just temporary, but she had been telling herself the same thing for five years now. What if she would spend the rest of her life cleaning and living in a motel?
She was twenty-four and completely alone in the world.
She stood in the room and rubbed her eyes, forcing herself not to cry. If she kept thinking like this, then she definitely wouldn't get out of here. She almost had enough money and then she could move on.
"Hey, Sarah? Are you okay?"
She turned around when she heard the voice. A man in a flannel shirt and jeans stood in the open doorway. He had a thick beard and smelled like cigarettes.
"Oh, um, Mr. Morgisen." She sniffed loudly. Her heart was hammering in her chest. "I'm fine. I was just leaving."
He took a step forward and she backed away until her back touched the wall.
He raised his hands. "It's okay! I'm not going to do anything. I just wanted to give you this." He took a wad of cash out from his pants pocket and put it on the table. "It's the money I owe Cheryl."
Sarah glanced between him and the cash.
"I just wanted to say that...I'm sorry about what I did to you. I'm so sorry."
"You're...you're sorry?"
"I don't expect you to forgive me, but you should know that...I'll spend the rest of my life regretting what I did. You'll never see me at this motel again."
Sarah didn't know how to respond. She stared at Mr. Morgisen with her mouth hanging open, not believing what she was hearing.
"I wish you luck with everything," he concluded before he turned around and left.
His words echoed in her head over and over, thinking this whole thing must be a dream or some sort of prank. After everything he did, he would just apologize and leave and that was it?
She ran out of the room to see him walking away. A taxi was waiting for him and the driver was putting a suitcase into the trunk. The two men exchanged a few words before they both entered the vehicle and drove off.
Sarah stood there in disbelief for a few seconds. That didn't really just happen, did it? She took Mr. Morgisen's money, shoved it into her pocket and hurried to his room. She unlocked the door and noticed that all of his personal items weren't there anymore. Not only were all of his clothes and junk gone, but the room was clean.
No, it was more than clean. It was perfect. The carpets were vacuumed, the bedsheets were washed, all of the surfaces were wiped, the stains on the walls were gone, the garbage had been taken out, even the bathroom had been scrubbed until everything shone. Even the smell of cigarette smoke had somehow disappeared.
Sarah scratched her head as she thought what made him change so suddenly. Was it Adam? Cheryl? Did they say something to him?
When she moved to the next room, she found it was just as clean, so was the next one and the next one. Did Mr. Morgisen clean all the rooms by himself? No, that was silly.
If it wasn't him, then who? She didn't know who could have cleaned so many rooms in one night.
When she closed the door and walked outside, she looked across the parking lot to see her mystery man speaking with an older gentleman. They spoke for a few seconds before the older man nodded and walked away.
Her mystery man stood there by himself with his hands in his pockets and a thoughtful expression on his face. He looked just as tall, dark and handsome as he did before, but with the sun shining on him, he almost looked like an angel.
He touched his chin and their eyes met. Sarah felt her heart do a backflip. He gave her a little smile and waved. His beauty hypnotized her and it took a second for her to snap out of it. She smiled and waved back.
He walked back to his room and she couldn't stop staring. An explosion could go off and she wouldn't have noticed. His gorgeous body demanded all of her attention. She opened her mouth to call him, but realized she didn't know his name.
Before she could think of something else to say, he went inside and gently closed the door behind him.
Her heart was still dancing as she rolled the cart back to the janitor's closet and went to the front desk.
"Hey, Adam?"
"What?"
"Did you or Cheryl clean all the empty rooms?"
He looked at her like she said the stupidest thing he had ever heard. "Why would
clean the rooms? That's your job. If you don't like it, then quit."
"O-okay." She put the money on the table. "Here."
He took it without looking at her or saying anything.
She went back to her room and slipped inside. With most of her job already done, she had more time to study. Hopefully, Adam or Cheryl wouldn't check her room to see her in here instead of working, but she decided to take the risk.
She thought about everything that just happened. Mr. Morgisen left, the rooms were spotless and her mystery man was still here.
She peeked out of her window and looked around at the empty parking lot.
Maybe she wasn't as alone as she thought. Maybe she had a guardian angel out there.
***
Anthony could feel Sarah's eyes on him as he left. As soon as he looked at her, he felt himself getting hard and needed to run away so she couldn't see it.
He entered his room and closed the curtains. He wasted no time pulling up his vest and pushing his pants down. His throbbing erection pointed straight up and precum dribbled out of the hole.
He looked down at his chiseled body and how engorged his cock had become in just a few seconds. His large ball sack touched his inner thighs.
When he was nineteen, he measured his cock and found it was eleven and a half inches when he was fully erect and it was his greatest embarrassment. The women he had been with called him a freak of nature and if he ever got an erection in public, he always had to find somewhere to hide.
Sarah made him more excited than any woman he had ever seen, and he was so aroused, he may have been bigger than usual. He spat on his hard cock and stroke himself with both of his hands, feeling the thick veins and his big, shiny head pulsing. Sarah's perfect hourglass figure was so tempting. He wanted to jump on her and take all of her clothes off.
Her breasts looked so soft and warm. He imagined what it would be like to put his face in between them and what her nipples would feel like in his mouth. Her beautiful tits would definitely be a good match for his big dick. He was sure she could wrap them around it with no problem. He wanted to set her down on her back and shove his cock in between her tits while she sucked and bit on his head.
Today, he got a better look at her curves and saw how big her ass was. It was so big, he could see it from the front. He wanted every inch of her gorgeous body. He would get on his knees and worship every part of her and pleasure her with his lips and tongue. He wanted to lick and suck on her pussy and hold her big ass in his strong hands. His knees shook when he thought about her covering his ears with her thighs as he grabbed her ass as hard as he could.
He wondered how it would feel to be inside of her and how tightly her pussy would squeeze him. He felt himself getting harder when the image of her on her knees crossed his mind. Those stellar blue eyes of hers looking up at him as she took hold of his cock and put it into her mouth...
Anthony came so hard, his ejaculate almost flew across the room. The thick, white ropes of cum splashed against the ground as his entire body clenched and trembled.
"Oh...oh, Sarah..."
He continued to beat himself off at the fantasy of her riding him like a stallion. He wanted to feel her big, white ass slamming down on his hips and see her huge its swaying and bouncing in front of his face.
And her voice. Her Southern accent was so sexy. He wanted her to whisper dirty things to him as they fucked each other as hard as possible.
Anthony's balls drew up as he came again. He lost count how many volleys shot out of him. When he was finally done, his cock was still drooling and beads of sweat dripped down his body. He stood there leaning against the door as his head spun. He wanted to walk back out there and ask her out, but Sarah deserved a better man than him. She deserved to be happy and Anthony couldn't even do that for himself.
Even if he was a better man, he didn't have much time left until he...
Anthony sighed, his breath trembling as it left his mouth. He took off his vest and tossed it aside, then stepped out of his pants. He laid down on his bed, finally exhausted enough to go to sleep, but he woke up several times with a painfully hard erection that needed attention.
He thought about Sarah's incredible body and sexy voice each time he jacked off and when morning came, he was even more weary and spent. His limp cock rested on his thigh as a little bit of come leaked out and dripped onto his bedsheets. Despite masturbating so many times, it took him a while to finally calm down. Every thought of Sarah sent a jolt of excitement through him.
He raised his head to check the alarm clock and saw that it was about four in the morning. He sat up and shook the last drops of come out of his cock and gave the big head a hard squeeze to force the rest out.
Anthony stood, stretched and went to take a shower. He hadn't felt this relaxed in such a long time, but he doubted it would last.
***
Sarah dozed off at her desk like usual, but the dream woke her up less than twenty minutes later.
She didn't get any sleep at all after that and she couldn't care less. She dreamed about her mystery man tearing off all of his clothes in front of her and flexing his great, big muscles.
She couldn't get that giant, ripped body out of her head. She couldn't stop thinking about his chocolate skin and kind eyes.
Her entire night was spent fantasizing about him. She took all of her clothes off and savagely rode her pillow, pretending that it was really him underneath her. The thought of those thick, muscled arms holding her close to his hard body made her so hot and wet. Sweat beaded down her forehead and stomach as she moved her hips faster.
Soon, she was a wild mess of passion and lust. She ground against her pillow so hard, it was a miracle it didn't tear or pop open. She ran her fingers through her long hair and up and down her curvy, sweaty body as she thought about how her mystery man would react if he saw the effect he had on her.
She imagined him peeking at her through the curtains while he unzipped his pants and masturbated and with a little curl of her finger, him breaking the door down and fucking her uncontrollably.
She loved a dominant man and everything about him just screamed alpha male. He would lift her up and show her who's boss by using her body whenever he liked in any way he pleased. She thought about what his cock would look like if she undid his belt and slowly pulled his slacks down.
Her mental image of him sent electric sparks up and down her spine. She had a feeling it was as big and impressive as the rest of his glorious body. Her hips quivered at the thought of him mercilessly slamming his cock into her pussy while those big, strong hands were wrapped around her neck.
She envisioned him bending her over and fucking her from behind for as long as he liked. She gasped and panted when she thought about the strength of his thighs and hips. He was probably more powerful than a sex machine. Sarah's breathing started to shake as she pinched her nipples and kneaded her big tits.
"You're mine! You're all mine, Sarah!" she imagined him yelling, loud enough for everyone in the motel to hear. "Who does this pussy belong to, Sarah?"
"You! It belongs to you and no one else!"
Sarah wished she knew his name so she could scream it.
She leaned forward and shoved her fingers into herself, wishing that it was his big, dark meat.
The thought of him shooting a huge, warm load of come into her sent her over the edge. She orgasmed to the thought of him pulling her hair and spanking her big ass while he made her take all of his come and kept driving himself into her from behind. She flailed about as she came all over her pillow.
"Oh, fuck. Oh, my God..."
She ran her hands over her neck and breasts as her legs trembled and her toes curled. Moans and whimpers escaped her as thoughts of her mystery man pleasuring her with his solid, black body kept running through her mind.
Less than five minutes later, she wanted more. She had to relieve her pent-up emotions three more times and each time, it ended in her moaning so loudly, she was almost screaming. The man staying in the room beside her banged on the wall and yelled at her to shut up, which made her giggle. She rode her pillow until she came again just to spite him.
Cheryl wasn't here and she knew Adam wouldn't do anything about it if she was too loud. The only thing that could have made her night more perfect was if her mystery man was here with her giving her the hard fucking she was dreaming of.
***
Anthony woke up and spent a few minutes wiping the sweat off his body with the small towel from the bathroom. It was much hotter today than yesterday and just his luck, his shower stopped working when he needed it most.
He smelled his clothes and wrinkled his nose. Everything he had smelled sweaty because he was wearing the same outfit for a few days now. He wondered if he should run over to the store to buy some new clothes, but he couldn't risk being seen. If he to arrested, then Kyle wouldn't e able to bail him out.
Hopefully, he just needed to put up with this for a bit longer. Besides, he had much larger concerns right now. His stepfather's accusations, the police searching for him and of course there was...
A wave of fear snaked through him. He tried not to think about that.
He put his vest on and sat on the edge of his bed. Even if he did manage to leave the motel and no one recognized him, he didn't exactly blend in. A body like his made people turn their heads wherever he went. If the police ever questioned the locals, they would remember him without a doubt.
With a sigh, he threw the towel aside and put his clothes on. Maybe he would just get some ice, fill up his bathtub and lay in there for the entire day. He left his room and the humidity felt like a thick blanket.
It took him a few breaths before he adjusted to the thick air. The ice machine was at the other side f the parking lot. Anthony put his hands in his pockets and strolled around the corner, but froze when he saw the police car. Two officers were speaking to an old woman holding up a picture of him.
"This man is wanted for several crimes. We are currently --"
One of the officers glanced in his direction and Anthony knew it was too late. Recognition crossed the man's face.
"Hey, stop!" he screamed when Anthony ran in the other direction.
He sprinted back around the corner, but realized hiding in his room was a terrible idea. Their shouts and footsteps came closer, making Anthony's back feel exposed. A surge of panic and heat filled his guy as he stood in front of his door.
He made a break for it to the end of the building and hid behind it.
"We need backup!" one of the officer's shouted. "Anthony Anderson is here!"
He shivered at the thought of multiple police officers tearing this place apart to find him.
Anthony seriously wanted to shout, "I'm innocent, you idiots!"
It wouldn't be long until more police had this place surrounded. He had to think of something. He jogged to the other side of the building and peeked around. The officers were looking through windows.
"He couldn't have made it far!"
Anthony saw an open window across the parking lot and took the opportunity. He waited until they were facing the other direction before he took off across the pavement. He jumped through the window, closed it behind him and took a step back, knocking over a pile of books.
The room was filled with them, actually. There were piles of them everywhere, clothes scattered about and the bed was a complete mess. He heard the bathroom door open and out ran the last person he wanted to see in a situation like this.
Anthony and Sarah stared at each other with wide eyes.
He was completely stunned by her outfit. Her hair was tied up in a messy top knot and stray strands fell around her lovely face. Thick, black rimmed glasses were perched on her nose. Her pink tank top revealed most of her stomach and Anthony felt a tiny spark of excitement when he saw her abs. They weren't overly muscular or defined, but it was clear she worked on them. She had a silver bellybutton ring that glistened in the morning light. It was clear she wasn't wearing a bra because her nipples were poking against the fabric. Her breasts looked big and round and her cleavage was beautiful and deep.
When Anthony remembered how soft they were when she accidentally ran into him, he felt his cock twitch against the confines of his pants.
Her short shorts showed off her thick, smooth thighs and just like before, her could see her big butt from the front.
It took them both a few moments to come to their senses.
"What...what the hell are you doing in here?" she demanded.
"What are
doing here? No one is supposed to be in this room! The computer said this one was vacant!"
"I'm not on the -- Wait, how do you even know that?"
"I mean, uh, I had to --"
A loud banging on the door interrupted their conversation.
"POLICE! OPEN THE DOOR!"
"What the fuck have you been doing?" she hissed.
"It's not what it looks like! I promise! They --"
The officer banged on the door again.
Sarah trembled and waved her hands in front of her face to try to calm herself down. She opened the door and Anthony could feel his heart pounding in his chest.
"Ma'am, we're looking for a man named Anthony Anderson."
"Who?"
"He's about 6'4, African American, mid 20's, very well-built."
Sarah shook her head. "Sorry. I haven't seen him."
"Ma'am, he is a wanted criminal. He was seen outside just a few seconds ago."
She made a discrete gesture with her left hand, pointing her thumb behind her and Anthony followed her gaze to the bathroom. He got the message and hugged the wall as he moved away from the door. It proved difficult to step around all of the books.
"Alright," Sarah responded. "I'll keep that in mind."
"It's very likely that he has a room here."
"I don't know everyone who stays here, officer."
The policeman was starting to lose his patience. Anthony noticed his tone became much sharper.
His knee bumped into the edge of her desk, creating a slight thump.
"What was that?"
"What was what?"
"Ma'am, we're going to have to search your room."
"Uh, what?"
Anthony felt terror coursing through his body, but he made it to the bathroom. He heard the officer shove past her.
"Hey! You can't search my room without a warrant!"
"Check under the bed. I'll check the bathroom."
Anthony saw that the bathroom window was open and hopped out. He crouched on the grass outside while he listened to the cops search Sarah's room. Things were thrown around and he could tell they were moving her furniture around.
"No one's in the bathroom!" someone called.
"Alright. Ma'am if you see him, you need to call us. Do not approach him."
"Fine."
The door closed and Anthony didn't dare to move until he was certain the coast was clear.
After about a minute, Sarah poked her head through the window. "They're gone."
"Oh. Uh, okay."
"So...you're Anthony Anderson?"
He stood up. "The stuff they're saying about me...it's not true. I'm just...I..."
"It's okay. Just calm down. Come back inside."
"No, I shouldn't. You already lied to them for me. If they see me with you, you'll get in trouble for harbouring a fugitive."
"They won't check the same place twice unless they have a good reason."
"I'm sorry. I really shouldn't."
Sarah sighed. "Okay. Well, good luck. Maybe I'll visit you in jail."
She was about to close the window when he said, "Wait!"
She raised her eyebrows at him.
"Okay, okay. I'll come back in."
Anthony looked around before he climbed back in. Sarah stood in front of him with her hands on her hips.
She squinted up at him. "I think you owe me an explanation."
"Uh. Yeah, I guess I do," he said, scratching the back of his head.
She turned around and walked out of the bathroom, treating him to a perfect view of her ass. Anthony had big hands, but those beautiful cheeks looked like it would take at least two hands to hold. It looked just as firm and muscular as her thighs.
he thought.
***
Anthony and Sarah sat beside each other on the floor with their back against the wall.
"So, let me get this straight," she said. "Your mom is Martha Anderson, the CEO of MaxTech?"
"Yeah."
"Isn't that, like a five-billion-dollar company?"
"Yeah."
"And your stepdad wants you to go to jail to get your mom's company?"
"Yeah. Michael hated me ever since he started dating my mom. He would say...terrible things to me and tell me that she should have aborted me."
"I'm sorry. That's awful." She could feel the tears coming. "Did you ever tell her?"
He shook his head. "No, I...I couldn't. He made my mom happy. When she was with him, she would smile like I've never seen. Not even my dad could make her that happy. When she died, I couldn't go to her funeral because Michael had already lied to the police about me."
Sarah gently held his hand. She looked at his face, looking for any signals that he was uncomfortable. When he lightly squeezed her fingers, she leaned against him. Her hands looked so small compared to his.
"Um...my dad, he..." Sarah had to take a few breaths. "He died of brain cancer."
He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "R-really?"
"Yeah. At first, we thought he was just having headaches because he wasn't getting enough sleep or because he was drinking, but they started to get worse. Sometimes, he was in so much pain he couldn't move or speak. He started having problems with his motor skills and his memory. One day, the principal called me down to the office and told me that..." She had to stop for a moment. "He died. When I got home, my mom was passed out drunk and she just kept on drinking."
Anthony squeezed her hand. "What happened to her?"
"I...I don't know. I ran away from home when I was fifteen. When my mom was drunk, she would..." She shivered. "It was just a really bad environment."
"Cancer is one of the worst things that can happen to someone," he told her. "I wouldn't wish it on anyone. The surgery, the chemotherapy, the MRI's...it's so exhausting to keep fighting, but we have to believe he's in a better place. He doesn't have to live in pain anymore."
Anthony must have known someone who was in a similar situation. People who couldn't relate would say the same platitudes and look at her with pity, but she could tell Anthony understood. He didn't say anything just for the sake of trying to make her feel better.
Sarah swiped her tears away. "It was the worst thing to happen."
"I know, but you're strong. You've come this far."
They held each other's hands for a long time and Anthony gently rubbed her knuckles with his thumb. "Well, this turned dark pretty quickly."
Sarah chuckled despite the emotions running through her. "Yeah. It's been a really long time since I could talk to someone."
"Me too."
She met his eyes and placed her hand on his cheek. He put his hand on top of hers and closed his eyes.
"You know, if we get arrested, maybe we can send each other letters," he joked.
I'm gonna tell them you held me at gunpoint to make me help you."
They both laughed and Sarah took her hand away.
"Is that why you want to be a doctor? Because of what happened?"
"How did you know I want to be a doctor?"
"Your room is filled with medical books." He picked one up and opened it. "I can't even pronounce half of these words. Like, what's an ota...otalar..."
"Otolaryngologist. It's a head surgeon."
"Oh. I'm sure I would have gotten it eventually."
"Ha!
"Shut up."
She giggled. "I'm actually studying to go...I mean, my dream is to go to Harvard."
"Harvard?
Harvard?"
"Ha. Yep.
Harvard. I've been saving my money for so long and...I'm really close now. I just need to send in my application."
"What's stopping you?"
"Because it's really bad!" She covered her face with her hands. "Like, I have all the documents and stuff, but in my letter, I just rambled on and on about how much being a doctor means to me. It's just...I don't know if it's good enough."
"They would absolutely accept you."
She scoffed. "You're just saying that."
"No, honestly. I mean, you're driven, you're determined, you don't make excuses for yourself, you've been working so hard for so long to live your dream. There are people who have everything and they aren't as half as passionate as you are."
"I...I don't know, Anthony."
"Well, know!" he said with a laugh. "No one has ever lived their dream without being brave and you
brave. I can see it. You'll get in. I know you will."
They both looked into each other's eyes. Sarah opened her mouth to say something, but turned away and sniffled loudly. "You're crazy."
"Yeah, I know. Why do you work here?"
"Huh?"
"Well, someone as smart as you could probably get a paid internship at a hospital or something."
"Uh, well...I don't know. It's just easier, I guess."
"Yeah, but you don't seem happy to be here."
She couldn't tell him. She definitely couldn't tell him.
"I...I know, but it's temporary. I won't be here forever. What about you?"
"What do you mean?"
"What do you want to do?"
He chuckled. "Assuming I don't get thrown in jail?"
"Yeah, if you don't get thrown in jail."
"Well, I..." He hesitated. "It's kinda dumb."
"Oh, come on," she said, her smile widening. "I told you, so you have to tell me."
"But...I don't want you to laugh at me."
"I promise, I won't. Here, here, look."
She waved her hands in front of her face and gave him her best serious expression.
"Now, I'm serious," she said in a deepened voice.
Anthony chuckled and the smile he gave her lit up the room.
"Uh...well, I...I want to open my own restaurant."
"Ha! Really?"
"See? You're laughing."
"No, no. I'm not. Well, yeah, I am. I mean, I'm not laughing
you. It's just, I don't know. I never would have guessed. You're so big and muscular, I thought you'd want to be an athlete or something. You can cook?"
"Yeah. I already have my cooking licence and cooking is what I always do to relax. Well, before all of this. I haven't made anything in a while, but...it's been my dream ever since I was a kid."
"You'll be the most jacked chef I've ever seen."
"Yeah, a lot of people say that. Do you work out?"
"Sometimes," she answered. "It's nothing too serious. Just squats and push ups and stuff. I mean, you probably have a really intense workout."
"Oh, yeah. In high school, I was the quarterback for the football team, so I had to train a lot. After I graduated, I got a gym membership and just kept going."
"Um, can I..." She raised her hand and put it close to his arm.
He nodded and she felt his bicep. He was so warm and felt so much harder than she could have imagined. It was like his body was made of steel. She started to tremble a little with excitement as she squeezed his arm. She had never seen someone with muscles as mountainous as his and she never thought she would be able to touch him like this.
She traced the big, bulging vein with her finger and followed it up to his shoulder. His black skin was smooth and shiny from running around so much earlier, so he looked as dark and delicious as a chocolate bar and she resisted the urge to find out.
She used both of her hands to massage his forearm and she heard his breathing change. A quick glance up showed her that his nipples were hard and pushing against his vest. Just like every other part of him, his pectorals were big and hard. Sarah wanted to grab his vest and tear if off his massive body.
She raised her hand and was about to touch his pecs when a police siren went off, startling both of them. Red and blue flashing lights could be seen through her curtains.
"Uh oh," Anthony said.
"'Uh oh' is right," she agreed. "I don't think you can go back to your room."
"I'll have to find somewhere else to lie low."
"Where?"
He shrugged those wonderful shoulders. "I don't know. I'll probably need to skip town."
Sarah didn't know what to say. She didn't want him to leave.
"Is it okay if I stay here until tonight? I'll leave as soon as it gets dark."
"I don't know if that's a good idea. We can just wait it out. They'll move on eventually."
"Sarah, if Michael learns that you helped me, then he'll punish you just like he's going to punish me."
"If you try to sneak out, they'll catch you. You could barely get away from two cops, how long do you expect to last when there are, like, fifty of them?"
Anthony opened his mouth to speak, then sighed.
"There's a room here. No one knows about it. It's in the main building's basement. There are no records on the computer either. You can stay there."
He gave her a long look and she didn't know what to think. He looked wistful.
"Why are you helping me?" His voice was no more than a whisper.
"Because...when I ran away, I didn't have anyone to help me. I had to steal and lie for years until I found this place. It hurts so much when you feel like you can't trust anyone."
Anthony put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her into a hug. His dense muscles surrounded her and her soft curves melted into his hard planes. The police were searching for Anthony just outside and Sarah was helping the man they were tearing this town apart for, but when he put his arms around her, she had never felt safer in her life. In that moment of feeling a man as kind and beautiful as Anthony so close awakened her from her misery somehow. She felt more alive than she had been in so long. For there were times when the coldness of isolation hurt her so much that she thought she might die, but to be embraced this way made her feel like she was safe within walls, protected. No one in her life made her feel this way before with just one simple gesture.
His abs pressed against her stomach and his amazing pectorals rubbed against her chest when he breathed. She could feel his heart beating. There was so much muscle packed into his body and she felt how powerful he was. He pulled her in closer and Sarah sighed.
"Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you so much, Sarah."
The way he held her told her just how scared and alone he was. He conveyed so much emotion through his physicality. Anthony need to hold someone just as much as she needed to be held. The hug from his strong arms told her that everything that she was, her body, brain and soul, that she wasn't alone. In his embrace, the world stopped still. There was no time, no police, no sirens. Her worries and pain all disappeared.
She looked up into Anthony's eyes and those perfect brown irises showed her the things she had been looking for her entire life. This was what she was searching for, even prayed for. She inwardly thanked God and hugged him tighter. The heat of his body and his breath tickling her hair made her finally feel like she found home.
"You're welcome, Anthony."
***
Sarah awoke a few hours later to find herself draped over Anthony's magnificent body. His arms were still around her and their legs were tangled up together. She watched him sleep for a few seconds.
Sweat beaded down his forehead and those thick arms. Sarah had to bite her lip to contain the rush of excitement she felt. She used the hem of her tank top to gently dab his face and when she playfully touched his nose, he sniffed and mumbled an incoherent statement.
Sarah suppressed a giggle as she unravelled herself form him. She scarfed down her usual breakfast of a juice box and protein bar and then went off to take a shower. After she changed, she took a final look at the mouth-watering piece of man candy before she left. She couldn't get the feeling of his embrace out of her mind. A part of her feared that if she left the motel room, he would vanish.
she scolded.
She glanced from him to her laptop and stood there in thought. Before she had the chance to second guess herself, she turned it on. As usual, it took a while to start up and load the webpage and throughout the entire process, she could feel her heart pounding and her hands becoming sweaty.
"Here we go," she whispered to herself.
She uploaded the documents, but her finger hovered over the mousepad as she stared at the "Submit" button.
The memory flashed before her eyes before she knew it.
Sometimes she could still feel her mother dragging her down the stairs by her wrist. When she was falling asleep at night, there were times when she could feel how hard her mother hit her.
It didn't matter how much she screamed, cried and begged. Her mother would never let her out.
Anthony stirred in his sleep and the movement, pulled her out of the memory.
She thought of the way he smiled when he said that. That warm, simple smile that held so much kindness and no judgement.
"I'm not stupid," she said. "I'm
stupid."
She clicked submit.
She left and Adam was waiting at the front desk., but he looked worried. His hands were shaking and Sarah could hear how ragged his breathing was. He didn't notice her standing there until she said his name.
"Oh! Sarah."
"Are you okay?"
"No, I'm not okay. It's -- it's Mom! Have you seen her anywhere?"
"N-no! I'm sorry, I haven't."
"She...she didn't come home last night. I'm getting really worried. She didn't call or leave a note or anything. I thought she would be back already."
"Did you tell anyone?"
"I called the police, but I don't think they'll find her. All the cops are looking for this Anthony guy." He crossed his arms and darted his eyes from side to side. "I'm sorry, I won't be at the reception desk today. I need to ask around and find her. I'll put up the 'No Vacancy' sign so no one will show up."
"Do you want me to help you find her?"
Adam shook his head. "No. No, you stay here. She might come back. Just do what you normally do, okay? I -- I really have to go."
He didn't say anything else as he slinked away. Where could Cheryl be? It was unlike her to be gone from the motel for more than one day.
A few police cars were still scattered about, which made her feel a flash of nervousness. Adam crossed the street and she watched him speak to an officer. They spoke briefly and the officer shook his head and gave him a solemn look. Adam nodded and kept walking.
Sarah moved behind the counter and logged on to the computer to see what rooms became vacant and which ones were still occupied. She made a quick note of all of the empty ones and went off to start cleaning. She grabbed the cart and started to make her rounds, but found that the rooms were still impeccably cleaned.
Three rooms were vacated last night and they were all cleaner than she could ever make them. It was as if a team of professionals came and did everything for her. She checked all of the other vacant rooms and they were still spotless. She had no idea who was cleaning the rooms, but told herself not to complain. She wished she could thank whoever was doing this despite the fact she had nothing to offer them in return.
When she passed the ice machine, she noticed someone refilled it. Maybe she should mess up one of the rooms and wait to see who came to clean it to see who her secret helper was.
A door opened close to her and an old man with a bushy mustache stepped out of the room. He caught her looking and surprise crossed his face.
"Oh, uh...Good morning."
"Morning," she replied.
He closed the door and she remembered that this was the room Anthony was staying in.
"Um, are you looking for --" She caught herself before she said his name.
He briefly looked around. "Do you know where he is?"
"Um..." She wasn't sure how much to tell him. He was the guy Anthony was talking to before, so that meant Anthony trusted him. "What's his dream?"
He looked confused. "Sorry?"
"His dream since he was young. What is it?"
He thought for a moment. "He wants to be a chef and get a restaurant."
She nodded. "I know where he is."
"I just wanted to check in to see how he's doing. His health, it's..." He let his voice trail off.
"His health?"
"Uh, nevermind. I actually don't have much time right now. I'll be back in a few hours."
"Okay." She took a few steps closer so she could lower her voice. "There's a basement room in the other building. The entrance is close to the janitor's closet. I'll leave the door unlocked."
"Alright. Thank you."
He walked off and Sarah went to see what else she could do, however it was like trying to find a mess in a king's castle. All the litter on the grass was picked up and even the parking lot looked like it had been scrubbed. The chewing gum and the cigarette butts were all gone and even the lines that indicated the parking spots were repainted. She glanced around and wondered who could be doing all of this.
She thought of a dumb idea that she just had to try. She ran back to the front desk to grab a pen and paper. She scribbled a note, crumpled it up and tried again. After a few more failed attempts, she ended up with something she thought would send the right message.
It read:
*Frowny face*
*Smiley face*
*Big smiley face with huge grin*
She found an empty coffee cup in the trash and filled it up with loose soil. Now, she had to find an inconspicuous place to put it. Eventually, she decided to place it in the corner of the parking lot so no cars would run over it. She put the note on the pavement and then put the cup over it. It was kind of a longshot, but there was a small chance they would want to throw the cup out and find the note.
It was about seven o'clock in the morning so she figured she had some time before Anthony would wake up. She took a final look around the motel and risked a trip to the convenience store.
***
Anthony stood in the shower with the hot water running down his hard body. He gently stroked himself as he thought about the feeling of Sarah's big, soft tits and her incredible ass. He wanted to grab and kiss the cheeks and put his face in between them. He wanted her to grind on his face as if her life depended on it. He imagined what it would feel and smell like as he explored her with his tongue.
He already came twice, but Sarah's body was just too perfect. She was built to bring a man to his knees. It wasn't fair how she had this effect on him while she always appeared as cool as a cucumber. The sound of her voice made him harder and he ejaculated unexpectedly. He watched his cock twitch as it spurted out four thick streams of come. He shook the rest out and let his cock hang between his legs.
Anthony didn't know what would happen in the future, but he was glad to sped this time with her even though it probably wouldn't lead up to anything. He turned the taps off and dried himself, then heard the front door open. He felt the anxiety rush into him when he heard the hinges creak.
"Anthony?"
He sighed in relief. "In the bathroom."
"I bought some food if you're hungry."
"Oh, cool. Thank you."
He dressed quickly and went to meet her.
"Come on, the parking lot's pretty empty. I'll sneak you into the basement room."
"Okay."
He followed her and they made it without any problems. After descending a long staircase, Sarah flicked a switch and the lights turned on. The walls and the floor were concrete and thick, wooden beams lined the ceiling. There were cobwebs everywhere and the entire place smelled dusty, but there was so much space. He could run laps down here if he wanted to. There were small windows high up on the wall that allowed the daylight to creep in.
"This place is huge," he commented.
"Yeah, I used to sneak down here when things got rough. And things got rough pretty often. Well, until recently."
"What happened recently?"
She gave him a knowing smile and Anthony felt heat on his cheeks.
"Come on, over here."
He followed her to one end of the room where there were a few wooden chairs, a large bed and several bookshelves. A small desk was pressed up against the wall as well.
Sarah took some items out of the grocery back she held. "I hope you like cup ramen," she said with a dazzling smile.
"Who doesn't?"
"I know, right?"
She showed him all the different flavours she bought and reached over to plug in the electric kettle that was on the desk. Anthony sat down in one of the chairs and couldn't help watching her as she opened a water bottle, filled it up and turned it on to get the water to boil.
"I figured you should eat something since bodybuilders have to eat, like, a million pounds of protein per day."
"Ha! Yeah, pretty much. Maintaining my muscle mass hasn't really been on my mind lately."
"Yeah, I bet, but that's why I'm here. Someone has to pick up the slack, right?"
The kettle started to boil and they poured the water into the cups.
"Do you want to see something cool?" he asked, unable to keep a straight face.
She laughed. "Why? You gonna flex for me?"
"Kinda. I can tell you all the ingredients in this just by tasting it."
"Psh. Yeah,
"Ha! No, for real. Here." He took a mouthful of noodles and gave her his cup.
He chewed thoughtfully for a few seconds while Sarah moved so he wouldn't be able to read the ingredient list.
"Okay," he said when finished chewing. "Ready?"
"Yeah."
"Wheat flour, tapioca starch, palm oil, salt, sugar, chili powder, garlic, lemongrass, kaffir lime leaves...uh...leek, paprika, soy sauce and shrimp powder."
She squinted at him. "Did you read the ingredients before?"
"Nope. I'm just
good."
"Here. Do mine." She fed him some of her ramen.
"Hmm. Let's see. Wheat flour, potato starch, palm oil, carrots, shitake mushrooms, green onions, red chili flakes, sugar, sesame seeds...hm...citric acid and ginger."
"Wow! How did you do that?"
"I have a really sensitive palate."
"You were just born to be a chef, weren't you?"
"Totally."
"Oh, hey, I ran into your friend earlier," she said, giving him his cup back. "The guy with the mustache."
"Oh, that's Kyle. He's been helping me ever since this whole thing started."
"He was looking for you, so I told him about the basement room. He'll be by later. He mentioned something about..."
"What?"
"Uh. Nothing. Nevermind."
He wondered what she was going to say, but push. Sarah quickly started to talk about how she hadn't seen Cheryl in a while and said her son, Adam was really worried.
"I can ask Kyle if he knows anything."
"Yeah, that's a good idea."
A few moments of silence passed as they ate, then Sarah cleared her throat. "Hey, listen. Um, I wanted to tell you that I...um...I did it. I sent my application."
"Really?"
"Yeah," she said with a shy smile.
"That's amazing! Congratulations!"
"Hey, what are you getting excited for?" she asked through her laughter. "I'm probably not even going to get in."
"No, you will. You totally will. This place isn't good enough for you. You'll be the best doctor they've ever seen and you'll light up the world even more than you do now."
"Anthony, you're..." She glanced away and put her fist against her mouth. "I..."
He put his ramen on the table and touched her shoulder. "Sarah, I'm sorry. I -- I didn't mean to offend you or anything."
"No, it's not that. No one has ever..."
She rose to her feet and took a few steps. "You're the only person who said I could do it. You're the only person who has ever believed in me."
He heard her voice starting to tremble.
"For my entire life, everyone has told me I wasn't good enough."
"Sarah..."
"Adam and I...we used to be friends. I could tell him my secrets and when I told him about Harvard, he just laughed at me. I kept telling myself he didn't mean it that way, but then he started to tell people that we slept together and I was begging for it. He told the other guests what room I was in and they would expect me to sleep with them. Mr. Morgisen kept pushing and pushing until he -- he grabbed me and stared to tear off my clothes." Tears were streaming down her cheeks now. "I -- I managed to get away and after that, he just never left me alone. Soon, everyone in town started calling me a whore and -- and..."
She hugged herself as she tried to keep herself together.
"No one else would ever hire the town whore."
Anthony slowly approached her and she looked up at him. He put his hands on her shoulders and felt how much she was shaking. "Sarah, you are the kindest, most caring, smartest person I have ever met. You'll go to Harvard and you'll become an incredible doctor and everything that's happened to you will become a distant memory. You'll leave this place and live an amazing life."
It broke his heart to see how much pain she was in and Anthony knew she was keeping it all in for so long. Sarah had been doing everything alone for her entire life, but refused to give up. Sarah grabbed his vest in a weak grip and stepped closer.
She let him hold her as Sarah calmed down.
"I...I wish I met you sooner," she whispered.
Anthony rubbed her back. "Me too."
She stepped back and wiped her tears away. "And there you go.
why I work here. Because no one else will hire me. Pretty pathetic, right?"
"Uh, you
know I'm the one running from the cops, right?"
Her laugh was reluctant, but musical. "Yeah, that's fair."
They heard footsteps coming down the stairs and both tensed.
"It's me!" Kyle called.
Anthony didn't like the expression he wore when he came closer. That wasn't a good sign.
"Are you okay?" Kyle asked. "How are you feeling?"
"I'm fine. Um, what's going on out there?"
He noticed Sarah's look of concern and hoped she wouldn't ask any questions. Kyle followed his gaze.
"Oh, hello again," he greeted when he saw Sarah. "Thank you for your help."
She nodded. "You're welcome."
He turned back to Anthony. "It's...I'm sorry, it's not good. Michael convinced the Chief of Police to put more officers on this manhunt. He told me last time that..." He took a deep breath. "The Chief of Police suspects I know something. He had people search my house without telling me."
"What? That's crazy!"
"Not to him. He knows we're friends, so he thinks I'm hiding something and, well, he's not wrong."
Anthony crossed his arms. "Oh, man."
"There's something else."
"There's more?"
"The Chief says that if I don't tell him what I'm hiding, I'll lose my job."
"He's going to fire you? Kyle, he can't do that!"
"He can and he is. He told me I'll never work in this town again."
"I'm not going to let you lose your job for me."
"What the other option? You go to jail and Michael gets Martha's company? We both know..." He didn't finish his sentence.
They stood in silence as they thought about the situation.
Anthony felt terrified. His heart felt like it would explode. "I'll turn myself in."
"No!" Kyle insisted. "You're innocent. You did nothing wrong!"
"Um,
have an idea."
They both looked at Sarah.
"It's kinda crazy, but it might work."
Anthony and Kyle exchanged a glance.
***
Kyle didn't sleep well at all. As he drank his second cup of coffee, he struggled to focus on his computer screen.
"Kyle!"
He jumped as the Chief and Michael stormed into his office. He shot to his feet and tried to put on a brave face.
"Y-yes!"
"Your time at this precinct is over," the Chief said, his grey eyes burning with rage. "It seems your loyalty to the force is not as strong as we thought if you insist on helping a wanted man."
Chief Davis was thin, but intimidating. His deep voice and commanding presence could cut someone's confidence down to nothing.
"Sir, I --"
"Don't try to give me an excuse! I spoke to your captain and he is ready to see that you no longer work as a cop in this town.
you tell us the truth."
"I...I..."
He glanced at Michael who was taller than both him and the Chief. He had a stern face and a glare that could turn a person's bones to jelly. Michael's black hair was slicked back and his suit somehow made him look more imposing.
"Detective Kyle," he rumbled, leaning over and putting his hands on the desk. "Your daughter is eight, yes?"
"Uh...uh..."
Yes, and her birthday is coming up. Don't you want her to move up the waiting list so she will get that transplant? I can make your life
easy, but if you insist on withholding just a little bit of information, I can make sure that your precious child will
get the kidney she needs."
"Y-you're threatening my daughter?" Kyle spluttered.
"Of course, not. I am merely telling you to consider your options. Having a man with my political power as a friend can be very rewarding, but having me as my enemy will not pose well for you."
Kyle stood there shaking and horrified.
"S-sir? You're okay with this?" he asked the Chief.
"This is about the law and catching a wanted criminal."
Kyle didn't know what to do. He stood there staring at them hoping this was all a bad dream.
"Well, Michael, it seems he won't tell us anything."
"It seems so, Chief Davis. What a shame. It seems I need to pay a visit to the hospital and speak to --"
"Wait! I'll tell you! I'll tell you everything I know! Please, please leave my daughter out of it!"
Michael and the Chief looked at each other with smug looks.
"Spit it out, Detective," Michael commanded.
"He's at the Lengram Motel. The one the two officers saw him at. There's a basement room and that's where he's been hiding!"
The Chief lightly smacked the side of Kyle's face. "Good boy. Why don't you come with us?"
"Uh, w-what do you mean?"
Michael put his arm around him. "You have wasted a lot of the police's time and manpower, Detective. You knew where my stepson was this entire time. It's only right that
should be the one to arrest him."
"And you know where this basement room is," the Chief added. "why don't you show us where it is? You'll be known as the man who caught the notorious Anthony Anderson."
They steered him out of his office. "B-but, wait! It's going to be the three of us?"
"That's right," Chief Davis answered as they walked. "Surely, three men is more than enough to bring in one desperate criminal."
They walked past the Captain's office. "Captain Harbours! We're going to take Detective Kyle for an hour or two."
"Yes, Chief Davis."
Kyle's heart leaped into his throat. "Shouldn't we stop to gear up or call for backup?"
"Nonsense!" the Chief laughed, squeezing Kyle's shoulder in a painful grip. "He's unarmed, isn't he?"
"Well, y-yes, but --"
"Then, we won't be needing anything else."
They left the precinct and approached Kyle's car.
"Why don't you drive, Detective?"
Kyle swallowed the saliva in his mouth. "Uh, okay."
They climbed in and Kyle drove off.
"You know, Martha was a wonderful woman," Michael stated as Kyle drove. "You met her, isn't that right, Detective?"
"Uh...y-yes, sir."
"She ran one of the most successful companies in the world and wants to give all of that money to a delinquent. Isn't that unfortunate, Chief Davis?"
"Very unfortunate," he said from the back seat.
"You see,
will use the money for a worthwhile cause. The money should be donated to the police for their endeavors."
"You...you're bribing the police?" Kyle asked.
"Bribe? What an awful word. I am merely sharing my wealth with the people who deserve it. If that makes them more inclined to turn away from a few mistakes here and there, then I surely won't complain."
"You see, Detective, it's a mutually beneficial agreement," Chief Davis explained.
Kyle gripped the wheel so hard, his knuckles turned white.
"Um, sirs, I don't think this is --"
"Do you remember what happened to that other officer, Chief? What was his name? Darryl? I think I remember him making some wild accusations."
"Oh, yes. Officer Darryl had quite an active imagination. He was put into an asylum so he could get the treatment he so desperately needed. A shame he didn't have a chance to say goodbye to his family before he left."
Kyle thought he might lose his lunch because he was so nervous. Together, these two men could get away with almost anything and no one would ask any questions. He tried to focus on the road.
"Oh, come on, Detective. Don't be so nervous. We're on our way to catch a criminal after all!" Michael clapped him on the shoulder. "As much as it pains me to bring my own stepson to justice, the law is the law."
"Why, yes, it is," Chief Davis agreed.
Kyle pulled up into the parking lot and turned off the engine.
"Lead the way, Detective. We're following you."
Kyle glanced at Chief Davis in the rear-view mirror. He had his gun drawn.
They all got out of the car and Kyle showed them the way to the basement room. The front desk was still empty.
"Try to be quiet," the Chief said. "It's better if we get the jump on him."
Kyle crept down the stairs with Michael and the Chief following close behind him. Once they reached the bottom of the staircase, they saw Anthony sleeping on the bed underneath the covers.
"Go ahead," Michael ordered. "Arrest him."
Kyle took his gun out of his holster and sniffed. "A-Anthony Anderson. Y-you are under arrest!"
Anthony didn't move and Kyle stepped closer.
"Anthony Anderson! Get down on the ground!" he yelled, raising his gun. "Y-you're under arrest!"
He still didn't move as Kyle slowly stepped closer.
"Please, don't make this hard on yourself! Just cooperate with us!"
He took a few more steps.
Michael sighed. "Oh, for fuck's sake."
He stormed up to Kyle, grabbed his gun, aimed it at Anthony and emptied the magazine.
"Oh, dear. Chief Davis, did you see that?" Michael asked. "It looks like Kyle killed Anthony."
Chief Davis nodded. "Yes, it was quite a show. That is Kyle's gun and the bullets in Anthony's body will match
it's only Kyle's fingerprints that are on the gun."
Kyle glanced at Michael's hands and realized he was wearing gloves. It was a good move, but Sarah's idea was better.
"Go, go, go!"
A storm of armoured men ran down the stairs, all of them pointing guns at them.
"What the fuck is this?" Chief Davis yelled.
"Michael Chambers and Chief Lawrence Davis! You are both under arrest!"
Chief Davis and Michael both glared at Kyle.
He pulled out the tape recorder from his pocket and pressed the stop button. "Gotcha."
***
Sarah couldn't stop smiling when she heard the news. Kyle was overjoyed at the results. Michael and Chief Davis' corruption was revealed and more police officers began to come forward to reveal being intimidated, bribed and threatened. Sarah's idea was a resounding success, but Anthony didn't seem happy.
He sighed in relief when he was no longer a wanted man, but she knew something was still bothering him.
After Kyle left, she gently touched his hand. "Are you okay?"
"Hm? Oh, yes. I'm okay." He gave her a little smile. "I'm just taking it all in, you know?"
"Oh. Okay."
A few officers asked them questions and reporters were waiting outside.
"I don't think I want to speak to any reporters," Anthony said. "It's been a long day and I kinda want to get some sleep."
The officers said they understood, finished up their questions and after they told the reporters Anthony wouldn't be speaking to anyone, things settled down after about an hour.
"Thank you for everything, Sarah. If it wasn't for you, then none of this would have happened. You were there for me ever since I came here."
"You're welcome."
He gave her a quick hug, then went back to his room without another word.
"Um, I'll se you tomorrow?"
He looked back and gave her a nod.
Sarah wanted to run after him and ask him what was wrong, but he closed the door. She didn't know where this distance in between came from and why he was acting so cold all of a sudden.
she thought.
He wasn't on the run anymore and his stepfather was the one going to jail instead of him, so why wasn't he happier?
Sarah ran her fingers through her hair and then entered her own room. She sat at her desk and opened her laptop. In a few hours, Michael and Chief Davis' arrests made the top story on several news websites.
She randomly received an email notification from her bank, which made her brow furrow. When she opened it, it said there was suspicious account activity. She suddenly had a very bad feeling. She went to the banking website and logged into her account as quickly as her computer allowed.
The longer she waited, the more anxious she became. Once the page loaded, she scrolled down to see:
"What?"
She refreshed the page, waited and scrolled down again.
"No. No, no, no."
She refreshed the page again and again to keep seeing an empty account. Her body felt hot as fear spread through her like a tenacious fever.
"No, please, no!"
She went to withdrawals and checked the history. Someone withdrew all of the money at several ATM's in the same day. Sarah's throat felt dry, her vision spun. She stood up, took two steps and fell over. Her breathing became rapid and erratic as she started to see double. She curled up into a ball and shivered uncontrollably. Despite her gulping for air, it felt like she was about to pass out.
She felt nauseous and claustrophobic. She swore the walls were closing in on her. A great pit opened up in her stomach as she grabbed her hair. Her door opened, but she didn't hear it. The entire world could have fallen apart and she would have been completely oblivious to it.
"Sarah, I really need to tell you -- Sarah!"
Those muscled arms scooped her up into a tight embrace.
"Hey, hey. It's okay."
"A-Anthony, my...my money. It's...it's..."
She could barely speak. She could barely think. Anthony whispered things to her, but she didn't hear any of it. They were both on the floor and Anthony rocked her back and forth. He was so warm.
"It's all gone!" she wept. "My money, Anthony! All of my money..."
Her trembling worsened, but he held her so close and with so much strength, she felt some semblance of sense coming back to her. She didn't know how long they stayed on the floor because she felt her panic coming and going in waves. She couldn't get up and when it was at its worst, she could barely breathe. Sarah didn't know what to do or what to think, but Anthony held her through all of it.
He smoothed her hair away from her face, he wiped her tears away and never once let go of her.
"Anthony, I...I..."
"Shh. It's okay. We'll figure it out. We'll figure everything out, Sarah. I'm right here with you."
She began to feel dizzier than before and she couldn't keep her head up. He hugged her harder and whispered words she couldn't hear over the pounding of her heartbeat. Not long after, everything turned black.
***
Kyle paced back and forth as he spoke on the phone. "Okay. Thank you." He hung up. "A Ms. Sarah Ray has withdrawn several sizeable amounts of money from different ATM's," he explained.
Sarah sat in the office, still struggling to keep her panic at bay. Anthony sat beside her, holding her hand.
"You're saying someone stole my identity?"
"Yes. One of the cameras caught her." He turned his monitor around. "Do you recognize this woman?"
Sarah stared at the picture. It was blurry and in black and white, but she recognized her immediately.
"That's Cheryl."
"That's one of her aliases, at least. Her real name is Caroline Myers. She's a wanted con-artist."
Sarah shook her head. "Wait, wait. The whole time?"
"The motel is a front. She was using it to sell drugs. We found several hidden panels in different rooms that held cocaine. My guess is as soon as the police started sniffing around the motel, she got scared and ran."
Sarah couldn't believe any of this was happening.
"How did you find the drugs?" Anthony asked.
Kyle nodded to someone behind them. Sarah turned to see an officer bring in Adam. His hands were handcuffed behind his back.
"Adam here came to us and told us everything." They met eyes and she could tell Adam had been crying. Even now, it looked like he was fighting back tears.
"Sarah, I..." He dropped his gaze. "Mom said we should hire you, so if the cops noticed we were making too much money, we would put it into your account and say you put in a lot of overtime. I didn't know she would do any of this, but I knew about the drugs."
She had never seen Adam look so broken. She couldn't blame him. His mother abandoned him so he could take the heat for her crimes.
"Sarah, I...I just want you to know that...I'm sorry." His voice cracked. "I'm sorry about everything I did to you. I was an asshole and a coward." He started to cry. "I'm sorry. I'm...I'm so sorry."
He kept muttering apologies as the officer took him away.
"He told us that Cheryl or Caroline, I guess, told him about a place to lie low in case they ever got caught. We're going there first. We also have people monitoring the train and bus stations."
Sarah looked at Anthony who gave her a reassuring smile.
"I...I can't believe I was working for a con-artist this whole time," she admitted.
Kyle sat down. "We can't believe she was hiding under our noses this whole time. Anyway, you should go home and try to get some rest while we deal with this. Officer Burns will give you a ride."
She stood and then gave Anthony a questioning look when he didn't stand with her.
"I have some questions about Michael," he explained. "It could take a while."
"Oh. I can wait."
"It will take a few hours, Sarah," Kyle stepped in. "We need Anthony to fill out some forms and all that. Half of policework is paperwork, they say," he said with a grin.
"No, really. It's fine. I can wait."
Sarah couldn't be alone right now. She gave Anthony an imploring look and touched his forearm.
He moved his arm away. "Uh, some of the things we have to discuss is a bit personal. I'd prefer it if you didn't hear it. You should go."
He didn't look in her eyes.
"You can tell me what's wrong. I can help."
She tried to touch him again, but he stepped back. "I know you can, but not with this."
"Why won't you talk to me?"
"Because it's none of your business. Go back to the motel."
Anthony's tone surprised them all. Sarah felt her heart crack. She felt a wave of emptiness and loneliness.
"Fine."
As the officer escorted her out, she glanced back to see that he wasn't even looking at her. It was like she stopped existing. She had this ugly feeling that he was already done with her. He was the son of one of the richest, most successful people in the world and she was someone who cleaned motel rooms. Did she ever mean anything to him? Now that he was proven innocent, would he go back to his mansion and money and forget all about her?
She felt like she would never see him again and her eyes prickled.
For the entire drive, she stared out the window as the city passed by. There were so many lights and signs and cars that made it seem like this place was thriving with all sorts of people. She had seen these streets countless times before, but for the first time she realized that she never really belonged here. These people all saw her as nothing more than a prostitute and now she learned that Cheryl saw her as a means to launder money.
The excitement she felt as a young, naïve teenager entering a city like this had worn off long ago and she felt like she had no choice but to stay here and deal with the pain killing her soul.
The officer stopped in front of the motel and she mumbled her thanks as she got out. There was some yellow tape here and there and people stood on the sidewalks watching the remaining officers who were investigating the drugs. They let Sarah pass as she trudged to her room. She put her hand on the doorknob and stood there. This didn't feel like home anymore. It was a drug den and her room was filled with books and clothes and a laptop that barely worked. This was where she kept her things, but it wasn't her home. She took her hand off the doorknob and stepped back.
Did she always feel this way and she was just suppressing it?
The one person she knew for just a few days made all of the pain and suffering worth it and just like that, he had washed his hands of her.
She turned around and crossed the parking lot. The coffee cup was no longer there, but it didn't mean anything to her at this point. The police probably took it for evidence. She stood in front of Anthony's door and pushed it in. There weren't any personal items, there wasn't a smell, the bed was tightly made...
Any indication that he even stayed here was gone. It was like he really did vanish.
She shut the door behind her and laid on the bed. She hugged one of the pillows close to her and rolled onto her side to stare at the curtains. Everything smelled freshly laundered. Sarah didn't feel sad or angry. She just felt numb. In many ways, that was far, far worse.
***
The morning came, but she didn't move. What was the point? It wasn't like she needed to clean the rooms and even if she did, she wouldn't get paid for it. She stayed in that bed for God knows how long. Hunger never made her move and as the sunlight faded, she refused to get up. Maybe this life she lived was all a hallucination. Maybe her father was waiting for her somewhere. Maybe everything she experienced so far was just a joke and she was really someone else in a simulation.
"I thought I'd find you here."
She didn't respond. She heard the chair being dragged across the carpet and Kyle sat down in front of the bed. Somehow, she wasn't surprised that Anthony wasn't with him.
"We haven't heard from you in a while, so I thought I would check in. This was by your door by the way." He held up a big envelope.
Sarah just stared past him. She felt so drained, she barely felt like she had the energy to breathe.
"Sarah, do you know how long it's been?"
She blinked.
"It's been three days."
Her throat felt dry and when she breathed, her stomach hurt.
"I have something to give you," he continued.
Sarah didn't care. She wanted Kyle to leave. She wanted to stay in this room because she couldn't go out there and face the world and its fierce cruelty. Kyle crossed his legs, holding up another big envelope.
"It's a lot of paperwork and all that, but..."
He kept on talking, but his voice sounded like a long drone.
"He sent me away," she muttered. "And now he's gone. Isn't he?"
Kyle scratched his nose as he tried to find the words.
"I wanted to trust him. I knew something was wrong and he sent me away."
He gave her a sad expression as if he was battling with an issue of his own.
"I should never have trusted him. I shouldn't have trusted anyone. Leave me alone, Kyle. Leave me alone and don't come back."
Kyle opened his mouth to say something, then decided not to. He stood up, dragged the chair back to its original spot and heard the door close. She closed her eyes and hugged the pillow tighter. She could hear the faint sound of water running in the distance. Someone in one of the next rooms must have been taking a shower.
Sarah sighed into the pillow, ready to think about everything that haunted her. Her dad's death, her mother's abuse, how everyone in this town looked at her, Adam's actions, Cheryl's theft...Anthony's abandonment.
She sank into all the memories and the pain that they brought, waiting for her mind to do its worst when someone grabbed her. She gasped as she opened her eyes and saw Kyle dragging her across the floor and then outside.
"Kyle! Kyle, let me go! Let go!"
He dragged her into another room, lifted her up and threw her into a bathtub with freezing water. She screamed and shivered as she tried to climb out.
Kyle grabbed her shirt and pulled her in close. "Listen, Sarah.
Anthony didn't leave you."
"Yes...yes, he did." He shook her before she started crying. He put his finger under her chin to force her to meet his eyes.
"He has cancer! He spent his last days running from Michael and
were the only reason he didn't give up! He left you everything that he got in his mother's will! After you left the police station, he asked me to make sure that you receive everything because he wouldn't be alive to use it! He saw something in you, Sarah! He gave you a company worth five billion dollars and everything else his family owns! The doctors say he has less than a week left and you're here feeling sorry for yourself! You're going to grow up and you're going to see him. You know he has few people in his life."
Sarah was dumbfounded. She heard everything Kyle said, but didn't want to believe it.
"Cancer?"
"Yes." He released her. "There's a tumour in his brain that's too close to his brain stem."
Sarah swallowed. Her throat hurt at the movement. "Why...why didn't he tell me?"
"He was going to. After we arrested Davis and Michael, he was going to tell you everything, but Cheryl stole your money. He said you had enough to worry about and it wasn't the right time."
She covered her mouth and shook. She would cry later. She would feel all the pain later. Kyle was right. It was time to grow up.
"Where is he?"
"He's at the Glenmore Hospital."
"Okay." She sniffed and nodded to herself. "Okay," she said more firmly.
Brain cancer had already taken away one man she loved. She refused to let it happen again.
She finished cleaning herself after Kyle left. He brought her over some clothes from her room and once she changed and brushed her teeth they got into Kyle's car. He gave her a Gatorade and tossed her a bag filled with breakfast croissants. She ate all of them.
Pushing her emotions away so she could think clearly was one of the most difficult things she had ever done. Tremors of pain still rattled through her soul and she cold feel the tears on the brink of spilling over, but Anthony needed her. Now wasn't the time to fall apart.
They arrived at the hospital and began the long walk from the parking lot to the revolving doors. Once they entered, she followed Kyle to the elevators and he led her to Anthony's room. A few officers were already in the waiting area.
"Doctor Combs," Kyle called.
The doctor was tall with neatly combed black hair and glasses.
"Oh, Detective. Mr. Anderson's condition hasn't changed, I'm afraid. Now might be a good time to --"
"I'm sorry," Sarah interrupted. "Dr. Combs, is it?"
"Uh, yes?"
"I need to see everything you have on Anthony. His entire medical history, his MRI scans, all records of his treatment...
"Well, I -- I'm sorry, ma'am. We can't give that out -- AH!"
Sarah grabbed his collar and pulled him down to her eye level. "Listen, you son of a bitch. That man is
away from dying. I don't give a rat's fucking ass what rules or procedures you have to break to get me all of Anthony's medical information. If you don't get me what I need,
the one who's going to need a doctor."
He gave her a wide-eyed, stunned expression as he tried to form a response.
"I know it's very unconventional, Dr. Combs, but I can speak to whoever I need to so you don't get into trouble," Kyle piped up. "Anthony is very important to me and the force. And to Ms. Ray here if you couldn't tell already.
Sarah let him go and the doctor wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. "Uh...If you'll follow me, please?"
***
Anthony was lying face down. He felt more alone than ever. He didn't sense anyone around him and didn't know how long he was there, but everything felt cold as if he was in a cave.
When he opened his eyes, he groaned at the bright light. He squinted and blinked, struggling to adjust to everything he saw. He managed to sit up and felt his head spin for a moment. The sky above him was a wondrous and brilliant blue and there were long blades of golden grass surrounding him.
He got to his feet and looked around. The light didn't seem so bad anymore. He heard the sounds of a gentle stream, the chirping of birds and felt the warmth of the sunlight. He turned around on the spot, surveying the infinite paradise. A gentle, cool breeze brushed against him and made the grass ripple like a body of water.
"Anthony?"
He spun around and felt his eyes widen.
"M-Mom?"
Martha Anderson stood in front of him with an equally stunned expression. She looked exactly like he remembered her. She was in her late forties, but maintained the youthfulness of a twenty-year-old. Her long, black hair was tied back to reveal her dark eyes. Her coffee-coloured skin was as flawless as ever.
"Mom, it's you!"
He stepped toward her, but she backpedalled.
"You're not supposed to be here."
He tried to approach her again, but she shoved him away.
"No! You're not supposed to be here! This is no place for you!"
"What are you talking about?"
"You're not supposed to be here!" she shouted. "You weren't supposed to --" She cut herself off. "You need to leave."
"Mom, what are you --"
"You have to leave!" Her eyes became watery and she shoved him again. "Get
of here!"
"I'm not going anywhere! Mom, you have no idea what I've been through!"
"Stop it! Stop being an idiot! I didn't sacrifice and work my ass off just so you could end up here!"
"You don't get to tell me that! You left me!"
Martha clenched her jaw as she tried to hold back her tears. "It's too soon for you to be here. You still have things to do. You still have to open your restaurant."
"Mom, none of that matters. You think one day you can just leave me and I'll be okay with it? You think my life would just go on as if nothing happened? You are all that I had in this world and you left me behind to deal with everything by myself!"
"Anthony..." Martha sniffed and wiped her eyes. "It...It just happened. I didn't mean for any of this..."
She crossed her arms and glanced at something else. She pushed her emotions away. He remembered her doing that whenever she needed to get serious. One minute she was on the verge of tears, the next minute she was composed and rational.
"What do I do without you?" he asked.
"I am not going to coddle you. I am not going to tell you what you want to hear. You need to leave. You keep on living and experience all of the things that I couldn't."
"Just like that?"
"Yes. I became successful because I always looked at what I had. Not what I didn't have. I'm gone, but what do you have, Anthony?"
He didn't have to think for very long. "I have Kyle and...I
someone else. Well, not really, but...She meant a lot to me and I pushed her away."
"Wonderful," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "You can waste your time talking to me or you could go get her back."
"Can't you come with me?"
That put a dent in her tough exterior. She gave him a tiny smile. "I think we both know that's not possible."
"I don't want to leave you here."
"I'm not alone as you think. Time doesn't mean much here, anyway."
"Oh. Okay."
"Don't make that face. I'm happy here. In life, I was happy with my little boy. Here...here it's different. There aren't any problems here. All of the memories that cause me pain don't bother me anymore. I've come to terms with all of the mistakes I've made. Here, I feel like...there's a warmth in me that I didn't have when I was alive. I don't have to keep fighting and fighting. For the first time, I felt...fulfilled. I felt like I was satisfied with everything I achieved in my life. I don't know if this is heaven, Anthony, but I'm happy here. Here I can finally rest. I don't have to deal with how hard life is or how awful people can be. Go back, Anthony. You're not ready yet. You're too young to be here."
Anthony didn't know how to feel or what to say.
He cleared his throat to overcome the lump forming in his throat. "Hey, uh, do you want to hear something funny?"
"What is it?"
"We got Michael arrested."
"Ha!" It was a moment where she showed pure joy. Her irises glowed and little wrinkles formed around her eyes. She flashed her perfect white teeth to reveal her dimples.
Just as quickly as the moment came, it left and her emotions faded.
"Um, will I see you again?" he asked.
"Maybe. I'd imagine it depends on your life choices. Go live, my boy."
He stepped closer and this time, she didn't push him. Anthony embraced her and felt just a little less lonely.
Everything changed too quickly. His head spun and everything hurt. He wanted to cough, but couldn't find the strength. He was so thirsty.
He inhaled too quickly and moaned at the pain.
"Anthony?"
He felt someone touch his hand.
"S-Sarah?"
"Oh, my God. I...The operation worked. I -- I went over all of your files and I told the surgeons how to operate to remove the tumour and I went over the plan, like, a million times and...and..."
Her voice trailed off when he ran his fingers up her arm to find her face. He gently touched her cheek. "I'm...I'm alive?"
She sniffled. "Yes. Yes, Anthony. You're alive."
***
TWO MONTHS LATER
Anthony had lived his life ever since his mother died thinking he would join her soon. He spent his days running and hiding and living in fear. He thought Michael would catch him and he would die in a jail cell. Now, he was alive and back on his feet. He could leave the hospital now that his tests and rehabilitation were all done.
Kyle came to visit him often and one day, he was wearing a new police uniform. "You're now looking at the new captain!"
"Captain? Wow, that's amazing!"
"Well, I single-handedly exposed a corruption ring
I caught a notorious con-artist. Plus, the old captain was dirty, so who better to take his place than me?"
"Ha! Single-handedly?"
"Eh, I
have had a little bit of help."
They both laughed.
"It looks like you're all ready to get out of here," Kyle noticed.
"Yeah, I signed the discharge papers. I'm all set."
"And Sarah still doesn't know?"
"Nope. I can't wait to see her face when I surprise her."
Kyle checked his watch. "She should still be at the motel packing up her things. She wanted to finish by tonight since the place is closing down. We'd better hurry, though. We all know you two can't stay away from each other for very long."
Anthony tried not to blush. It seemed everyone in the hospital knew about Anthony and Sarah. The nurses would tease him about the way they looked at one another and found excuses to touch each other.
They left the hospital room and a few officers were waiting for him just outside. They all congratulated him, gave him handshakes and slaps on the back. Anthony appreciated them all being here, but had a burning desire to see Sarah.
"Alright, boys! Let me get Anthony out of here. Remember he's got a special lady waiting for him."
Anthony couldn't stop thinking about her. She stayed beside him throughout all of his tests and subsequent treatments. They would take naps together in his hospital bed and he woke up most mornings with her in his arms. She would explain certain procedures and tests to him and the doctors even came to her for recommendations for other patients.
Anthony wanted to tell her so many things, but could never find the right time or the right words. He wanted to do it right and say everything he needed to clearly.
Once they received the news that the motel was closing, she had been running back and forth to pack up her belongings and sort through all of the things she needed and didn't need. In the time she was at the motel, Anthony had been planning something with Kyle's help. Now that he was released from the hospital, it was time to put their plan into action.
Anthony was more than a little nervous. For the entire car ride, he couldn't relax and Kyle couldn't stop messing with him.
"How can someone as jacked as you be so nervous about this?"
"I don't know," he admitted. "I've never felt this way about anyone before. She's...the most incredible person I've ever met."
"My advice would be to drink until you feel confident."
"Yeah. I'll definitely keep that in mind. I'll need a lot of alcohol to get over all this nervousness."
Kyle pulled up in front of the motel. "It's crazy to think how much happened at this place. Drugs, catching criminals, finding love...Now it's closed."
"Maybe we should post a review and tell everyone our story," Anthony joked.
"Even if we did, I can't imagine this place getting more than three stars. And that's a generous guess."
They both laughed.
"Hey, Kyle, um...Thank you for everything. You stuck by me and believed me when I told you everything. I wouldn't be here without you."
"Anthony, my child is alive thanks to you. As soon as you could form a sentence that was more than three words, your first thought wasn't MaxTech, or Michael, but it was to check to see if your kidneys were a match for my daughter. She'll get to go to school and I get to see her grow up thanks to you. Your recovery would have been just a few weeks, but you went through two whole months of being in a hospital because you had a brain tumour
a kidney removed. I should be thanking you."
They hugged each other and Anthony got out of the car.
"Hey, Anthony?"
"Yeah?"
"You're going to make her really happy."
He nodded. "Thank you."
Kyle drove away and Anthony sneaked into his old room, hoping Sarah wouldn't look out of her window and see him. He unlocked the door, slipped inside and saw the black suit waiting for him on the bed along with the white boxes along the edge of the bed. He changed as quickly as he could, brushed his teeth and stared at his reflection in the mirror.
"Okay. This is happening. This is happening."
He grabbed one of the boxes and left his room. As he walked over to Sarah's room, he saw the limousine driving into the parking lot. He waved at the driver and he waved back. Anthony held up one finger to signal that he would need a minute and the driver nodded.
He stood in front of Sarah's door and knocked. He could hear her moving around inside and he felt his heart beating faster and faster as he heard her footsteps approaching.
Sarah opened the door and although he was in a suit, she looked so much more beautiful than he could ever hope to. Her long, blonde locks fell around her shoulders and reached the small of her back. She wore a plain, white t-shirt and blue jeans. Those bright, blue irises of hers completely disarmed him. That incredibly curvy body of hers sent shivers of excitement up and down his body.
"Anthony? W-what are you doing here? You look so...so...Oh, my God! I...I..."
She put her hands on his chest and felt his suit.
"Um, I wanted to surprise you," he said putting one of his hands over hers. "Would it be alright if I came in?"
She looked him up and down and noticed that her breathing changed a bit. She gently moved her hands down to his stomach.
"Um...I -- I'm sorry. What did you ask again?"
He chuckled. "Can I come in?"
"Oh, oh. Oh! Right. Yes, of course!"
Her smile was ravishing and the way her eyes lit up with delight made him smile as well.
"I thought you were getting out next week!" she said, grabbing his lapels and bouncing up and down.
"No, it was today. I actually have something special planned for tonight. I want to go somewhere nice. I mean, I want you to go somewhere nice. I mean, like both of us. Together. Uh, you know. Like a...a date."
"Really?"
He nodded. "Really. You mean so much to me, Sarah. I want you...uh, well, I want us to be..." He had prepared a speech and here he was standing in front of the girl of his dreams completely blowing it.
"Sarah, I...have feelings for you. I think you've known for a while now. I tried to tell you so many times at the hospital, but I just didn't have the courage and then I realized that life can be so unpredictable. Anything can happen. I don't ever what to regret
telling you how I feel. I think you're perfect in every way. I wouldn't change a single thing about you. Ever since we met, you've been teaching me that there's always something to live for. Or...
to live for. Whenever I look at you, my heart drops to the floor and I know we haven't known each other for very long, but when I thought my life was so close to ending, the greatest gift I could imagine was spending my last moments with you and now that you saved me from Michael and cancer, you gave me hope that I could keep living and that we could...we could be together. You brighten up my entire world just by existing. You're just as beautiful one the inside as you are on the outside."
Sarah watched him as her tears spilled out. Her hands shook and Anthony held her close to him.
"You're crazy," she whispered. "You're crazy to feel this way about someone like me. I'm...I'm jealous and emotional and clingy and...and..."
He ran his fingers through her hair, then put his hand under her chin, so she would look up at him. "I don't care if you list off ten million flaws, Sarah. Nothing will ever change how I feel about you."
"Anthony, I..." Her tears kept falling down her face. "I never thought you would tell me anything like this. I never thought
would tell me anything like this."
He gently wiped her tears away.
"I mean...is this real?" she asked. "Am I dreaming? I feel like I'm going to faint."
"The night is only starting, you know. If you faint now, you'll mist out on everything else."
"What do you mean everything else?"
He gave her the box. "Here. Put this on."
"What is it?"
"Open it and see."
She put the box on her bed and took the lid off. "Oh, my." Sarah pulled out the black dress and held it against herself. "Anthony, it's beautiful. I...I can keep it?"
"Of course, you can keep it."
There were also high heel shoes and a pair of diamond earrings inside the box and Sarah inspected them carefully.
"How much did this cost?"
"Don't worry about money," he said, touching her shoulder. "I just want you to enjoy yourself tonight."
"But this is all too much."
"No, it's not," he chuckled. "Just let me spoil you for one night. After that, you can yell at me all you want."
That got her to giggle. "Alright. You asked for it."
She went into her bathroom to change and Anthony waited patiently.
"How did you know what my size would be?" she wondered as she changed.
"I was secretly taking measurements of you."
"Really?"
"No, I guessed."
"Ha! Well, you made a pretty good guess."
Anthony didn't tell her about the other boxes he had in his room that all had the same dress and shoes in different sizes as a backup plan.
After a few minutes, he heard the door open and he turned around. The dress Anthony picked was backless and flowed down her body like water. When she stepped toward him, the material parted to reveal her shapely legs. She put up her hair and he couldn't help admiring her wonderfully large breasts. The dress covered up enough, but he could clearly see the sides and her long, deep cleavage. She wasn't wearing a bra, but they kept their shape and stayed up.
He felt himself getting hard as his eyes lingered on her marvelous chest, then moved to her toned arms and shoulders. She twirled around so he could admire her back. He breathed in suddenly at her musculature and her back dimples. Her body looked like it was carved by a master sculptor. Her frame was small, but all of her muscles were well-defined.
She gave him a playful smile as she gazed at him over her shoulder. "How do I look?"
Her diamond earrings sparkled as much as her eyes.
"Sarah, you look like an angel. I'm...speechless."
"Well, now you know how I feel whenever I look at you."
Sarah could make any supermodel jealous. She could make any goddess jealous. It didn't matter where they went, Sarah would be the most alluring person there.
He must have been staring for a while because she strolled up to him and pulled his cheeks.
"Snap out of it, you goof."
He placed his hands on the backs of her shoulders and moved them down, feeling her lovely muscles. Her skin was silky smooth. He loved the way she breathed and how her back clenched in response to his touch.
"Oh, Anthony," she whispered.
"You are the most beautiful thing in the whole world, Sarah. I didn't even know it was possible for one person to be as gorgeous and perfect as you."
"Anthony, if you make me cry one more time, I'm going to punch you."
He embraced her and held her tightly. Her body felt so nice against him, he didn't want to ever let go. Sarah gently rubbed his back and his sides. Her touch was so gentle. Her head rested on his chest and he was certain she could hear how fast his heart was beating.
"We can just stay like this all night if you like," she suggested.
"I'd love that, but we have reservations." He reluctantly let her go. "Your chariot awaits, my lady."
He offered her his hand and she took it. Her fingers were small and soft. They left the room and Sarah locked the door. When she turned around, she smiled so widely, it warmed his chest.
"A -- a limo?" she squeaked.
"Yeah. A limo."
They walked hand in hand and Anthony laughed at the bounce in Sarah's step.
"I've never been in a limo before," she told him.
"Well, get your pretty butt in there before it drives away."
He opened the door for her and she hopped in. He entered after her.
"We're all set, Tom," he said.
The driver nodded. "Yes, sir."
The drive started and Sarah couldn't sit still.
"Oh, my God! Oh, my God! We're in a limo! We're in a limo, Anthony!"
"Haha! Yeah, I know!"
She grabbed his arm and shook him. "Anthony, it's a limo! Anthony, it's a
She acted like a child on Christmas morning. He showed her how the TV screens folded out and where the champagne and glasses were. He showed her how to open the sunroof and explained what all the other buttons did. Her elation didn't subside and seeing her so happy made Anthony smile so much, his cheeks started hurting.
She sat in different spots, stuck her hands out the windows and the sunroof and pushed all of the buttons. When they arrived at their destination, Anthony asked Tom if he could drive around the block a few more times, so Sarah could get everything out of her system.
"Okay, I'm good now," she told him with her voice still shaking.
"Really?"
"No, but you said we have reservations, so we should probably get going."
Anthony helped her out and she wrapped her arms around his bicep as they walked to the front door of the restaurant.
"Aralando's?" she read out loud. "This place is a five-star restaurant."
"Yep."
He waved at Tom and he drove off into a nearby parking lot as they entered. They didn't have to wait to be seated. The hostess escorted them to a circular, corner booth and as they walked, Sarah captured everyone's attention. He could feel their eyes and when he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, he knew all of the men watching became envious.
"See? Everyone thinks you're an angel."
"No, everyone is looking at you. You
famous, you know."
"No one would even notice me when you're around."
They sat down and the hostess told them their server would be there soon. Sarah touched his arm and was about to say something when the waitress came over and introduced herself. She was a pretty brunette with glossy lips.
After she welcomed them, she gave them some privacy to look at the menu.
"Sorry, what were you gonna say?"
Sarah used her hands to cover her grin. "Nothing. It can wait."
They took a few moments to look at the options and Sarah scratched her chin.
"I don't know what to get," she told him. "Everything sounds so fancy. Pan roasted duck breast, beef wellington...They even have escargot. Not sure if I'm up for eating snails, but it's cool they have it."
"Ha, yeah. I think you'd like the beef tenderloin. It's a lot of meat and you seem like a total carnivore."
"You got me," she said, giving him that heart-stopping smile. "What are you gonna get?"
She leaned over to see what page he was on and her left breast pushed against his arm.
Anthony tried to keep his cool. "I think I'll get the scallops appetizer and the chicken and shrimp linguini for the entrée."
After a minute or two, Sarah said her appetizer would be the risotto and when the waitress came back, they placed their order.
"I feel so out of place here. How does a motel employee end up in a place like this?"
"You have the right people looking out for you."
She moved a bit closer and he pulled her in so close, she was practically sitting on his lap. Her ass felt good on his thigh. He gently rubbed her knee while she unbuttoned his blazer.
"Anthony, about all those things you said to me..."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."
She grabbed his tie and pulled him back in when he tried to move away from her. "No, you didn't make me uncomfortable. No one has ever said anything like that to me before, so I...I didn't really know how to react. I liked you ever since we first met. I've never felt this way about anyone before. I've never looked at someone the way I look at you and when you hold me like this, I feel so happy I could fly. You just amaze me in every way. If you could see what I see when I look at you, you would see a man so wonderful and handsome, he looks like a prince."
She gently kneaded his abs through his shirt.
"When Kyle told me you had cancer, I've never been so scared in my life. I refused to lose anyone else to that awful disease."
Anthony nodded. "You really did swoop in and save me."
"Yeah, and you made me a multi-billionaire to thank me for it, so I guess we're good."
They both grinned at each other.
"Uh, about that..."
"It's okay," she assured. "I was gonna sign everything back over to you, anyway."
"No, it's not that. It's just...I don't really know anything about running a company and you're a lot smarter than I am, so I was thinking..."
"Yeah?" she coaxed when his voice trailed off.
"Why don't we run MaxTech together?"
Sarah scoffed. "Well, I don't know anything about running a business either."
"Yeah, but you're a fast learner and you're dedicated. I know you want to be a doctor and I understand that's your first priority, but, I don't know, I was thinking if we could be partners on this? I'm not saying it'll be easy and if you end up not liking it, then I'll totally get it, but I just thought it would be a good idea."
"What about your restaurant?"
"Uh, well...you're looking at it."
Her eyes widened. "You
this place?"
"Not officially. Not
Kyle told me one day in the hospital that Aralando's is relocating and this space will be empty. I made a call and got a good deal on it, so we could both run MaxTech and do our own stuff."
She ran her fingers through his hair. "You're crazy if you think we can do this."
"I'm not hearing a 'no.'"
"Yeah, you're definitely crazy."
"Still not hearing a 'no.'"
"I'm saying we can
"Really?"
"It'll be hard for sure, but I'll do it for you."
He took her hand and brought it up to his lips, giving her knuckles a gentle kiss. "Cool."
"What did I get myself into?"
"Too late. No take backs."
She stuck her tongue out at him.
The waitress came back with their food and gave them a knowing smile when she saw how close they were sitting together. She left them alone and they took their first bites in silence, then Sarah started to giggle.
"What?"
"Heehee. Nothing. Here do that thing you do."
She fed him a spoonful of her risotto and Anthony chewed slowly. She playfully stroked his cheek with her finger while he ate.
"Um, arborio rice, parmesan, parsley, white wine, butter, olive oil, garlic, onions and vegetable stock."
"Wow."
"I made a lot of risotto before, so I know what usually goes into it, anyway."
"Yeah, but still. That's so impressive."
He gently held her hand. "I just realized I don't know much about you."
"Yeah, you do. I told you stuff I haven't told anyone."
"I know, but I mean the little things. Like, what do you do in your spare time and your favourite movies and stuff."
Sarah blushed a bit. "Um, well, I'm not
interesting."
"Yeah, that's true. The whole reason I like you is because you're smoking hot."
She scrunched up her nose at him. "Oh, you certainly have a way with words, don't you?"
"Yep. A lot of people say that."
She put her hands over her mouth when she laughed. "Ah, well, I like to draw, I like to read, I like to listen to music...basically anything that involves me sitting around and not doing much."
Anthony rubbed her palm with his thumb as she kept talking. That musical, Southern accent was his favourite thing to listen to.
"I'm sorry. I'm just rambling now, aren't I?" she asked when she realized she had been speaking for a while.
"It's okay. I like hearing you talk."
She looked away and smiled. He pulled her in a bit more until he could feel her chest lightly touching his when she breathed in.
"Our food will get cold, you know," she whispered to him.
Anthony was completely absorbed in her eyes for a moment. The way they shone in the restaurant's lighting made them look brighter than usual. Maybe she really was an angel.
He apologized and laughed awkwardly.
She ran her hand up and down his chest. "It's okay."
They finished their appetizers and when the waitress took their plates away and brought them their entrées, they ate and got to know each other just like a normal date.
is
he thought.
"What's your absolute favourite food?" he asked.
"Chicken nuggets," she answered.
"Ha! Really?"
"Shut
she said through her laughter. "They're cheap and they're super good. I don't care how old I get. I'll always love chicken nuggets."
"I'll have to make some for you one day."
"Yes, you have to. No turning back now!"
When they were all done eating, the waitress asked if they wanted to see the dessert menu.
"Yes, please," Anthony said.
Sarah rubbed his chest again. "Dessert, too? You really
spoiling me."
He nuzzled his nose against her temple. "I know."
He ordered the crème brûlée and Sarah ordered the chocolate mousse. They didn't talk much during this part of their dinner. As they grew more confident with each other, they kept touching and stealing glances. Sarah finished her dessert first and fed Anthony the rest of his. When he got some on his lip, she rubbed it off with her thumb and licked it off.
"All done," she said, showing him the empty dish.
She used her finger to scoop out the rest of the sugar from the bowl and Anthony watched as she ran her tongue over her fingertip.
"I guess I can't go one night without cleaning something," she joked.
Anthony chuckled. "Really?"
"Yeah, well, no. I haven't actually been doing a whole lot of cleaning lately."
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know. It's kinda weird. I think someone's been helping me out at the motel, but I don't know who it could be. Cheryl didn't hire anyone else and it wasn't Adam."
"Sarah?"
"Yeah?"
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded-up piece of paper. "Actually, I..."
She gently took the page and unfolded it to see the note she left in the parking lot.
"It...it was you? It was you the whole time?"
"Yes," he whispered.
Her hands started shaking and her eyes started to swim. "So...Mr. Morgisen..."
"I overheard him talking on the phone about you. The things he said were awful and I...I told him that if he didn't apologize to you, then I would make him regret it. He put his hand on her cheek. "You've suffered enough and I just wanted you to --"
She cut him off with the most passionate kiss Anthony had ever had. Her lips were soft and tender and her breath felt warm in his mouth. She grabbed his hair in a tight fist as Anthony pulled her in as close as possible. He ran his hands up and down her beautiful, muscled back, feeling the warmth and softness of her skin. All of the passion that had been building up finally bubbled over.
Sarah began to use her tongue and Anthony used his. She tasted so good and the more they kissed, the more he wanted. Anthony felt her loving emotions condense into this moment they shared. They finally expressed how they felt about one another through their bodies. Their tongues continued to dance together and explored each other's mouths. Anthony moved his hands down her back and grabbed her big, firm ass. He could feel the muscles clench in excitement and when he squeezed her cheeks harder, Sarah gasped. She definitely had more than Anthony could hold with two hands.
Sarah massaged his ears and then cupped his face as she kissed his chin and his neck.
"Oh, Sarah..."
"What did I do to deserve you, Anthony? Did you fall from heaven? You were the angel the whole time."
A smile pulled at his lips. "Now who's crazy?"
She kissed and gnawed the tip of his nose. They looked around to see if anyone caught sight of their passionate display, but because they were in the corner booth, they weren't really in anyone's immediate field of vision.
"Do you want to get out of here?"
She kissed his cheeks. "Yes."
As they looked into each other's eyes, they both knew what they wanted. Anthony put a few bills down on the table and took Sarah's hand. It was difficult for him to contain himself after he held Sarah's exquisite body the way he wanted. He felt up her gorgeous, round booty and her big, soft boobs were pushing against him so much, he could feel her nipples harden. He was seconds away from tearing off her dress and taking her right there on the table while everyone watched.
They exited the restaurant and waited for about a minute for Tom to pick them up. As soon as they climbed in, Sarah struggled to contain her laughter.
"What's so funny? You've been doing that ever since we left."
"It's..." She glanced down. "You're hard, Anthony."
He looked down to see just how much he was bulging out of his pants. "Oh, uh...w-well, I...uh..."
"It's okay." She moved his hands away. "It's too late to start hiding now, right?"
He moaned lightly when she started to massage it. "How, um...Is it okay if I ask..."
"Oh. Uh, well...when I'm fully hard it's about...eleven and a half inches."
She blinked in disbelief. "W-what? Really? Isn't that, like...
big?" she asked, using her hands to estimate the size.
"Here." He took her arm. "It will be about from where your elbow is to the center of your palm."
"Holy, fuck...That's insane."
"Everyone I've been with has told me it was too big," he said sadly.
"That just means they weren't woman enough to take it." She kissed his cheek and bit his earlobe. "I'll take good care of him."
She got right back onto his lap, straddling his hips with those sumptuous thighs. Neither of them could resist kissing. Sarah used a lot more tongue than before and they were noisier. Anthony didn't mind at all. He groaned deep in his throat when she moved her head down and started to work on his neck.
She reached underneath his shirt and sank her nails into his hard flesh. "Are you gonna fuck me tonight, Anthony? Are you gonna give me that big, black cock?"
"Yes, Sarah. Oh, yes. I've wanted you for so long."
They kissed and licked and bit for the entire ride back to the motel. Tom uncomfortably let them know that they arrived and Anthony got out, lifting Sarah off her feet. She wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. His hands were busy feeling up Sarah's big, round ass again, so he closed the door with his foot and carried Sarah to her room. She gave him the key while she kissed him all over and Anthony fumbled with it. He almost dropped it a few times because Sarah's merciless passion made his head spin.
Eventually, he managed to open it and stepped into the room. Sarah reached behind him and slammed the door closed. They tumbled onto the bed.
"I've been waiting for this for a very long time," she panted. "It's been so long since I've had a man, since I've been intimate with anyone. I'm gonna enjoy you so much."
She wrestled his tie off and threw it aside.
"You delicious man. You're all mine."
She grabbed his collar and tore his shirt right open. The buttons scattered all over the room. She pinned him against the bed and shoved his vest up his chest.
"Oh, my God..." She ran her hands down his abs. "You're a work of art. God, just look at you. You're so fit and sexy."
She slowly and seductively kissed his pectorals and his stomach. The feeling of her lips and tongue caressing his hard body made his eyes roll back into his head. Anthony could barely speak as she licked between his abs and bit into his oblique muscles.
She rubbed her face against his stomach, inhaling the scent of him while her nails scratched his back. Anthony took off his shirt and vest as he watched.
"Anthony, you turn me on so fucking much."
Sarah moved down and licked and kissed his bulge through his slacks. Her mouth was so warm. She stared right into his eyes as she unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants. In one smooth movement, she pulled his pants down his legs and his cock sprung out.
It pointed straight up like a flagpole and Sarah's breathing became more ragged.
"You...you really are that big."
"I...I know. If it's too big, we don't have to -- Oh! Oh, fuck!"
Sarah didn't start off slow or tease him. She shoved as much of Anthony's big cock into her mouth and throat as possible and savagely grabbed him with both hands. Her mouth was so warm and wet and her grip was so strong. He could feel his thighs shake as she sucked him like it was the most delicious thing she'd ever eaten.
He propped himself up onto his elbows and watched in amazement as Sarah gave him the greatest blowjob he ever had in his life. Her head moved so quickly, it was almost a blur and her hands jacked him off with a fierce strength.
"Oh, God, Sarah!" he screamed.
So much was going on, it felt like he was losing his mind. He could feel her tongue wildly flicking in every direction, her mouth creating an intense suction as she greedily slurped up all of his precum, her throat closing in around his length and her hands rubbing him harder than he ever rubbed himself.
She pulled her hands away and clasped them behind her back and took his entire cock into her mouth and throat. She didn't gag or cough. Instead, she looked like she was in pure ecstasy. Her forehead touched his stomach and her chin touched his ball sack. She kept swallowing, her throat muscles giving him a thorough massage, then she slowly rose up, her lips holding his steel-hard rod in a tight grip. His cock gradually left the depths of her skilled throat and she hollowed out her cheeks. Soon, she only had the head in her mouth. Her tongue swirled around it and big drops of her saliva slipped down his hardness.
She inhaled deeply and let go of his dick. Anthony lay there in stunned silence as Sarah stood up and licked her lips.
"I'm sorry, baby. I get a little crazy when I suck cock and I've been imagining going down on you for so long."
She started to undo her hair.
"You taste so sweet, baby. I knew you would." She gave him a wink.
"Sarah, you're so incredible."
She hummed as her golden hair fell perfectly around her shoulder and down her back. She slowly turned around and began to slip out of her dress.
"Do you like my body, Anthony?"
"Yes, Sarah."
Her back clenched as she moved the thin straps off her shoulders. She ran her fingers through her long, silky locks, lifting her hair up, so Anthony could see an uninhibited view of her toned, voluptuous curves.
Slowly and steadily, her dress crept down her body, revealing more and more. Anthony took his shoes and socks off and couldn't help beating himself off to the sight of Sarah undressing in the most sensuous way possible. She gave him a devilish grin as she looked at him over her shoulder.
"What do you want to do to me, Anthony?"
"I...I want to shove my cock into your tight body. I want you to squeeze me from the inside. I want you to take every inch of my hard cock. You're just so fucking sexy, Sarah."
She moved her shoulders enough for the muscles to flex. "Mm. I know you like my big tits, baby. Do you want to suck on them?"
"Yes!"
"Do you want to put something in between them?" She moved her hips from side to side as her dress began to move down her bubble butt. Anthony was hypnotized by the sway.
"I want to put my face in between them."
"Mhmm? What else, baby?"
"I want to fuck those big tits. I want you to wrap them around my cock and come all over your chest."
"We have all night, sexy. I have some big plans for your big, black cock."
The dress was about halfway down that spectacular booty and he got even more excited when he saw a little tattoo of a paw print in the middle of her right cheek. She flexed both cheeks in a steady rhythm and her smile widened when she saw how much it aroused him. She flexed them independently, clenching her right, then her left. Her booty cleavage looked so deep and beautiful and as she kept moving her big, firm cheeks, Anthony couldn't tear his eyes away.
She continued to move her hips and started to make her ass dance faster. "Do you think about me when you jack off, baby?"
"Yes!"
Her dress finally fell and Anthony drank in the sight of her. Her naked body was so smooth and clean. She was as perfect as he imagined. She let her hair flow down her back and turned around. Anthony stroked himself harder when she started to play with her breasts.
Sarah had pretty, pink nipples that looked like little marbles.
"I think about you, too. I've thought about blowing you while you try to lift weights. I'd be on my knees, begging for your come while you're trying to focus."
"Oh, God, Sarah."
She raised her arms above her head and shook her breasts side to side. Anthony's chest heaved as he grew more excited.
"Sarah, you're driving me crazy."
She stepped closer. "I know, baby."
Anthony couldn't resist his urge to grab those glorious boobs. They felt so soft and warm in his hands. He felt Sarah's body shiver when he started to suck on them. Anthony wasn't gentle with her. There was no way he could be. He was so horny and hard, his mind raced with all of the things he wanted to do to this goddess in front of him and none of them involved being gentle.
He wrapped his arms around her, sucking on her milky, white tits with all of his might. Sarah's knees shook, which made him hold her even tighter. He growled and snarled as he attacked her breasts with his mouth, lips and teeth. He pinched and pulled her nipples, loving how loudly it made her moan. He was ruthless and he wanted her to understand he would be this rough all night.
Out of nowhere, she shoved him back. He watched her slowly kick her heels off, step onto the bed and turn around, moving her hips in a way she knew would turn him on. She laid down close to him and wrapped one of her legs around his torso, grabbing his cock with both hands and pressing it right against her face. He could hear how loudly she smelled his glans and the sides of his cock.
"Mm. You smell so fucking good."
Just like before, she aggressively sucked his dick. She made beautiful, loud slurping noises and moaned deep in her throat. He grabbed her hair in tight fists so it wouldn't get in the way. She put her ass in the air, but kept her head down as if she was about to do a pike push up. She sucked him so forcefully and created such an unbelievable suction with her mouth, Anthony couldn't help shouting in pleasure. He was so deep in her throat and she moved down so her breasts could touch his erection.
Sarah seemed to enjoy it just as much as he did. He loved how her ass moved as she spread her legs further apart. Her paw print tattoo was so sexy, it made his rod twitch inside of her.
She stopped sucking for a moment and whispered, "Watch this, baby."
In one breath, she swallowed his throbbing, drooling cock and put her legs in the air, quickly gaining her balance on just her arms. She raised and lowered herself while Anthony stared with his mouth open. He was so amazed at Sarah's strength and control. She was sucking him off while doing handstand push ups and he couldn't be any more turned on. Her arms flexed and her skin and bellybutton ring shone in the dim light. Her abs tightened as she breathed, making his balls draw up. She was so much stronger than she let on. Anthony had never felt such pleasure before.
He slowly moved his hips up and down to help guide himself deeper into her mouth. Watching Sarah demonstrate just how powerful she was and feeling how this position made his rod shudder caused him to grip the sheets in anticipation. Sarah increased her tempo and Anthony felt the heat rising up through his meat pole.
"Oh, fuck! I'm gonna come!"
He could feel his toes starting to tingle. Sarah was about to take her mouth off him, but he reacted too quickly. He sat up and locked her head in between his thighs. He held her body close to him and spanked her big ass cheeks. Now that they were in a sitting 69 position, he watched her glistening pussy quiver. He squeezed her head tighter and unloaded several jets of warmth into her. His entire body trembled and clenched as he listened to Sarah swallow everything he gave her. After about a minute, he exhaled and stood up. He grabbed Sarah's waist, pulled her off him and dropped her onto the bed.
"Oh, fuck! Holy, shit, Anthony! You're a fucking animal!"
She trembled and squirmed on the bed, her hair looking ragged and wild. He bent down and hungrily kissed her, holding her head in his hands.
"Sit on my face, baby," he ordered.
He laid back down and Sarah slowly crawled up to him. She moved over him like a kitten. She pushed her knees into him as she made her way up. Finally, when that pretty pussy was over his face, he grabbed her hips and slammed her down onto his face. She shouted in surprise, the movements of his lips and tongue making her twist and wriggle about.
He moaned and hummed loudly as she gave him lots to drink. She tasted sweeter than honey. Soon, Sarah began to ride his face and put all of her weight on him. She pulled on his hair so hard, it made him grunt in pain. Sarah laughed as he ran his hands all over her back and her ass.
"You having fun, sexy?"
"Mhmm! So...fucking...good!"
He barely understood himself when he responded. Sarah probably heard a series of grunts and moans, but giggled at his reaction anyway. She reached behind her and ran her fingertips up and down his throat.
"Do you like this dessert better?"
"Mhmm!"
He moved his tongue faster and sucked on her pussy harder. He opened up his mouth as much as possible and Sarah squealed.
"Oh, fuck, that tongue!"
She swore and moaned as she fucked his face and never slowed down. He moaned louder and when his mouth filled up with her wetness, he swallowed it all. He felt her quivering around his tongue and Anthony couldn't think of anything better than making a woman as beautiful as Sarah reach this level of joy.
"More, Anthony. More, please."
He couldn't refuse her. Holding his woman's pleasure in the palm of his hand was a position of power he didn't want to give up easily. Besides, the taste and smell of Sarah's hot and wet pussy could keep Anthony busy for hours. When he reached up to play with her breasts, she massaged his biceps.
"You're too good to me, my beautiful bodybuilder."
He looked up at her face and saw that she had worked up a sweat. Little droplets ran down her neck. Her hair looked even messier. She couldn't stop panting and she would grimace whenever he sucked on her clit. She had never looked more attractive to him.
He impulsively shoved his tongue into her as far as he could go and her thighs contracted around his head. She pinched and pulled his nipples in response.
"You're a bad boy," she said. "Do I have to punish you?"
He used his tongue to feel her warm insides and she leaned her head back. She made a noise somewhere between a scream and a moan. She only got louder as he used the back of his tongue to massage her clit and the tip tickled her lips. He wrapped his arms around her hips to keep her steady while she came. She moved around a lot, but she couldn't escape his grasp. She tasted wonderful. He could eat her multiple times a day and not complain once.
When he let go, she quickly stood up and sat on his stomach, leaning back and putting her hands on his knees. She tilted her head back and her hair tickled his skin. They were both out of breath.
"You...you know what you're doing, don't you?"
Her breasts looked so good from below.
"Mhmm. I love to eat pussy."
She sat up straight and held his face in her hands. "Ooh. I can tell, baby. Now that I know how good you are, you'll have to do it for me every day." She gently scratched his jaw. "Whenever I say so."
"Yes, ma'am."
She raked her nails all over him while she caught her breath. He sat up and pulled her into a deep kiss.
She pulled away and stared him in the eyes. "Anthony, I need you to fuck me. I need to feel your huge cock pushing deep into me. I want you to make me come with that rock hard monster between your legs."
"Sarah, are you sure? I might hurt you."
"I want you to hurt me. Show me how strong you are. Show me what those muscles can do. Don't hold back now. I'll beg if you like. Is that what you want, baby? I'll get on my knees and look up at you. I'll even kiss your feet. Please, baby, please give me your big dick. I've been dreaming about it for so long."
Anthony cast aside his doubts and concerns as soon as he heard the pleading in her tone. He didn't need to be told twice. He picked her up and held her by the backs of her thighs. He stood up on the bed and Sarah put her hands around his neck. His thick and heavy cock jumped in anticipation and drooled precum onto the sheets.
"Anthony..."
His member ached to sink into that snug heat, craving the tightness. He thrusted hard, putting all of his strength behind it, powering through her snatch with a scream. She took all of him inside of her with an animalistic cry. Her nails were in the hard flesh of his neck, digging in. He wanted her to mark him up and claim him as his territory. Cupping her ass, he lifted her up more. Sarah gasped and shouted, moving her hips in a circular motion to try to adjust to his size and hardness.
Her pussy rippled, somehow sucking at him harder than her mouth did. The feeling of her clutching the entire length of his cock almost sent him over the edge. No woman had ever taken him in his entirety before and it felt so good, he could have passed out in that moment.
"Sarah," he hissed through clenched teeth. Her back arched as he thrust hard again, his length tunneling deep. The pressure she exacted around him was uncompromising. Anthony couldn't get enough as he drilled into her. She thrashed around in his grip, her hair and legs whipping about. Her heels slid up and down the small of his back, her tits bounced from the force of his fucking and her ass tensed in his hands.
Sarah was so shapely and so small compared to him, but Anthony couldn't care less. He fucked her as hard as he possibly could and they were both yelling in pain and euphoria. Anyone who was listening would know they were having untamed, ferocious and crazed sex. He didn't care who overheard them. Sarah sank her teeth into his shoulder, leaving another mark of possession.
Having her mouth on his sweaty skin spurred him on to fuck her even harder. Sarah moaned his name and he felt a splash of warmth against his thighs.
"Fuck! I'm coming, Anthony! You're making me squirt all over you!"
Anthony kept pounding her like a sex machine that was cranked up to max. He was getting close and hearing the sloppy, wet noises of Sarah's gushing pussy made him harden even more. Heat sizzled up his back as he felt her legs shaking. With an inhuman cry, he pulled her down, burying his cock into her as he gave her a huge and hot load of come.
They both trembled and shouted each other's names. Sarah pressed her face into the crook of his neck, rubbing her sweaty skin against his. Anthony's knees shook, but he remained standing. She clenched her pussy to squeeze out the last drops. It took them both a long moment to stop shivering.
Sarah cradled his head in her hands and gave him a deep and fervent kiss. "You're such a beast."
He lifted her up and her pussy reluctantly let go of him after sucking on his head for a few seconds. His hot seed spilled out of her as Sarah made adorable, little moans.
"You're so good, you sexy thing," he said.
"That was all you, my big, black stud."
He set her down on the bed and Anthony turned her so she was lying on her stomach. He spanked both of her ass cheeks and observed how they moved.
"Get on your hands and knees," he ordered.
"Yes,
she said as she complied.
She pulled her knees up to her chest and put her ass in the air, swaying it from side to side. Sarah placed her head on the bed, her strands of perfect blonde splaying out like little streams of gold.
Anthony stared at her still dripping pussy and her puckering asshole. He watched the sweat trickle down her legs. She flexed those bountiful, muscled cheeks as she rested her chin on her hand and gave him a lustful stare.
"Are you gonna fuck me from behind now, big boy?" She sucked on her finger and winked at him.
"Yes, you sexy woman. I want to see how your big ass moves when I slam into you."
He mounted her and forced himself into those tight folds. He felt like she was sucking him into her like a vacuum. It made slurping noises and Sarah's sweet juices spilled out of her. He was going to fuck her hard and fast as if he were a jackhammer, but had to go slow to admire the way her pussy gripped him whenever he moved back.
"You squeeze so tight, baby."
She tried to say something, but couldn't form a response. Sarah felt different in this position and whenever he drove his prick deep inside of her, the way her ass shook mesmerized him. Everything about Sarah's body turned him on. He grabbed her by the waist and pounded her the way she deserved. Endlessly and brutally. She clutched the sheets, raked her fingers through her hair and pulled her cheeks apart for him with her small hands so Anthony could see more.
He grabbed her forearms to give him the leverage to put more power into his thrusts.
"Oh, fuck!" he yelled. "I love you, Sarah! I love you so much!"
"I...I -- AGH! I love you
Anthony! I'll let you fuck me every single day!"
Just the thought of having Sarah every day made his entire body clench. This perfect woman under him deserved the gift of getting fuck by the man she loved as much as she wanted.
Her back muscles rippled as she turned and twisted underneath him. He could still feel the pain of her nails and bites in his skin despite the intense rapture that occupied most of his mind. He spat into Sarah's tight, little asshole and put his finger in before she could realize his intention. Her legs flailed about in response and her cheeks shuddered beautifully. She gripped his finger almost as hard as her pussy held onto his big cock.
"OH, MY GOD! OH, ANTHONY!"
He grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled it so he could fuck her even harder. Sarah just about lost it. Her entire body vibrated and the moan that came out of her was longer and louder than the rest. Anthony kept nailing her with everything he had while she had an intense and lengthy orgasm.
He loved how all of her muscles tightened and how she bit down hard on the bedsheets. As satisfying as it was to watch his woman experience such bliss, he couldn't stop just yet. He needed to pump her full of every drop he had. He refused to let her get off easily.
He lifted her up and spun her around so that she was lying on her back. Sarah gave him control of her body, so he could position her any way he wanted. The way she looked up at him triggered something instinctual and primal within him. Her eyes were wide, begging for him to take her. He pressed her legs against the bed, putting her ankles close to her ears.
That wet pussy enticed him like nothing else. He put his knees into position and aimed his cock towards that mind-blowing, gripping, intoxicating entrance to her body. He was a few inches away and Sarah curled her toes, bracing herself. He plunged into her with so much energy, he shoved her back.
Sarah opened her mouth to scream, but he put his hand into her mouth. She sucked his fingers and chomped down hard on his hand as her tongue caressed his palm and knuckles. Sarah never tried to pull away or move into a different position.
She spread her legs wide for him and accepted his brutal, vicious pounding. He couldn't stop staring at those big boobs jiggling and bouncing as he fucked her sweet hole. He fell on top of her, taking his hand out of her mouth and grabbing her face.
He put his forehead against hers. "I'm going to come, baby. I can't hold it back anymore," he breathed.
"Give it to me! Fill me up, you sex god!"
She kissed his lips, licked his teeth and sucked on his tongue.
"You're truly perfect, Sarah."
He barely finished his sentence before he violently orgasmed and held her as tightly as he could. His legs shook so much, he would have collapsed if he was standing. Waves of pleasure rushed up and down his body. He howled and moaned and whimpered as his cock sprayed in the confines of her slick tightness. He could feel his member flexing with every blast of come. He got up onto his knees to drink in the sight of her. His hard ass clenched and he couldn't help sending his hips forward.
"Oh, my...Oh, fuck...Anthony...I, ah..."
Sarah shook uncontrollably and struggled to speak. He put his hands on his hips and started to grind himself against her as he watched his woman convulse.
Her eyes were closed, unable to open them because of the intensity of the pleasure she felt. She reached up with trembling hands, searching for something steady to hold on to. Anthony guided her hands to his abs and her smooth palms felt him up. It took them several minutes to calm down and soon Sarah opened her eyes and smiled up at him.
She looked happy and well fucked. He scooped her up in his arms.
Sarah raised her hands in the air. "Heehee! I got laid!"
"Ha! Me too."
They fell into bed together and made out like high schoolers when their parents weren't home. He didn't know how long they kissed and continued to explore each other's bodies, but the sun soon came up and the morning light warmed them. When their lips parted, they simply held each other.
Anthony ran his fingers through her hair. "You'll be an amazing doctor. You'll save so many lives just like you saved mine. If you send in your application, they'll love you just as much as I do."
"Oh, I got in already."
"Wait, what?"
"Yeah, I got the acceptance letter a while ago."
"You didn't tell me?"
She tried not to smile, but failed miserably. "Well, I never found a good time, you know? With your physical rehabilitation after your surgeries and all of that, it was just one thing after another."
"You silly woman." He gave her forehead a little kiss, which made her giggle.
Her eyes lit up, the intense blue resembling brilliant sapphires.
"I love you, Sarah. You mean everything to me."
"And I love you, Anthony. I love you more than words can express."
He smoothed her hair down and tucked some stray strands behind her ear. "So, what are you planning to do with all of that money, Ms. Ray? I heard you have a lot of it now."
She gently rubbed his nose with her finger. "I don't know. Maybe I'll open a motel of my own."
"Really?"
"Hell no."
"Ha!"
|
Tim and Sahara ran all the way to the hotel, hand in hand. As they reached the overhang they slowed their pace, hands still entwined, ducking from the row of lights illuminating their disheveled appearance from above. Tim nodded to the bellboy standing in front of the door as Sahara ducked her head, sure that one look in the man's face would reveal their illicit fling of just moments before. She was vaguely aware of what was going on around her-the feel of the heating lamps just before they entered the vast lobby of the hotel, the swish of people around them, the low murmur of voices. It all blurred together as she held Tim's hand, the warmth of his fingers in hers anchoring her to reality. She couldn't believe she'd followed him to this place. As she felt the doubts settling back in, she felt the delicious shiver of a stray drop of pussy juice slide down the inside of her thigh. Taking a deep, involuntary breath she pushed herself forward in spite of the sudden weakness in her knees, the driving need to feel Tim inside her again pushing away any lasting reservations she may have.
They'd rode the elevator in silence, still connected by their hands, though they refused to look one another in the face. Acknowledging what had happened would break the spell, and the night was still young. Tim finally released Sahara's hand to open the door to his room, allowing her to walk inside first. Sahara heard the door click softly behind her as she stood in the middle of the room, overwhelmed by the oppulence before her. The king-sized bed took up a sizeable portion of the wall to her left, flanked by a large full length mirror hanging on the wall across from it. She wondered briefly if they'd get much use out of it. She held her breath as she heard Tim take a few tentative steps in her direction. She began to worry she couldn't do any more. Why had she come?
"Is there anything I can get for you?" Tim asked. "I can order room service-"
"It's okay," Sahara replied, cutting him off. She turned to face him, barely able to meet his eyes as scenes from the alley flashed in her mind. "I just need to use the bathroom. My hair is a mess from the rain-I'm afraid it's going to be impossible to do anything with it now-"
"You look beautiful to me."
"Thanks," she said, a surprised smile lighting her face.
"No problem. The bathroom is right in there. Take your time." Sahara nodded, making her way into the bathroom, self-consciously touching her hair as she went. Once safely inside, Sahara was once again overwhelmed by the beauty of the room. Besides the counter which held two sinks, there was also a large sunken tub set up on a small platform, and a shower stall set off by itself. Unable to help herself, she glanced quickly out the door to check on Tim. Finding him sprawled across the bed asleep, she quickly closed the door, throwing off her wet clothes and turning on the shower, stepping beneath the strong, tepid water and letting it flow over her, washing her clean.
As she soaped herself up, Sahara felt her mind drifting back to the alley, the water crashing around her reminding her of the rain pounding Michigan Avenue as Tim pounded her from behind. Groaning, she slid a hand between her thighs, rinsing herself off enough so no soap got inside as she slid a finger along her clit. The water slipped in, joining the wetness already there. She leaned against the clear shower doors, opening her legs slightly as she imagined Tim was between them once again, on his knees, tasting and sucking her clit, sliding his tongue deep inside her and lapping up her wetness like a cat with milk. "Mmmm...." she moaned, her hips working against her hand, increasing the friction and motion of her hand up and down, up and down. She could feel the blood rushing to her pussy, the lips swelling with arousal.
Sahara propped a leg against the wall of the shower in front of her, using one hand to hold onto the wall to her right. Her left hand reached blindly for the shower head, detaching it from its holder above her as she drew it to her throbbing wet pussy. The water tickled her clit, sending a delicious shiver through her as she pretended the lick of the drops hitting her most sensitive area was Tim's tongue once again. Switching the stream of water to pulse, Sahara felt her knees buckle at the gentle vibrations hitting her clit, giving her so much pleasure she almost couldn't bear to continue. She clamped her thighs together around the shower head, holding it in place as the water continued to pound into her, driving her closer and closer to a climax.
As she got closer, she moved one hand to her breasts, kneading them hard and squeezing her nipples, the slight pain sending her over the edge. Crying out, she felt her orgasm rip through her, her eyes flying open in time to see Tim watching her on the other side of the slightly steamed shower door. She watched as he stood there, still in his wet clothes, his face still but filled with desire as he watched her cum over and over. The more he watched, the more aroused she became, and it seemed as though her orgasm would never end. His eyes on her just egged her on more, until with one last thrust, she was finally done. She collapsed forward, her knees shaking as she groped for the faucet, finally shutting the water off and sliding to the floor of the shower, completely spent and totally satisfied. When she'd finally caught her breath and looked up again, Tim was gone. Taking one last breath, she fell back against the tile, waiting for her body to recover so she could get to her feet again without fear of falling back down.
Tim lay on the bed in the next room, spent after watching Sahara in the shower. He'd run to the toilet, cumming into it as he could hear her climaxing behind him, so far into her own orgasm she didn't notice him. He'd collected himself before she could see him, going back into the room and collapsing across the bed, waiting for her to come back out so they could finish what they'd started earlier. Unfortunately, he was so wiped out by his own orgasm, he soon fell asleep where he lay, fully clothed on the bed. He awoke later to find Sahara asleep beside him, cradled in a white fluffy hotel robe. He stirred slowly, turning to watch her sleep, her deep brown skin standing out in stark contrast to the bleached white of the robe. Her hair lay fanned out on the pillow under her head, and he watched as she took deep, slow breaths, her chest rising and falling with each one. Her robe was open slightly and he swallowed hard against the delicious peak of breast visible, the dark nipple hard despite the warmth of the room. She looked so peaceful, she made him feel at peace for the first time in a long time. The time he'd spent with her thus far had made him forget about the loss of his grandfather. He wasn't sure yet where things were going between them, but he knew he was glad he'd taken the chance and shown up at the café again. Stripping down to his boxer briefs, he slid under the thick warm hotel comforter and pulled Sahara in close, sliding back into sleep as he held her, the warmth of her body easing him into a peace he thought he'd never feel again.
Tim awoke later to find Sahara no longer in his arms. As he slowly pulled himself upright, he found her sitting at the small dining table in the room watching him. He rubbed his eyes, still trying to wake up, happy she was still there as he found his penis suddenly springing to attention as was the custom every morning.
"Hey there sleepyhead" Sahara said, smiling at him. "I was about to order breakfast but I wasn't sure if it was okay-"
"Of course it's okay. Order whatever you want."
"Great, why don't you take a shower, and I'll order the food. Anything you want in particular?"
Tim pushed himself out of the bed and made his way over to her, pulling her to her feet and holding her close to him, gripping her generous ass through the thickness of the robe.
"There is one thing," he said, kissing her deeply. "But I think we'd better eat first to get our strength back up." He kissed her again, sliding this tongue along the length of hers as they kissed, enjoying the wetness of her tongue against his and getting lost in her kiss again, the sweetness of her mouth once again driving away his grief. He felt a tug in his boxer briefs and forced himself to pull away.
"Mmmm...you're right. You're making me weak again. I definitely need to eat first, but hold that thought for later," Savannah murmured, kissing him again once more. "For now, go get yourself cleaned up then we can have breakfast on the balcony."
"Okay I'll be right out." Tim took off for the bathroom as Sahara ordered breakfast, throwing open the windows to welcome in a new sunny day.
By the time Tim was finished showering, he entered the room still in his robe, drying his hair with a towel and following the welcoming scent of pancakes, sausages, bacon and fresh fruit to the balcony where Sahara stood, pouring orange juice for them both, still in her robe. Tim smiled as her robe fell open a little, exposing a little of her breast with every movement. He fought the surge he felt beneath the robe, wanting her again already but knowing they needed to eat first.
Sahara smiled when she saw him. "Good you're ready. Come sit down and eat."
"Sure. Everything looks so good," Tim said, eyeing her as he spoke. She met his gaze, smiling shyly at his implication.
"I agree. The food's not bad either," she said, sipping her orange juice as she held his gaze over the rim. Tim smiled at her as he dug in, eating a piece of bacon which made his full lips shiny with grease which Sahara fought the urge to lick off. She quickly looked away, overwhelmed. She'd never been like this about anyone and it scared her. Everything in her life to this point had been so perfectly planned, and yet here she was, having spent the night with a complete stranger and completely ready to stay the rest of the day. Tim took in her introspective expression, a little worried that maybe she was having second thoughts about what they'd done.
"Is everything okay?" he asked.
"Of course. It's just that all of this is new to me. I've never done anything like this before.
It's just so strange to me that I don't know you yet I feel so comfortable right now. I guess this is what I needed, even if I didn't know it."
"I know what you mean. My life has been a bit crazy lately which is why I rented this room. I just needed to get away from-" his voice caught in his throat as he fought a wave of emotion threatening to overwhelm him. Sahara's hand immediately went to his, calming him as he slowly regained his composure.
"It's okay, you don't need to talk about it," she said softly. "Whatever it is, it will be okay eventually. Just take it one day at a time."
Tim nodded, chewing thoughtfully and still struggling to fight his emotions. "I know that's true, but it's still hard. You see, my grandfather is all I had here. My parents are back in Korea, and he brought me here to give me a better life. All I know here is him, I don't know how I'm going to make it without him." Tim lost his composure completely, breaking down and sobbing uncontrollably. Sahara watched in shock for a moment, not sure what to do. She broke out of her daze and went to Tim, sitting in his lap and embracing him, holding him close as he continued to cry into her robe, stifling his sobs.
"It's okay. Everything will be okay."
Tim finally stopped crying, lifting his head from her breast and wiping his face self-consciously. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to put all of this on you. You don't even know me-"
"It's okay. I know enough. It's obvious we both needed something to come and help us forget, and we've found that. I only hope I've been able to help you feel better."
"Are you kidding? Can't you feel how much better I feel already?" he said, subtly shifting his hips so that his hardness pressed against her ass through the robe.
"Oh, wow, I feel you all right," she said, her voice husky as she leaned in to kiss him slowly, feeling a slight tinge between her own thighs. Their kisses grew deeper as Tim's hands slowly ran up and down her back, his legs sliding open as he pushed back from the table slightly, shifting her body until she was facing him, her legs straddling his waist.
They continued to kiss as he undid the belt to her robe, sliding it open so that he could reach her breasts. Her robe slid open, exposing her nipples to the morning air until Tim's mouth closed over them, the warmth after the cold a welcome shock. She gasped, moaning and moving her now wet pussy against his hardening cock, the feel of their mingling skin and sweat mixing and making her drip onto his hardness. His lips clamped down on her breasts harder, and Sahara pulled him even closer, their bodies moving closer together, partially covered by the robes.
Tim's mouth found his way up to hers again and they kissed each other hungrily, Sahara moving her body so that Tim could slide inside of her smoothly, feeling like home. She held on tight as he pushed himself deep inside of her, filling her completely and making her arch her back, her eyes open wide as his lips found her nipples again. Staring above her, she could see someone else on a balcony above them, looking out at the view of Lake Michigan, close to catching them any second.
In spite of this, Sahara rode Tim harder, meeting each of his thrusts with one of her own, crying out as he hit her spot, arching her back again as her robe fell open, exposing her breasts fully as she leaned against the table for leverage, pulling herself along his length before thrusting him deep back inside over and over.
As she looked up again, she met the eyes of the man standing there, now looking down at them in shock. The man appeared to be embarrassed, but he didn't look away. Sahara pulled her hips away from Tim again, watching as he slid back into her time and again, getting more and more turned on by how good he was fucking her and that they were being watched. She leaned back further on the table, stealing glances at the man above them who was still watching. She continued working her hips in circles against Tim, drawing him in, then back out, kneading his dick with her wet pussy, milking it for all she was worth.
Tim reached forward, leaning against the table himself as he drove himself deeper inside of Sahara, obscuring the view of the man above them who he was not aware of, so intent on enjoying every inch of Sahara. He stood slightly, holding her up by the ass as she continued to grip the table, driving himself as deep inside of her as he could go, shaking the glasses on the table and even knocking a few off. Their movements became more frenzied and Tim's hands found the stick of butter on the table, as he fought for leverage.
His fingers slipped into the butter and he drew them out, suddenly slathering it on Sahara's neck and down to her breasts, his tongue quickly lapping it up, turning him on even more. He pulled out of her and swept moved some items aside on the table, laying her on it as he continued to lap up the butter, following it up with some powered sugar which he quickly licked away as well, enjoying the mix of the sweetness with the saltiness of her skin and the butter that still remained.
Sahara moaned as he made her his morning buffet, grabbing his hair as he licked and sucked her clean. Her eyes were closed as he made his way down slowly, leaving a trail of wetness as he settled into her belly button. She felt something dripping on her then and she opened her eyes to see Tim drizzling her belly button with honey. She licked her lips as his eyes met hers. His tongue darted out, tracing along the edge of her belly button, his eyes filled with lust and longing. Watching him, Sahara's body shuddered, the force of her orgasm causing her whole body to shake along with the table as it roared through her.
Tim's face quickly disappeared between her thighs, lapping up her juices, sticking his tongue deep inside of her, hitting her g-spot and causing her to cum again violently, holding onto his head again so that she wouldn't fall off the table. He continued to eat her out, his hands spreading the lips of her pussy so that his tongue could explore deep inside of her. He wrapped his lips around her clit and sucked hard, humming against it as she fought the urge to come again, trying to hold off. Thankfully, Tim pulled away, kissing her thighs and spreading the wetness now covering his face. He paused to smile up at her and she returned his smile the best she could, too weak from her pleasure to give him a full smile.
Still smiling at her, he reached to her left, grabbing a handful of raspberries, putting a few in his mouth and disappearing once again between her thighs. Almost desperate with her ecstasy, she tried to protest as she felt his tongue probing her again, his fingers slowly opening her lips, sliding with her wetness. He persisted, however, and she felt the slightly prickly feel of the raspberries as he worked them into her. The sensation made her so ticklish she writhed beneath him, forcing him to wrap an arm around her hips to try and hold them against the table as he fought to hold her still as her hips bucked against his mouth.
She planted her feet against his shoulders, lifting her hips into his mouth as he stuck his tongue in deep, first moving the raspberries in further before slowly eating them back out. Sahara shuddered with yet another orgasm, her eyes flying open in time to see the man above her again, his own face contorting into an obvious unplanned orgasm as he witnessed her reach the height of her pleasure. Shocked at being caught, he quickly backed away from the edge of the balcony and out of sight. Sahara laughed softly to herself and slowly lowered her legs to the ground, so shaky she could barely move.
She sat up, kissing Tim again deeply as she regained her footing, and turned around, gripping the table once again as he lifted her robe and took her from behind, leaning back and holding onto her breasts as he fucked her hard from behind, her ass quivering with each thrust, her breasts still moving in spite of his tight grip on them. Throwing all sense of decency to the wind, Tim and Sahara both moaned, loud, fucking each other for all they were worth. Sahara leaned further over the table as Tim bent his knees, thrusting up into her, his movements quickening as he started building toward his climax.
"Oh my God, I'm about to cum! Oh my God you feel so good I can't stop-"
"It's okay, go ahead," Sahara grunted as his pace increased. His hands slipped to her hips as he moved faster against her, crying out as his body shuddered against hers, his hot cum spilling into her and overflowing to run down the inside of her thigh. He collapsed against her, one hand holding onto the table for support and he continued to shake his remaining jism into her. Finally his shakes subsided, and they stood there together on the balcony with him still inside of her, holding onto each other as if they'd tumble over the edge of the balcony if they let go.
"So much for that shower I just took," Tim said, laughing softly.
"It's okay. Part of the fun of getting clean is getting dirty again." Sahara said, turning her head to kiss him softly.
"Well it was worth it," he said. "Damn I wish we could stay like this but I have a feeling we may have already given the neighbors a bit of a show."
"Hmmm, you may just be right about that," Sahara said mischieviously, getting a nice shiver through her body at the thought of the man watching them earlier.
"Besides I'm afraid I've gotten you all sticky. Guess we'll have to get you cleaned up," he smiled at her, gently kissing her neck which told Sahara she probably wouldn't stay clean for long.
"Yes we should probably do that," she agreed as he slid out of her, leaving her feeling empty and wanting to be filled by him again. She pulled her robe around her to preserve his scent on her skin before she'd soon be cleaning it off again.
"No time like the present," Tim said, lifting her into his arms and carrying her back into the room.
|
"You seem more worried than usual," Izzy prodded.
"This is the last of my shirt. It's not exactly the cleanest, either. Wish we had some alcohol or something to soak it in, just to mitigate the possibility of infection-"
"I'll be fine. I've had worse. You've done what you can, so stop pacing before you drive me mad."
"Huh."
"What?"
"Was that meant to make me feel better?" Stede brightened. "You're going soft, Israel Hands."
"Fuck off."
"I know, I know. Once you've healed you're going to slice up my kidney into a million pieces and feed it to my mother."
"I've already sliced up your kidney, remember our duel? I've heard of people dropping dead after even lightly bruising the thing. Months later, even."
"What?" Stede's hands faltered with the makeshift bandages for a moment. "Oh, you're messing with me again."
"It's not like I have any other options for entertainment. Might as well torment you, yeah?"
"And what'll you do when I get desensitized, hm? You've already ruined my fear of you. And my resentment. We're halfway through annoyance. Pretty soon, we're going to be the best of friends, and you'll just have to sit there and watch it happen."
"I'll die before that happens."
"Don't jinx it. I'm still not happy about our medical supplies. Or lack thereof."
"Right." Izzy laid back down, trying to suppress a pained groan.
He wasn't sure if the pain had gotten better or worse. The gunshot wound was still a constant source of misery, but now with the immediate reaction over he was beginning to feel all the other aches and pains in his extremities.
It left him completely drained of life, and truthfully without Bonnet he was almost sure he would have died by now. Still. He was trying not to feel gratitude. Which was easy, given that death's cold touch might be preferable to the intense suffering he was going through now.
Something cool and wet was being pressed to his forehead, bringing him back towards lucidity.
"Thanks," he muttered.
"Welcome," Stede said quietly.
And then the damned petting started again, and Izzy was just simply not in a position to refuse, because it was at least a distraction from the pain. The scent was a little less flowery now, more sweat and fish and beach, but still Bonnet's hands were soft and gentle, like he was greeting a dear, dear friend, someone close to his heart.
It struck Izzy then that he'd died, he'd died and leapt into Ed's body, because there was no possible way this was happening to him. Or, maybe, maybe, this was the last little glimpse of heaven he'd be afforded before the devils dragged him back down where he belonged.
Doggy heaven, eh.
He'd expected more grass.
When Izzy regained consciousness it was to a shooting pain pulsating outwards from his wound. He could process hands on his ankles, tugging him through the sand one jolt of pain at a time.
"Bonnet! What the shit are you doing?"
"Taking you to the boat. We have to leave. Right now." Stede's voice wavered. "Can you walk?"
"Well, I wasn't shot in the leg." He wasn't very confident in his ability to get to the shore without fainting, but he'd have to manage. "You need to help me up."
"Right, right."
"No, don't pull on my arms, you idiot. Just- help me sit up, first of all- ngh-" It was bad. This was bad. He sucked in a breath through his teeth, eyes watering, begging himself not to cry out in front of fucking Stede. "Fine. Fine. Okay. Put my good arm around your shoulder, and let me get my legs under myself."
"Okay." Stede followed his instructions, giving his hand an unnecessary little squeeze. "Come on. You can do it."
It was a jumble to the rowboat. Or, he felt jumbled. Walking was possible, but he did still feel quite lightheaded, off-balance. Made it harder in the sand. Stede laid him down on the bottom of the boat, plunking their little lean-to over him. Apparently he'd managed to wiggle it out of the ground somehow.
"All set?" Now he was looking nervous, scanning the shoreline. "I'm getting us out of this accursed place, as soon as possible."
Bonnet was fast at rowing. You'd never think it, considering he didn't exactly exude the air of a man with upper-body strength, and he looked soft and pudgy, but he was fast at rowing.
"Where the hell are we going?"
"Away from shore, that's where." There was a crazed look in his eyes, and Izzy briefly recalled the first time he'd seen it, a knife held to his cheek. Quiet desperation, and fear; now that he knew Bonnet well he could plainly read what was behind the brave face he put on, if one could even call it that.
"And why are we going away from shore, Mr. Bonnet?"
"I will tell you-" He grunted, pushing the oars through the water at a frantic pace. "I will tell you after we are far enough away."
"Alright?" Izzy put his head back down and tried to get comfortable. After days on land, the shifting of the boat was unwelcome.
Finally, Stede stopped, and when Izzy glanced up at him he was red and exhausted.
"Reckon that's enough, then?"
"Yeah," Stede panted. "Sorry, just- holy mackerel. I am absolutely knackered, after that." He shakily laid himself in the belly of the boat next to Izzy, wiping sweat off his brow.
"Are you going to tell me what's wrong?"
"Ah. Well. Yes. But you're not going to be happy with me, I'm afraid. Well- you're going to be less happy with me than usual."
"Spit it out," Izzy sighed.
"There were footprints. Er, I thought- look, I get a bit… weird, you know, after killing someone-"
"I killed him."
"Well, we did it together."
"What did you contribute?"
"There were footprints in the sand, okay! I thought I was going mad, just a little bit, as you do, or maybe that you'd left them at some point, because I sure hadn't- but I thought I was making it up, so I just… didn't say anything."
"And that's why we just ran for our lives?"
"No, no. It's because the body is missing."
"What?"
"The person we killed."
"I killed."
"Yes, and, after he washed ashore, I buried him. Badly. It was kind of a rush job, so he was kind of just halfway under the sand. But this morning, I… I don't know why I went to go look, but… well, he was just gone."
"What? Who would have took him?"
"I don't know, that's why we ran! I mean, anything could have. Wild animals, cannibals, the English, pirates, cannibal pirates…"
"Didn't you say there's a town not far from here?"
"If they were from town, wouldn't they help us out? Say hello? Or, alternately, capture us? Rob us?"
"What do we have on us to rob?"
"This cutlass is kind of nice, maybe."
"Hmm." Izzy closed his eyes, grounded himself, absorbed the rolling movement of the waves for a moment. "No, you know what- I'm not going to pretend that this wasn't the right idea. We don't know what's in that jungle, and you did get us out of there before it all went to shit. So let's think about the next move. We need to head to town, now more than ever. Get off this island, if we can. Let's do your plan, stick to the shoreline and head around west."
"Yeah. Yeah, you're right. I'll, er, get back to rowing."
"You're good at it," Izzy offered, but Bonnet looked a bit miserable that he'd said that.
"Ah… yep. Second nature." He forced a queasy smile, and started again.
No more trying to make nice for now, then. That was more than fine with Izzy.
"...it is liberating, isn't it, being out here. I mean, you don't care a bit what I do, you think I'm lower than a worm. Sort of gives me license to let loose a little." Stede had been talking for the past fifteen minutes without pause. "The thing about being a leader, right, is you have to constantly be on your best behavior. The men emulate what you do, and it makes it hard to really be your honest self. I wonder sometimes if I'm setting the right example."
"You could just try not being a ponce."
"A what?"
"A ninny. Sissy. A-ris-tocrat. You could try not being that."
"I don't think you're getting it. Haven't you been listening? I'm on this whole life journey to accept my true self and who I am? I even told you about the thing with Mary-"
"Who cares about Mary?"
"Doug! Which you would know, if you had been listening."
"This is your life, Hands," Izzy sighed. "You're being held hostage by a man who curls his eyelashes."
"Actually, these are my natural lashes, thank-you-very-much. So I'm choosing to take that as a compliment." The boat bumped against something, and Izzy groaned. He was just so tired of the pain at this point. "Oh. Looks like another mangrove. Sorry about that."
"Maybe it's a sign we should moor for the night?"
"Hmm." Stede grimaced. "Yeah, but… well, the jungle looks pretty dark and scary, doesn't it."
"Sun's going down. At this rate, you won't be able to see the water either."
"You do have a point. You do have a point," he repeated nervously. "Okay. We'll stop here for the night. I'll tie us to these roots, and we'll be off in the morning. You hungry still? Need water?"
"I'm fine. I just want to not be awake," Izzy mumbled.
When the boat was tied up, Bonnet wiggled in next to him. It was a rather large rowboat- much more spacious than the dinghys the Revenge I was outfitted with- but lying down they were still packed in together too close for comfort. Or, Izzy's comfort. Bonnet seemed unfazed, no doubt due to his precious ickle crew members crawling into bed with him after a nightmare. Fucking pathetic.
"Say, Iz."
"Izzy. Actually, I shouldn't even let you call me that…"
"Izzy. Ah. So… would you be angry at me if I held your hand?"
"Yes."
"But, like, a 'I am going to kill you' type of anger, or just slightly more angry than usual?"
"Take a wild guess."
"Listen, I would normally never ask, but it is so terribly dark and frighteningly scary. And there is some unknown threat out there, and it eats corpses. Human ones. And…"
"Fine. As long as you actually go to sleep. And- only the hand, got it?"
"Yes, absolutely. I am still a gentleman, even after, well, everything." His hand slid over Izzy's good one, warm and soft. "Thank you. Really. I just… it's good to know I'm not alone, even if it has to be you."
"Has to be me? What's that supposed to mean?"
"Come on. You've been so antagonistic to me so far, even though I have done nothing but nice things for you. Even though you cruelly betrayed me not so long ago. Multiple times, in fact. You just hadn't expected that the English wanted your neck as well, this time."
"We wouldn't have an issue if you would just stay away from Blackbeard, and preferably stop being a pirate and go live a quiet life somewhere far from civilization."
"We both know I can't do that." Stede's head was resting on his shoulder, now. "It's a shame, because I think we would make a lovely team if we tried to get along. You know, you're fantastic at keeping track of all the little details, managing tasks. I have the people skills and conflict resolution. Ed has the imagination and tactical know-how."
"It sounds like I'm doing all of the real work in that situation."
"Of course not. I'd help you out, especially when it came to dealing with the crew. I know you don't get along well with them, but after we talked it through, you could keep the Revenges well-oiled and efficient."
"Revenges. You really still think it's possible to co-captain."
"Yeah, of course. I'll just explain everything to Ed, the same way I have been with you, and it'll all go back to normal. We'll be a family again."
"I hate to be the one to break it to you-" He didn't. He relished it. "-but things have drastically changed. Blackbeard's gone down a path you don't turn back from, and he wants you dead above all else."
"Right, but I love him. So, it'll all work out." Bonnet seemed less and less sure of himself with each word, and he squeezed Izzy's hand tighter, as though he was afraid to lose his grip. "Yeah, we can work it out."
"If that's what you think," Izzy said, and closed his eyes to end the conversation.
There was, perhaps, the smallest little part of him that felt pity for Stede. He was afraid and alone save for his worst enemy, doubting more and more whether he could recover what he'd lost. He was a dot in the middle of an angry sea. Izzy knew the feeling well.
But he knew, of course, that if Stede couldn't survive this middling level of danger by himself, he wouldn't survive at all. It wasn't his job to coddle anyone- he needed to throw them in the deep, to sink or swim. It was just that throwing people generally made you more enemies than friends. Whatever. He'd lost his very last friend already, anyway, and wasn't keen on looking for more. |
The next morning, Alec wakes up to the sound of water running. His bed is empty – no Magnus – and he can’t help but feel disappointed. He really wanted to see a sleepy, just-woke-up Magnus and perhaps make out a bit. As Alec wakes up a bit more, peering around blearily, he realizes the sound that woke him up is coming from the bathroom. Magnus must be taking a shower.
Alec rolls over and reaches for his phone. It’s 7.03 a.m. and his alarms, set for 7.30, haven’t even gone off yet. Why is it so early, Alec thinks, snuggling back down into his pillows to wait for Magnus. His first class isn’t until 9.30. There’s plenty of time left for a bit more sleep before he needs to make breakfast, do some quick revision for that test and head out.
He’s daydreaming about what he should make Magnus for breakfast when the doorbell rings, incessant and loud. Alec sits up with a jerk. Nobody comes over that early. Izzy is probably in her dorm, waking up and getting ready and Jace is probably still asleep, possibly hungover. For a brief, scary second, Alec wonders if it’s his mother. She never pays him surprise visits, though.
Feeling apprehensive about who might be on the other side of the door, Alec pulls on some sweatpants, pads over barefoot and peers through the peephole. It’s Lydia.
Fuck, Magnus is here, Alec thinks, hand hovering over the door lock. He hasn’t told Lydia about Magnus yet and he doesn’t want to just now. She’s extremely flustered and anxious about the test that’s happening in a few hours and to reveal this to her now would be a disaster.
He wonders if he can get away with not opening the door and pretending he’s still asleep and hasn’t heard her. But this is Lydia – she’s likely to set up camp outside his door and keep ringing the door bell or calling him until he opens up. Plus, they have a test. If it was any other normal day, he could still pull it off, but Lydia would never for one second believe that Alec had slept in on test day.
Fuck, Alec says to himself as he opens the door. Lydia looks annoyed and she barges in past Alec, making a beeline for his couch. She dumps her bag on it and turns around, hands on her hips, her braid swinging behind her. “What the fuck took you so long? You promised we’d go over the flashcards the morning before the test,” she looks down at her watch. “It’s 7.20 right now and there’s 160 cards for each chapter!”
“Lydia,” Alec starts, feeling extremely nervous. Faintly, he can hear the water cut off in the bathroom. In minutes, Magnus might appear in the living room. “Can we perhaps do this at a café or something? Why don’t you go down to the lobby and call an Uber and I’ll meet you there in five minutes?”
“What?” Lydia looks at him in confusion. “You said you’d make us cinnamon French toast,” she glances towards the kitchen, which is empty and unlit and clearly hasn’t been used that morning. Alec mentally smacks himself as he remembers promising her all of this. “Alec,” she narrows her eyes at him. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
From Alec’s bedroom, Magnus calls out. “Darling, can I borrow a shirt from your closet? And some pants while I’m at it?”
Lydia’s eyes widen and she mouths ‘darling?’ at Alec while he turns red, unable to reply.
“Alexander?” Magnus calls out again, his footsteps coming closer and closer and then he’s in the living room with just a towel around his waist, water glistening on his muscles in a way Alec wishes he could appreciate. If only he wasn’t so embarrassed right now. Lydia’s eyes widen even more when she recognizes Magnus.
“Oh,” Magnus says when he realizes Alec isn’t alone. “Hello, I’m Magnus. Sorry we have to meet like this,” he flicks his eyes casually over his torso, unruffled at how he’s technically naked in front of a stranger.
“Hi,” Lydia says in a high voice, turning away from him to make horrified eyes at Alec. “Alec, can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Yes, um, sure,” Alec mumbles, not being able to meet any of their eyes. “This is my friend, Lydia,” he introduces them awkwardly.
“You can borrow whatever you like,” he adds as he follows Lydia into the spare room. Magnus raises an eyebrow amusedly and Alec makes a ‘kill me now’ gesture. Magnus just laughs silently and goes back into his bedroom.
When they’re both in the spare room, standing in the middle of a bunch of boxes Alec has never really gotten around to unboxing, Lydia closes the door and turns on him with a “Tell. Me. Everything!” punctuated by some rather painful jabs at his chest.
“Magnus Bane?” she asks incredulously, not waiting for him to start.
“It’s not what you think it is,” Alec protests. This is the absolute worst way to tell Lydia but now that she knows, she knows. The most he can do is try to keep the messier part of it still a secret, until he can think it over and decide if he really does want to tell her all of it – the contract, the money and all that stuff included.
“It’s sexual harassment, that’s what it is!” Lydia exclaims in a whisper-shout. “Alec, you work for the guy. You should know better.”
“I don’t actually work for him,” Alec admits sheepishly. Lydia stops pacing in the tiny path between a few of the boxes and whirls around.
“What? What about the internship?” She asks, confused. “Are you not doing it at Bane Inc.? just because of him?” She is growing more and more frazzled by the second and Alec can’t help but admire her fierce loyalty and protective streak. “Wait, did he ask you not to do it there so he could be with you?”
The only problem with Lydia’s protective streak is that Alec doesn’t really need it right now. He’s dated a couple horrible people before who have pushed him back into the closet or tried to get him to work around a girlfriend (‘to keep my family at bay’) and at those times, Lydia’s mama lion act has been extremely useful, and Alec has been eternally grateful for it.
“No, no.” Alec tries to grab a hold of her and slow her down physically so she can focus on what he’s saying. When she gets worked up about something, she can’t stop moving around and fidgeting. “Lyds, calm down so I can tell you what’s going on,” he says, hands coming to rest on her shoulders.
“Okay,” Lydia takes a deep breath and looks up at him. “I’m calm.”
Alec lets go of her shoulders carefully, and she raises her hands up to indicate she’s not going to start pacing around again. Alec perches on the edge of one of the bigger boxes so he’s more or less eye level with her.
“I went for the interview,” he starts. This is not the story he told his mom; it’s much closer to the truth and therefore, much easier to tell.
“There was a –”he hesitates as if searching for the right word. “Spark?”
Lydia raises a delicate eyebrow.
“We both wanted to see what would happen.” It’s not the whole truth but it’s not a lie either. Alec still remembers Magnus’s first question about whether he was single and attracted to him or not.
Before Lydia can reply, there’s a gentle knock at the door. Alec rushes to open it.
“Sorry to bother you,” Magnus says apologetically. He’s pulling on his coat over one of Alec’s plain blue shirts and a pair of his black pants. “I’m going to head out now, okay? I have a meeting at 9 and a few things I want to go over before then.” Alec nods silently. He really would’ve liked to kiss Magnus goodbye but with Lydia there, it feels awkward.
“I’ll text you,” he says instead.
Magnus smiles and then looks over his shoulder at Lydia. “Nice to meet you,” he says politely before walking himself out.
Alec sighs and turns back to Lydia, who has her phone out. “He’s like, almost thirty-three, Alec.”
“And I’m twenty-six,” Alec replies. “It’s not that much of a difference.”
Lydia scrunches up her mouth as if she’s trying to hold back on saying something. Alec knows she doesn’t believe him fully but there’s not much else he can tell her without revealing the whole contract thing.
“He called you ‘darling’,” Lydia says finally, looking confused again. “Has this been going on long?”
“Not too long,” Alec says vaguely. Thankfully, she doesn’t push it.
Alec walks back into the living room with Lydia trailing behind him, still visibly thinking about all this new information.
“What about your internship?” She asks suddenly, when Alec’s halfway to the kitchen to whip up something quick for the two of them.
“What about it?” Alec asks, taking out eggs and butter from the fridge.
“Where will you do your actual internship then, if not at Bane Inc.?” Lydia clarifies, leaning across the kitchen island, playing with her braid with one hand and tapping on the countertop with the other in a rhythmic fashion.
Alec’s mind blanks out. I need an internship to graduate, he realizes suddenly. It’s a mandatory requirement of his degree. Fuck.
“I don’t know yet,” he lies, trying to hide how her question caught him off-guard.
“Alec, this is very irresponsible of you,” Lydia frowns.
Alec doesn’t reply but continues to whip the eggs and add in milk and brown sugar. Perhaps the French toast will be enough to distract her while he has a mini panic attack about his actual internship.
Lydia notices his silence and comes around, into the kitchen, to hug him tightly. The top of her head barely brushes Alec’s chin and he leans down, wrapping his arms around her and lifting her up a little like he always does. She leans away when he puts her down but keeps her arms wrapped around his waist, looking up with a worried look in her eyes.
“Alec, you’re my best friend,” she says. “I can’t help but be worried about you.”
“Do you trust me?” He asks her simply. She nods. “Magnus makes me happy and I’m going to figure out my internship soon, okay? I’m okay. You don’t have to worry about me.”
“Okay,” she says quietly, stepping away from him. Her expression isn’t confused anymore and she’s even smiling a bit. “I can’t believe I got to see Magnus Bane – the Magnus Bane – in a towel!” She giggles a little hysterically.
Alec laughs. “Yeah, it probably wasn’t the best timing. Now eat up and quiz me,” he adds, sliding a plate of French toast towards her. “I know you’re dying to break out those flashcards.”
*
When Alec checks his phone after his test, he sees two texts from Magnus, sent a bit after he’d left Alec’s apartment.
[To: Alec, 7.52 a.m.] I hope things with Lydia go well. I know she recognized me and that probably makes it more difficult for you to figure out what to tell her. I wanted to let you know I’m okay with you telling her about our contract and everything, if you think its appropriate.
[To: Alec, 7.55 a.m.] I had a really nice time yesterday. I hope we can do it again. I’ve also made appointments for both us and forwarded you the details of it on your email. I hope your exam went well.
Alec grins at the second text. Last night was incredible and he can’t wait for more. The feel of Magnus’s body under his, squirming and gorgeous, was a high he’s never experienced before. With most of his partners, he’s been a bottom – and he’s loved it – but to be in control, with Magnus helplessly fucking up into him? That’s something he’d rather like to revisit.
He starts walking towards his next class and texts Magnus back. Lydia had said she’d meet him there because John, her boyfriend, had come to campus to surprise her after the test.
[To: Magnus, 11.49 a.m.] I told Lydia most of the truth but not all of it. I still don’t know if I want her to know everything. She doesn’t believe me 100% but she trusts me, so its okay. Also, she brought up another concern.
He sends it without spending too much time mulling over whether he should tell Magnus about the mandatory internship requirement or not. It might just make Magnus feel guilty. But Alec doesn’t have many contacts in the field and if he was to look for a good internship on his own, he doesn’t think he would find anything easily.
[To: Alec, 11.51 a.m.] What concern?
[To: Magnus, 11.51 a.m.] She asked me where I’m going to be doing my actual internship, if not at Bane Inc.
It feels silly even saying it. How could he have overlooked this extremely crucial requirement when he so foolishly accepted Magnus’s offer? He should’ve thought about it a bit more.
[To: Alec, 11.53 a.m.] It’s mandatory?
Alec hopes Magnus isn’t judging him for being this much of a dumbass.
[To: Magnus, 11.54 a.m.] For me to graduate, yes.
[To: Magnus, 11.54 a.m.] I can’t believe I didn’t think about it before.
[To: Magnus, 11.54 a.m.] I’m so stupid.
Alec enters the seminar room where his next class is taking place and hunts for a seat in the back. He’s early so there’s lots of places still left. He finds a nice spot near the far end of the back row, plops his bag down into the seat next to him to save for Lydia and checks his phone as soon as it buzzes. As he takes it out of his pocket, he realizes it’s the persistent buzz of a phone call. It’s Magnus.
“Hey,” Alec answers, feeling a little awkward.
“Alexander, I came across a really great opportunity just this morning, but I want you hear me out fully before you say yes or no,” Magnus says.
Alec frowns. “Sure,” he replies, wondering why Magnus would specifically ask him to technically ‘shut up and listen’.
“Raphael came in this morning, grumbling about Xavier Tan,” Magnus pauses, almost as if waiting for Alec to go off. Alec feels extremely guilty for conditioning Magnus to walk on eggshells around him if he wants to mention the restaurant industry.
“I’m not mad at you, Magnus,” Alec murmurs quietly even though he told him to listen to the whole thing first. “I’m sorry. I’m not going to blow up any time you mention food or restaurants or things like that. I’m so sorry.”
At the other end of the line, Magnus lets out a small noise that might’ve been a relieved, happy sigh. Alec pinches the bridge of his nose between a thumb and forefinger, still feeling guilty. He really had overreacted that day.
“So, Xavier has apparently been nagging at Raphael for a while now about finding him a new finance guy,” Magnus continues, his voice much firmer and surer of itself now. “It’s still a job in a restaurant but it’s in a field you actually like. Plus, Raphael told me the timings are extremely flexible. I bet they’d willingly work around your class schedule.”
“That sounds quite nice,” Alec says honestly. It’s not his dream job but it’s in the same location – surely that means it’s the best of both worlds?
“Please think about it?”
“I will,” Alec promises. “Thank you so much, Magnus. I mean it.”
“Not a problem,” Magnus replies with a smile in his voice.
“I had fun last night too,” Alec says after a beat, his voice quiet but happy. “I can’t wait to see you again.”
“Me either,” Magnus replies warmly.
They hang up after Magnus reminds him that he’s sent details about the appointment on his email and Alec still has a dopey grin on his face when Lydia walks in, holding a box of Dunkin Donuts. He makes grabby hands at her and she sighs and agrees to share.
“You’ve got some powdered sugar on your face,” he points out, laughing.
“And you’ve got the world’s biggest lovesick grin on yours,” she returns, looking in her bag for a tissue.
“Come on. That’s not fair. I don’t tease you about John,” Alec complains, choosing to ignore she’d said ‘lovesick’.
He isn’t in love with Magnus – that’s ridiculous. He just really enjoys his company and conversation. It’s a purely contractual relationship, Alec takes a bite of his jelly donut and nods to himself.
|
Considering he's the God of Thunder, Thor considers it simple justice that he should have a staggering tolerance for alcohol. Even by Asgardian standards, his capacity is considered unmatched. There isn't a drink yet that has bested him, and Thor has tried them all.
But just because he's never been bested doesn't mean Thor finds himself entirely unaffected. Where would be the fun in that, after all? No, Thor doesn't drink good wine purely for the flavor, nor good mead merely for the pleasing texture across his palate.
He drinks just as much for the warmth in his limbs, the easy blurring of the world's sharp edges. He drinks for the laughter and the camaraderie, and maybe in some small part for the exasperated fondness his antics sometimes put on Loki's face.
"Come, Brother." Loki's voice is humoring at his elbow, steady as the hand he sets on Thor's wrist. "It's late. You should rest, or tomorrow morning the hunt may well start without you."
The feast hall is still lively—a raucous party that's yet going half strength with singing, drinking, laughing warriors. But through the giddy warmth suffusing his limbs and the disjointed bubbling of energy in his chest, Thor knows his brother is right.
"Then lead me to my chambers," Thor says, draping an arm over Loki's shoulder and leaning with the abrupt bulk of his weight. "I fear in my present state I may lose my way." The stumble he affects is exaggerated, though his footing really isn't at its surest just now. Mjölnir swings at his right hip, a constant and reassuring weight, and Thor can all but hear Loki rolling his eyes.
"Come along, then, you hopeless inebriate," Loki mutters, wrapping an arm around Thor's waist.
Thor grins and allows himself to be led, leaning on Loki just enough to irritate his brother without making it impossible to maneuver.
The corridors they navigate are not quite empty of people. Sweeping ceilings, broad pillars, gold and other finery in an elegant, if opulent display. The intricate patterns and expansive architecture are home in a way that leaves Thor smiling and easy, and Thor's mood is an uncomplicated glow in his chest. So easy to be happy when he's in these familiar corridors with his brother tucked against his side.
Loki leads the way humoringly—all the way to Thor's chambers—the sons of Odin patiently ignored by the servants and warriors that pass them in the corridor.
Thor's rooms are far from the banquet hall, but he and Loki still reach them quickly. Heavy double doors thud inelegantly shut behind them, and Thor laughs when Loki reaches for the clasps of his armor.
"You think me incapable of undressing myself?" Thor complains, though his voice is light with amusement.
"I think you lazy and drunk," Loki counters, voice equally light. "And while that is a lovely cape I'm sure, you are not sleeping in it."
Thor laughs again at the poorly masked amusement in Loki's voice, then stands patiently as deft fingers divest him of armor and cape. Inexplicable warmth flushes through him when Loki drops to his knees to focus on Thor's boots, and then Loki rises again, all casual grace.
"Why you insist on attending every feast day in full armor I will never understand," Loki grouses as he tosses both of Thor's boots carelessly aside. Loki himself is dressed almost casually—dark fabric drapes close along his body, greens and blacks, the collar line of his tunic cutting low at the base of his throat. Far more casual than his usual banqueting attire, but Thor knows Loki only attended tonight thanks to his goading, cajoling persistence.
"It makes a good impression," Thor says, and a moment later his smile turns into a more challenging smirk as he adds, "Better, at any rate, than the sleepwear you chose for the evening."
Loki makes a theatrical effort out of sighing and rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. Then he moves, so suddenly the tactic almost succeeds when he sets a hand on Thor's chest and shoves him deliberately off balance.
Thor would be in no danger of falling if he were entirely sober, of course. His reflexes, like his tolerance for spirits, are unparalleled in the nine realms. But tolerance or no, reflexes or no, his head is fogged enough that he grabs at Loki for balance, laughing in surprise.
A scuffle follows. A shameless flurry of limbs as Thor tries to take Loki down in his fall and Loki struggles to remain upright and composed. Loki's efforts are ultimately useless, of course. But even after landing awkwardly on the marble floor, their wrestling match continues, both of them caught up and carried away as though they're children instead of grown men. Thor hears his own laughter echo loudly back at him from the ceiling—he hears a lower sound, a disbelieving snort that sounds suspiciously like laughter as well, as Loki tries to evade Thor's pinning hands.
Thor is triumphant in the end. Even intoxicated he is the better fighter, and he grins down at Loki, trapped and immobile beneath him.
"You are too easy, Brother," Thor taunts, sitting back astride Loki's legs and ready to gloat. "Were you even truly putting up a fight?"
Loki glares at him, breathing hard with exertion—harder than Thor, though Thor, too, requires a moment to regain his breath.
"If I wasn't, would you blame me?" Loki counters, petulant. "I could never hope to best you in brute force, certainly not when you are so well armed." His eyes fall to Mjölnir, still hanging at Thor's hip—the one piece of Thor's armor and equipment that even Loki does not touch uninvited.
Thor's smile slips wider. Teasing. Considering. And Loki must catch the scent of mischief, because his eyes widen even before Thor speaks.
"All right then, Loki," Thor says. "Here. Let's level the playing field." He reaches for Mjölnir's handle, the leather smooth against his palm, and pulls it from his belt. With unnecessary flourish, he raises the hammer between them and sets it on Loki's chest like an offering. "Let's try that again. I with my brute strength, and you with Mjölnir."
For a moment, Loki only blinks up at him in surprise. He rallies after that, reaching for the hammer, wrapping one hand around the shaft and bracing the other along the sleek hammer's edge. He grunts, moves to lift it from his chest—
And nothing happens.
Loki makes a strained sound and his neck stretches taut, fingers tightening their grip until his hands are white with the strain, and still Mjölnir doesn't move. Thor stares down at Loki's efforts, surprise etching itself across his face. His triumphant smile fades in favor of a more considering expression as Loki finally stops straining to move the immovable.
"You can't lift it, can you," Thor observes.
Loki lets go of the hammer, and drops his hands to the floor on either side of his head, fingers curling in towards his palms but not quite closing into fists.
"Is it such a surprise? Mjölnir is your weapon. It is more than a weapon. Why should it obey me?"
"You are my brother."
"Clearly your beloved hammer considers that fact immaterial." The statement is dry, but the words draw a bright bark of laughter from Thor's chest, and for an instant he sees a flash of uncautious amusement show through the practiced annoyance on his brother's face.
"Come now, Loki. Surely you can use your tricks to escape."
Loki tries. He tries hard enough that Thor can see the glow of magic twisting up his brother's arms, lighting in his chest below the hammer. For a moment, Loki vanishes entirely, though Mjölnir continues to hover suspiciously in place until he reappears. Thor feels Loki shiver beneath his legs, a calculated exertion of power, and then Loki stills and falls back, exactly the way he was a moment before.
"I can't."
Thor must still be drunk. It's the only explanation for the inexplicable giddiness he feels at his brother's admission. He can't quash the warm huff of laughter that breathes through him, and he leans down over his brother, bracing one arm on the floor beside Loki's wrist.
"You mean you are helpless, Brother?"
"I would not go that far," Loki says. His tone is curt and unamused. But Thor recognizes his brother's most practiced façade of annoyed indifference, and his own smile only widens.
"I think I would go exactly that far," Thor says lightly. Playful and easy with triumph. "I could do anything to you. Anything I wanted. And you could do nothing to stop me."
He means the taunting to draw some retort from Loki. It's the usual pattern. Loki is always at his most brilliant when pushing back against Thor, and though this is a variation on the game that they've never played, Thor understands the unspoken rules well enough.
But instead of taking the bait and leveling Thor with some scathing retort, a strange look crosses Loki's face.
Thor can't interpret that look. Or the moment an instant later when Loki falls utterly, impossibly still beneath him. Loki's expression shutters suddenly—not the familiar neutral mask of a moment before, but rather an impenetrable blankness that catches Thor off guard. The expression sets Thor tripping over what he thought an entertaining joke, and all traces of amusement melt away as he leans closer.
"Brother," he says, concern dark in his voice. "What is it?"
- — - — - — - — - — -
Loki curses the rush of his own pulse in his ears, along with the sound of Thor's words in his head, repeating like an uninvited echo.
I could do anything to you. Anything I wanted.
Loki's body has fallen completely still, an instinctive defense that will damn him for sure. He's already drawn Thor's somber attention, worry edging out the amusement from moments before, and Loki tries to soften the rigid blankness of his face even as Thor's teasing words replay in his head.
They're careless words. Glib and unremarkable. But instead of the harmless taunt Loki's rational mind should recognize, something in Thor's voice—in his weight on Loki's legs, the fall of his hair over his shoulders, his hand braced firmly on the ground in Loki's peripheral vision—something hits Loki harder than it should. And between one breath and the next, he finds his body responding to those words, his blood pooling south.
It's too late to deflect and distract. Thor knows him too well, has already noticed something amiss. He's already asked Loki what's wrong, and of course Loki can't simply answer him. Not without giving away more than he ever intends to surrender.
Loki has secrets enough for a thousand mortal lifetimes, but this one his brother cannot know. Thor would show himself either horrified or indifferent, and Loki doubts either response is one he could walk away from.
"Brother, please," Loki says, distorting his face into an appropriate mask as he drops his voice low with a deliberate measure of fear. "It hurts. Please stop this game."
Thor looks instantly chastened, guilt sweeping like shadows across his brow, and he closes his hand over Mjolnier's shaft, pushing himself upright in order to comply.
Yes, Loki thinks, urging speed with only his eyes, the tight set of his jaw. Hurry. Please. Thor is sitting low enough on Loki's thighs that he won't feel the evidence of Loki's shame. If he doesn't glance down, if he doesn't see, then once the hammer is gone Loki will have more than enough space to maneuver. He'll be able to move quickly enough to stop Thor from realizing that Loki's interest in this game is far from brotherly.
Thor's grip shifts on the hammer and then—
Thor looks down.
Thor stares for a long moment, brow creasing in obvious confusion. His mouth is open, surprise and the raw edge of disbelief creeping into his downturned face.
Loki's own face flushes, his skin tingles with humiliation, and already he knows trying to talk his way out of this is pointless.
Loki may tease his brother constantly about his lack of wits, but the truth is that sometimes, Thor is not nearly so stupid as either of them pretends. Sometimes Thor is startlingly quick on the uptake, and inconveniently enough, now seems to be one of those times. Loki can practically see the gears turning in Thor's head, and when he raises his gaze to Loki's face there's an unmistakable glint of shocked comprehension.
Horror will follow soon enough, and Loki closes his eyes. He thumps his head back against the floor, waiting for either the inevitable angry fallout or the silent, guarded retreat.
Fabric rustles as Thor shifts above him, but seconds slip forward without Thor reclaiming his hammer—without Thor's weight vanishing from across Loki's thighs—and Loki realizes he's holding his breath. He forces himself to inhale slowly, shallowly, and on the floor beside his head his loose fingers curl into tight fists.
When the heat of Thor's palm cups Loki's arousal, Loki curses aloud, eyes flying open. He finds Thor's face hovering over his, and Loki stares. Thor's hand shifts minutely, the barest hint of friction through fabric, and Loki's fingernails dig into his palms.
"What are you doing?" he chokes. But Thor doesn't answer, and Loki twists futilely beneath Mjölnir's immovable weight, as Thor's clever hand slips higher and fumbles with the complicated fastenings of Loki's pants.
Thor's hand slips beneath the sleek fabric, wraps around Loki's cock, and Loki's entire body stretches taut, trying to arch beneath Mjölnir but denied even that much relief. Loki cries out at the sudden heat of Thor's palm and fingers, at the rough strokes as Thor tugs him free, into the cool midnight air. Thor is watching him with rapt interest, and Loki's pulse beats an uneven racket in his own ears.
It takes three strokes of Thor's enormous hand for Loki to regain enough control of himself to still his body and speak.
"You can stop that any time now." Loki speaks the words through gritted teeth, in a voice that sounds tight with strain but, with any luck, impatient.
"Do you truly intend to feign indifference?" Thor asks him, expression skeptical and the first renewed hint of a smile crinkling at the corner of his mouth.
"Do you intend to keep wasting my time with these childish antics?" Loki counters.
"Childish!" Thor barks, a short sharp burst of laughter. Then his eyes narrow, and Thor gives a slow, deliberate stroke. His fingers are tight and perfect around Loki's flesh, and Loki finds it inordinately difficult to hold himself motionless and keep meeting Thor's stare.
"Do you want me to stop?" Thor asks. Gauging. Deliberate. Ready, for once, to catch Loki in the lie.
"I want you to admit this is pointless and let me up," Loki counters. Close enough to truth.
"It is hardly pointless, Brother." There's too much challenge in Thor's eyes, and Loki has all of a moment to realize he may be in over his head before—
- — - — - — - — - — -
Thor releases the curious weight of Loki's flesh, in favor of removing more of the fabric that still stands between him and the naked skin he finds himself suddenly desperate to touch.
Sober, he could probably have managed the trick without damaging the material. As it is, the leggings tear to pieces in his hands, baring Loki's hips and thighs and the firm planes of his stomach, and making Loki breathe a startled gasp.
Loki's voice sounds strangled when he says, "You unmitigated ass. I was quite fond of those."
Thor recognizes the futility of trying to come up with a witty rejoinder. For one thing, he's never successfully matched wits with Loki. His brother is too quick, too clever. For another, Thor isn't sure he's capable of coherent thought right now. He's too distracted by the sight of Loki's body, and by his own body's unexpected reaction to seeing his brother like this.
Thor has never considered these possibilities. He's never looked at Loki and wanted simply to touch. Not like this. Not consciously, anyway.
Thor's never been one for introspection.
He settles his weight more firmly across Loki's thighs and reaches for him again. Loki's cock is dripping and slick in his hand, arousal unmistakable as Thor strokes a tentative rhythm. He's never touched another man like this, though the way Loki's length strains in his fist is enough to tell Thor he's doing something right.
Loki remains impossibly still, despite the way his body is responding to Thor's touches—and Thor wonders how he can maintain his maddening, challenging silence when Thor feels like he's coming apart just from this.
Then Thor's hand falls still, his own arousal twitching in protest to the tight confines of his clothing, as a new urge hits him—a desire that fills his mind with thoughts, images—with one particular image that leaves his head spinning.
He's heard sly murmurings often enough. He knows in theory what to do, and already he wonders if Loki will let him.
Perhaps if Thor hadn't been drinking, he would know better than to try. But Thor finds he feels terrifyingly sober now, and he doesn't raise his eyes to Loki's face as he shifts his weight and maneuvers to kneel between Loki's legs—as he slicks his fingers on his own tongue—as he reaches between Loki's thighs, searching with the blunt, strong ends of his fingers. Loki's thighs part wider at his questing touch, and Thor doesn't even process that beyond the fact that it makes his destination easier to find—the tight ring of muscle that makes Thor's stomach twist with want—and Then Thor presses two fingers inside.
He intends to be gentle. He fully intends to move slowly, to give Loki's body time to adjust to the intrusion. Instead, Thor nudges past the resistance, deep and deeper, marveling at the tight heat barely giving way around his fingers. He's two knuckles deep when Loki breathes a shattered sound that ignites Thor's blood in his veins.
Thor's eyes fly from the intimate space between Loki's thighs, and the look he finds on his brother's face leaves him winded. Gone is the calculated annoyance from moments before, the blank protective wall. In its place is a wrecked, raw yearning that tightens Thor's stomach into knots and makes his own already interested cock jump eagerly.
Thor presses deeper, unthinking, until his hand is flush against Loki's body, his fingers buried to the final knuckle. He can't take his eyes from Loki's face. Thor stares, and Loki stares back, and the moment stretches taut with messy, unmuted heat.
Then Thor twists his fingers and watches Loki's eyes flutter closed. Loki's breath hitches, neck arching sharply back as he gasps a ragged sound. Thor twists his fingers again, rougher in his touch, and Loki's legs fall wider.
Thor stills. He freezes in place, overwhelmed and burning, desire potent in his veins. His fingers are still invading Loki's body, deep and intimate, and suddenly Loki's eyes open.
"Please," Loki breathes, ragged and without shame, and Thor knows there's no going back.
The hushed plea crests over him, inundates him, and Thor feels the rush of his own pulse, loud and stormy beneath his skin. Mjölnir is in the way now—is still resting on Loki's chest, but there's no longer any need for that. Not when Loki is looking at him like this. Not when Thor can't even remember what they were fighting over, what he was teasing Loki about in the first place.
Thor lifts Mjölnir with his free hand and tosses it carelessly aside, even as he slides his fingers out of Loki's body. Then he's fumbling with his own fastenings, impatient and eager and greedy. He's breathing hard as he tugs his own cock into the open, as he braces himself over his brother, positions himself between Loki's thighs and—
- — - — - — - — - — -
Thor fills him in a rough thrust, and it should hurt—it does hurt, but only distantly.
Loki isn't capable of processing something as petty as pain when the heat of Thor's body settles atop him, or when Thor's hand grabs at his hip and tugs Loki further down the firm length of flesh.
Then Thor kisses him, rough and deep—an uncoordinated rush of tongue, teeth, the taste of mead and rich berries from the banquet—and Loki opens to welcome the invasion even as he arches against the floor, letting Thor deeper, everywhere at once.
"Loki," Thor breathes in a fractured gasp, breaking the kiss for air. He attacks the pale column of Loki's throat with the same vigor that drove his claiming of Loki's mouth—the same vigor with which Thor is driving into his body now, rough and unrelenting. Thor rocks Loki sharply with every thrust, jostling him unevenly against the smooth stone floor.
Loki hisses with startled pleasure when Thor's mouth latches onto his pulse point, teeth biting down hard. Loki will be sporting a vicious bruise there come morning, and he grasps blindly, buries his fingers in Thor's hair—fists them tightly, desperately, as Thor licks over the spot before laying another fierce bite immediately below the first.
"You idiot," Loki gasps, arching, rolling his hips to meet an especially harsh thrust. "People will see!"
But Thor growls instead of responding, as though the concern is immaterial—as though he welcomes the idea that tomorrow people will look at Loki and know someone claimed him tonight. Loki knows he should protest—he could shoulder past Thor's animal responses and make him see reason. He's done it before, albeit not from this particular position—not in a context so intimate and intense.
But 'should' is a word with little meaning now, and when Thor ruts more violently into him, Loki groans and throws his head back, inadvertently baring his throat for Thor's eager mouth. He clings to Thor's shoulders, locks his ankles at the small of Thor's back—rides out his brother's rhythm with a desperation he never knew himself capable of. Loki cries out as Thor finds and excites the perfect spot inside him, again and again and again.
He comes at least twice before he blacks out. He doesn't remember Thor reaching orgasm—maybe Thor kept right on going after Loki finally slipped unconscious—but Loki wakes sticky and sore, deep inside where it counts.
He also wakes in Thor's bed.
Loki realizes, less surprised than he probably should be, that he's naked. Thor sits beside him, upright against the headboard. He's less naked than Loki—Thor always was a hypocrite. He looks pensive now, shirtless and barefooted, dressed only in soft sleep pants. Thor's knees are drawn up, his arms folded over them. He's obviously been watching Loki sleep, but he doesn't flinch away when Loki wakes and meets his eyes.
"That was unexpected," Loki notes. His throat feels dry and graveled with exhaustion.
"Are you hurt?"
"Are you sorry?"
Thor looks guiltily away, but the twitch in his jaw tells Loki what he needs to know. Thor isn't sorry. Not even a little. But he obviously knows he should be.
Loki stretches, shameless now, though he crafts a carelessly innocent expression across his face. He watches through his lashes as the movement draws Thor's gaze lower and holds his attention rapt.
"You've never done that before," Loki observes.
It's cruel of him, perhaps. He knows Thor has never been intimate with another man. Thor is incapable of secrets, especially from his brother, and Loki would know—would perhaps be the only one to know—if there were men sharing his brother's bed.
But Loki's tone is carefully schooled to sound like an idle observation—like all he has to go on is Thor's immediate performance—and from the guilty embarrassment that falls across Thor's face, Loki knows his words hit their mark.
"Did I do it wrong?"
Loki suppresses a smile at the question. The offer of clear, undisputed victory is tempting. Let Thor feel inadequate for once. Let him be the inexperienced brother, the one who feels inferior. There's strong enough appeal there.
But that way lies a closed door. Thor would shut him out and then pretend—badly—that tonight never happened. He would never touch Loki again, that much is obvious. And Loki knows with painful clarity that he can never go back, not now that he's had his brother's hands on him once.
So instead Loki sets the easy victory aside and lets his voice fall soft as he asks, "How should I know, Brother?"
Thor instantly unfolds, laying his legs flat along the bed as he stares at Loki, expression raw with shock. His eyebrows rise high towards his hairline, and his jaw drops for a long, stunned moment.
"You never—?"
"No."
It's not a lie. Not technically. Loki has had male lovers before—he knows his way around all the things Thor just did to him—but Loki has never let anyone take him, not like this. He's always made sure things went soundly the other way, and so his answer isn't a lie.
"I was your first," Thor whispers. Awe. Guilt. An ambivalent mix of emotions that Loki senses could still send his brother running.
Loki doesn't give Thor a chance to retreat. He moves with the lightning-quick reflexes that are his strongest asset on the battlefield, climbing into Thor's lap. He straddles Thor so that there's nowhere to hide, and kisses him before his brother can ask any stupid questions.
Thor hesitates a moment before surging into the kiss with the full force of his body. He drags Loki hard against him then, tangling his fingers in Loki's hair to angle the kiss deeper, to claim Loki's mouth with the possessive press of his tongue.
They're both panting for breath after, and Thor's eyes are so close they blur in Loki's vision—so bright Loki feels them burning into his soul.
"I'm glad it was you," Loki says. Damning himself, damning them both, and not for a second remorseful now that they're here.
Thor makes a needy sound and upends Loki abruptly, tipping him onto his back. He blankets Loki with his body, territorial heat, and kisses him again.
"Only me," Thor growls against Loki's lips. "No one else touches you. Never again."
And with a terrified thrill of satisfaction, Loki realizes he's won.
He knows his brother hasn't thought this through. Not yet. But Thor is a creature of instinct. He wants this—wants it badly enough to reach out and take it—and for the moment that's enough. His brain will catch up with his decisions eventually. Loki needs only give the key one last turn to secure his prize.
He puts a hesitant expression on his face—an open, vulnerable look with just the right measure of uncertainty.
"Can you promise me the same?" he asks.
Thor watches him for a long moment, and the intensity of his focus is overwhelming. He's processing now, Loki knows. Pausing to think it through, to consider the promise before offering it blindly.
Finally Thor's expression clears, a look of unguarded determination settling across his features as he draws in a single, steady breath.
"Brother," Thor says, "I am yours." |
Thorin hadn’t really expected Óin to enforce the order that he stay bedridden for several more days. It was certainly true that he still felt unwell, but Erebor wasn’t going to save itself. They needed to get on the road again, even if Gandalf had taken one look at the cluster of runes and furrowed his brow. Wasn’t that all the more reason to move on and investigate?
“Sitting and doing nothing does not suit me,” Thorin complained, his lips pressing together in a tight line when he saw Balin roll his eyes.
“I know it doesn’t,” he replied placatingly. “But it’s not like we’re sitting around. Everyone’s gone out to collect information, to see whether wraiths trouble this world, or something else.”
Thorin was a little pacified by the explanation. Bilbo had related what little he had learned from the traders, and knowing that it had inspired action was comforting. But he wasn’t allowed to join in on any of it.
Ranakâl squawked impatiently. “He’s going to try sneaking out of bed,” she rasped, flapping her jet-black wings in Thorin’s face. “As if he were a mere dwarfling, not King Under the Mountain!”
Mingalaz watched Ranakâl , her gaze distinctly predatory. “I could grab you out of the air right now and have you for breakfast,” she advised the raven conversationally. “Wouldn’t be much of a breakfast, considering how you would just vanish, but I could do it.”
The raven suddenly found it much more agreeable to sit on Balin’s head. Thorin suppressed a chuckle at the sight of Balin’s face, all frowns and crossed arms. As if he were a naughty child.
“I mean it Thorin, stay in this bed and recover,” Balin scolded. “The door and the windows are all watched, and your privacy is merely a courtesy. If you try to escape, there will be a guard in the room.”
“This is all highly unnecessary,” Thorin assured him, sounding a little offended. “I do not like being trapped here, but escape is pointless.”
This answer satisfied Balin, who promptly left the room. Thorin waited for his footsteps to fade before throwing off the covers and heading to the window.
“I believe you said, ‘escape is pointless,’ did you not?” Mingalaz asked him, an amused gleam in her eyes.
“I will be caught eventually,” Thorin agreed. “And it won’t speed up our departure. But I would like at least to see some of this world before we leave it.”
“Why?” Mingalaz padded over to the window, peering outside disinterestedly.
“Because as far as I know, this world is like the Shire. There are hints of darkness, but the world is still healthy,” Thorin explained, scratching her ears affectionately. “As I have not been to the Shire, I would like to experience a healthy world for myself.”
“Oh, well if that’s all.”
Thorin and Mingalaz turned sharply around at the voice. Bilbo and Myrtle were standing in the doorway, wearing matching sardonic expressions. Technically Bilbo was standing and Myrtle was being carried, but then Myrtle rarely stood. Thorin briefly entertained the idea of Myrtle riding Mingalaz when looking for portals to speed up the process but dismissed it. He was trying to make up for distancing himself, not imply more than that.
“Come here,” Bilbo ordered, and Thorin was surprised to find himself obeying. The hobbit could be surprisingly commanding when he wanted to be. Thorin hadn’t gone far before he felt himself stumbling, and Bilbo shoved him roughly back into bed.
“You can do all the exploring you want when you can walk properly,” he scolded. “No one except you said we had to leave this world immediately.”
Thorin let Bilbo fuss and tuck him back into the bed, recognizing at last the futility of his struggle. He felt well enough in bed, but if he couldn’t even walk to the door without stumbling, he wouldn’t have been able to escape, even for a little bit. But then Bilbo didn’t leave, settling into the chair by the bed, and setting Myrtle on top of the covers.
“Balin’s orders,” Bilbo reported with a shrug when Thorin turned an accusing look on him. “If you try to escape, whoever catches you is to stay in the room with you, and prevent a second attempt.”
“Unless your sword training has gone very while during my illness, I doubt you could stop me,” Thorin replied petulantly, not meeting Bilbo’s eyes. To his surprise, Bilbo laughed.
“You look like Kíli when you do that,” he said, still laughing.
“I hope that was not meant to be flattering, comparing me to a beardless stripling,” Thorin groused good-naturedly. Bilbo chose not to respond, simply raising his eyebrows. How strange. If the hobbit was teasing him, was he forgiven?
“So, would you like to hear about what we’ve been doing while you’ve been sick?” Bilbo asked casually. “Or would you rather fume and pout?”
“I am doing neither,” Thorin protested, noting that Bilbo’s expression hadn’t changed from one of disbelief. “But I would like to hear your report.”
“Very well. The traders who helped us knew what I was talking about when I mentioned that thing Gandalf told us about, Men who believed dæmons were evil,” Bilbo related. “The one I spoke to specifically said they were “old lies” and that there aren’t many such believers these days.”
“But whatever happened to that creature in the cave was relatively recent,” Thorin mused, scratching his chin thoughtfully. “I can’t imagine anyone surviving for too long without their dæmon.”
“Well that much at least is just speculation, but it sounds at least like those kinds of experiments aren’t active in this world any longer,” Bilbo said with a shrug. “No one we’ve spoken to has ever heard of wraiths, and there are no strange tales of people vanishing in the desert, or at least no more than would attract suspicion. There are no goblins, or spiders, or any other strange things really.”
“Except ‘old lies’ about dæmons that no one really believes anymore,” Thorin summarized. “Has anyone learned anything useful in town? Like whether anyone is aware of the existence of other worlds?”
“They’re fairly clueless, I’m afraid,” Bilbo admitted with a shake of his head. “Those who could speak our language, that is. I wonder where people speak it natively in this world. Actually, I wondered that when I came to yours.”
“Our language is used mostly for ceremonies and conversations with close friends and family members,” Thorin explained. “We needed another language for day-wear.”
Bilbo pursed his lips, but didn’t say anything more on the subject. “Anyway, it’s possible that everyone is lying to us, though I don’t know why they would. This world has the feeling of a crossroads of sorts. Maybe they’re used to strange folk here, and that’s all there is to it.”
“Has anyone asked whether the world has always been a desert?” Mingalaz asked suddenly.
“There’s no safe way to ask that, really,” Bilbo admitted with a regretful sigh. “Pretending we’re from up north gives us some excuse for ignorance, but that’s probably a question too far.”
So that was the end of their information. It wasn’t much, but at least they hadn’t been just drinking and whoring while he was laid up. Actually…
“How many tavern-keeper’s daughters have my nephews attempted to impregnate?” he asked, rubbing his temples. “I trust no one has given us cause to pay damages.”
Myrtle chortled, but left answering to Bilbo. “The rest of the company has kept them in line,” Bilbo assured him quickly. “Though we are out a bit for a few chairs that Glóin’s dæmon accidentally destroyed in the tavern, but someone tried to touch her. No one blames them for reacting poorly.”
“Was the person who tried to touch her drunk? I’ve never been drunk enough to try and break the taboo,” Thorin observed, suddenly grim. Touching someone else’s dæmon was a grave invasion. That was something that clearly crossed the borders between worlds, based on how the other Men had reacted. So why would someone try?
Bilbo’s face fell, as if he hadn’t considered that. “You’re right actually, I don’t think that’s enough of an excuse. Maybe we should consider er, moseying out of this world a little faster,” he suggested. “Turns out something’s not right here after all.”
Thorin chose not to comment on Bilbo’s word choice. “Agreed.”
In the end, Thorin could only stand being confined to his bed for three days, technically their fourth day in the world, so on the fifth, Óin gave in and they made preparations to leave. Bilbo doubted the dwarf king was fully recovered, but he could walk on his own, as he’d proven the night before when Dwalin had taken him around to see the town, and that had to be enough.
As they approached the edge of town, Bilbo found himself walking with Bofur. He’d spent some time with the miner during Thorin’s illness: enough to know that while Bofur’s sense of humor tender to the morbid side, he was one of the more genuinely nice people Bilbo had ever met. He was teaching Bilbo some dwarf pub songs, because “you never know when we’ll encounter a pub that could use some singing, and you shouldn’t be left out of the fun!”
As Myrtle had predicted, the portal was not far out of town, hidden between a cluster of rocks. On the other side, Bilbo saw green grass and almost heaved a sigh of relief. Finally, a healthy world. Bilbo stepped through quickly, just barely missing the stampede of dwarves all trying to enter the portal at once. In their struggle to untangle themselves and their dæmons, Bilbo almost missed Gandalf closing the portal behind them with a careful pinch of his fingers. Almost. So, there was no way back then.
“Has he been doing that the whole time, do you suppose?” Bilbo whispered to Myrtle.
“Seems that way,” she agreed, narrowing her eyes. “I wonder why.”
No one else seemed to notice.
Shaking his head at the ungainly pile of dwarves, Bilbo turned his attention to the landscape. There was very tall green grass everywhere, and he curled his toes in it gleefully. The second thing that struck him was the strange rushing sound. They were near the sea! He spun in a quick circle, and sure enough, there was a beach nearby. Farther inland, he thought he saw stone buildings, though they were too far away for him to discern much. It was all rather picturesque, and he almost dreaded finding out what was wrong with this world.
“Maybe it’s like the Shire?” he suggested to Myrtle. “Maybe nothing is wrong here.”
“I doubt it,” she replied cynically, sniffing the ground as if she would find the wrongness that way. Bilbo glanced back over at the dwarves, who were somehow still disentangling, when he heard Myrtle squeak, and looked back over quickly. Minty had Myrtle by the scruff of her neck.
“Minty, put Myrtle down this instant!” Bilbo demanded angrily. If it wasn’t one thing with Thorin it was another, though when he looked over at him, Thorin looked oddly apologetic.
“She thinks Myrtle walks too slow,” Thorin explained with a sharp look at his dæmon.
“Well we weren’t exactly going anywhere fast with a pile of dwarves on the ground,” Bilbo observed, crossing his arms over his chest. “If we’re in such a hurry, perhaps someone shouldn’t have slept outside in the middle of a desert.”
Minty ignored this and started pushing her way through the tall grass, still carrying Myrtle between her teeth. Bilbo and Thorin were both forced to follow, and eventually the rest of the company pulled itself together to follow as well.
“Why is Minty carrying Myrtle?” Kíli asked in a completely audible attempt at a whisper. Not good at quiet, that one.
“Maybe she’s decided it’s time to have badger for dinner,” Bofur suggested casually, and his canary dæmon chirped uproariously, like she was trying to laugh.
“I heard that,” Bilbo said, a little snappish, but this only made Bofur laugh and pat him lightly on the back.
“I don’t think that’s it,” Fíli observed thoughtfully. His dæmon had run ahead to try talking to Minty, but with her mouth full, all she could manage was a growl, and a swat with one of her large paws.
“She doesn’t want any of us touching Myrtle,” Nori’s dæmon suggested with a sly look at Thorin.
“Now really,” Dori scolded half-heartedly. “What Minty does with Myrtle is between Thorin and Bilbo.”
Bifur said something in Khuzdul, and hearing Bofur say, “I’m not translating that,” Bilbo looked back to see Ori blushing, and the rest of the dwarves laughing behind their hands. He sighed, and wondered what Bifur had said. A quick glance at Thorin revealed that his face was red too, though that could have been from the sun sickness.
Gandalf was oddly quiet, staring off into the distance with a grim expression, even though they’d encountered no trouble so far. That was worrying.
“Have you been to this world before Gandalf?” Bilbo asked curiously, trying to draw the wizard into conversation.
“I have,” Gandalf confirmed, his expression no less grim. “We will probably be safe here, but that is only because the danger passed a long time ago.”
Noticing that all the eyes of the company were now on their conversation, Bilbo continued with some trepidation. “This isn’t Gondolin, is it?”
Gandalf’s grimness suddenly faded away. “Oh no, you should be so lucky, Bilbo Baggins!” he said with a laugh. “No, this is the kingdom of Numenor, destroyed a few thousand years ago because its inhabitants were lured by the same lies that the Men of Harad spoke of.”
“Several… thousand years ago?” Bilbo choked. What was he talking about?
“There was a time when many knew of the existence of other worlds,” Gandalf reminded him. “And of those who knew, there have always been those who sought to upset the balance between them. In Numenor they wormed their way in, and feeling that they had no choice to protect the worlds, the Valar sent a great wave, and purged the island.”
Bilbo shivered. “Surely not everyone in Numenor was bad.”
Gandalf looked at him sadly. “I have no doubt that you’re right. Which is why whatever problem threatens the worlds now, the Valar will not interfere: to avoid such wanton death of innocents.”
Bilbo couldn’t shake the feeling that there was a little more to the story, but they were close enough to the ruined city for him to make out some details, and the sight made him swallow any words he might have spoken. The city was made of white stone, and it glittered in the early morning sun. Except, it really wasn’t a city anymore. Just a husk, a relic of a people dead for thousands of years.
He swallowed.
So why did he find it so beautiful?
The dwarves were similarly awestruck, Bilbo noted when he glanced back at them, their expressions ranging from grim (though Dwalin almost always looked grim) to divinely inspired, as Ori was trying to sketch and walk at the same time, his little dæmon fluttering around him excitedly. The other dæmons didn’t seem terribly unsettled, which comforted Bilbo a little. If there was some lingering evil in this world, one of them probably would have sensed it, like in Mirkwood. He wondered if Gondolin would be like this, or if evil still clung to that place. It had fallen even longer ago, and evil couldn’t linger forever, could it?
When they reached the city, Bilbo couldn’t help himself. He ran his hands along the nearest wall, marveling at the feeling of the stone. The parts of the buildings that had survived the wave still felt very sturdy, and no moss grew upon them. The street was a different story, the stones of the road having long since been pushed aside by ambitious weeds and other plants, but the buildings endured, despite having outlived their usefulness. A thought came to Bilbo then, and such thoughts, once kindled, are not easily extinguished.
“Did this place have a library?” he asked Gandalf. “It must have, if it was any kind of great kingdom worth talking about.”
“It did,” Gandalf confirmed. “The wave and the passage of time ought to have destroyed much, but the Numenorians were clever. They wrote their records on all manner of substances, not merely parchment or paper, so some of it may have survived. Very good thinking, Bilbo.”
“What does it matter?” Dwalin grumbled. “The musings of people who died thousands of years ago of their own wickedness can hardly help us now.”
“That’s not true!” Ori argued, raising his voice much louder than Bilbo had ever heard it. “You never know what they might have known that could help us. Maybe they knew where to find a portal to Gondolin! Or what the wraiths are!”
“There’s no indication that the wraiths have been around that long,” Balin pointed out. “But I agree with Bilbo and Ori. We should at least give it a try. Thorin?”
Thorin’s mouth twitched in what might have been a smile. “We don’t even know if we can read anything they wrote, but there is nothing like looking. We will find something, even if it’s not what we came for.”
“But Mr. Gandalf, where even is the library?” Dori asked, his dæmon taking advantage of the stop to assiduously groom herself. Not that Bilbo had ever seen a hair out of place on the cat.
“I don’t know,” Gandalf admitted. “Perhaps Thorin can tell us.”
Thorin took out the compass, and Bilbo found himself drawing close to watch. Thorin adjusted the knobs until the hands were on the crucible, the anvil, and the globe, and then the needle started moving. When it stopped, Thorin didn’t look quite as confused as usual.
“Why did you pick those symbols?” he asked curiously.
“It’s hard to explain,” Thorin admitted. “But the crucible felt like knowledge, the anvil is used to make things, and buildings are manmade, and the globe felt like ‘where.’”
“Did you understand the answer?” Kíli asked eagerly, and for once, Thorin didn’t shake his head in frustration.
“I think… it’s over there,” he answered, pointing at the crumbling edifice of a large, rectangular building. There had been columns at the entrance once, but time or the wave, or both, had demolished every one of them. It wasn’t a very inviting prospect, but it wasn’t like the surrounding buildings were any better off.
Bilbo probably should have expected the skeletons that greeted them at the entrance, their bones very nearly turned to dust. Probably, but he was glad to have skipped breakfast that day. Dry heaving was a little less embarrassing, all things considered. |
They were running late.
Well, Arthur was running late but obviously he'd found some way to blame Merlin. He was also somehow finding the breath to berate Merlin while racing him across the courtyard to reach training before Arthur's knights applied the ten minute rule and went home.
Merlin was understandably distracted, which was why he ran into someone.
"Hey!" said the someone, sounding offended. "Careful."
"Sorry," Merlin said, gasping in a breath and preparing to continue his run, sure Arthur must be far ahead of him by now.
Except Arthur wasn't. Arthur was standing next to Merlin and blinking at the girl who Merlin had run into.
"Please excuse my servant," Arthur said, bowing low. "He's very clumsy and has a near-permanent home in the stocks."
Merlin rolled his eyes. The girl he'd run into was young and dark and pretty.
Merlin watched her lips quirk in amusement before she nodded solemnly. "I understand. He should count himself lucky; I've known some kingdoms where servants are executed for much less." She winked at Merlin and he felt his face heat up.
"Um," Merlin said but she was already gathering her cloaks around herself and turning to sweep away.
"If you'll excuse me, gentlemen," she said and started on her way.
Merlin looked at Arthur. Arthur was already looking at him. "Wait," Arthur called as Merlin knew he would. "Let us escort you."
She slowed down enough to allow them to catch up. Well, Arthur caught up, Merlin trailed behind feeling sulky. He had thought they were going to be late. "No thank you," she said, "I'm fine."
Merlin bit his lip; Arthur didn't get turned down often. "But surely you're new here," Arthur wheedled. "It wouldn't do for you to get lost."
The girl stopped. She swept her long hair back under her hood and regarded them both levelly. "Can you fight a dragon?" she asked.
"What?" Merlin asked. "Yes," Arthur said. Merlin gave Arthur an incredulous look which Arthur ignored.
"How about a Cyclops?" the girl asked.
"Definitely," Arthur agreed.
"Minotaur?"
"Um," Arthur looked at Merlin. Merlin shrugged; he didn't know what one was either. "Yes," Arthur said, apparently making a royal decision.
The girl sighed. "Then you'd better come with me."
Merlin watched her stalk off, not totally sure he wanted to fight whatever it was that the girl wanted fought. Arthur tapped him - read: punched him hard - on the arm to get him moving after her.
The girl - Verdandi, she told them her name was - led them out of the castle, down several back passages that Merlin had been unaware of, and on and on until they reached a dense, dimly lit wooded area.
"Are you sure we're going the right way?" Merlin asked, hoping she'd say no, she was wrong; they should actually be heading for a nice warm beach in Hispania.
Verdandi just flicked an eyebrow at him and didn't reply. She hitched up her cloak and began to climb a sharply rising incline.
"Where are we heading?" Arthur called after her. He wasn't breathing any harder than normal so Merlin was careful to keep his own breathlessness quiet.
"There's a cave up here," Verdandi called back. "There's something in it; I don't know what."
"And we can't just leave it there?" Merlin asked. Arthur glared at him.
"It has something that belongs to me," Verdandi said. "Aha, here we are."
When Merlin caught up with her and Arthur, he saw that they were standing at the mouth of a cave. It was - as with the mouths of all the caves Merlin had ever seen - dark and dank and scary-looking.
"So," Arthur asked, shifting from one foot to the other, hand on the hilt of his sword. "Is this where the dragon is?"
"Or the Cyclops or the Minotaur," Verdandi agreed. "I didn't get a very good look. But it has something that belongs to me and I need to get it back." Her hands went to the front laces of her cloak, untying it. "Are you going to help me?"
"Of course-," Arthur said or started to say. Then made a sound like he was dying. Merlin turned from him to see that Verdandi's cloak had dropped to the ground to reveal that she was wearing tight, black leather trousers and a loose white shirt.
"Look at her clothes," Arthur hissed in Merlin's ear, "It's obscene." Merlin thought back to the way Arthur had looked at Gwen and Morgana when they'd worn men's clothing to fight - different in every way from the amused, platonically curious way he normally watched them - and wisely kept quiet.
The monster wasn't a Minotaur or a Cyclops or a dragon. Merlin wasn't sure what it was, but it had three heads - two of which spat fire while the other spat ice, four tails, all with spikes - and it hurt like hell when it threw him against the cave wall.
"Get down!" Verdandi yelled from behind him and Merlin ducked, covering his head just before a bolt of blue lightning shot from something in her hand - a stone, Merlin saw, one that had been on a chain around her neck a moment ago - and hit the monster in one of its faces.
The monster reared back, two remaining mouths open wide and screaming, while the stump of the third neck thrashed wildly.
"What's that?" Arthur panted, "Is that magic?"
"Sort of," Verdandi said, grinning.
Merlin turned to stare at her. He'd never heard anyone be so blasé about having magic before.
"Merlin," Arthur shouted. "Stop staring and-." He broke off when one of the monster's tails hit the wall above his head. Little pieces of rock rained down on Arthur and there was blood smeared down his cheeks when he lowered his arms.
Merlin's hands itched with the need to go over to him, but Arthur was a big boy; he could take care of himself. Merlin however, was having a bit more trouble as he was suddenly face-to-hideous-gaping-maw with one of the monster's heads.
"Uh," he said, "Hi," and punched it in the nose.
Absently, he heard Arthur laugh but he was too busy running for his life to give Arthur the attention - or the finger - he deserved.
"Hey," he heard Verdandi's voice and then the flames licking at his heels were gone, which was great. He risked a glance over his shoulder and saw her distracting it with more of the blue lightning.
"Are you all right?" Arthur asked, pulling Merlin down against the wall beside him.
"Fine," Merlin said. "Little bit of a heart attack but nothing serious."
Arthur smirked at him. "A bit of adrenaline is good for you."
"What about a lot of adrenaline," Merlin asked.
Arthur rolled his eyes, drawing Merlin's attention to the long smear of still damp blood bisecting his eyebrow and coming perilously close to the thin skin of his eyelid.
Merlin found his fingers pressing against the flushed skin surrounding the cut before he could stop them. Arthur's skin was warm and, this close to his temple, Merlin could just feel his pulse beating.
"Merlin?" Arthur asked. The background sounds of the monster seemed to have faded.
Merlin cleared his throat. "This one was close," he said haltingly. "To your, uh, eye."
"Yeah." Arthur nodded, but not enough to dislodge Merlin's fingers.
"Excuse me!" Verdandi's voice filtered through Merlin's sudden preoccupation with the texture of sweaty skin. "If you've finished whatever it is you're doing, this thing is trying to eat me."
Merlin met Arthur's wide eyes with his own and then they were both moving, circling to get behind the monster. It had Verdandi cornered. It only had one head left but that one seemed pretty close to tearing out her throat.
"Hey!" Arthur snapped at it, lunging forward sword first. He missed. Apparently he pissed the monster off though because it drew back on its hind legs, lifting off the ground so it could go after Arthur with all four tails at once.
"Woah," Arthur said, backing up a step and then another until he collided with the wall. "Did we know it could do that?"
"I didn't," Merlin said helplessly.
One tail swung, heading straight for Arthur's face. Arthur lifted his sword, neatly severing the spike from the rest of the tail but the second and third were coming for him now, too quickly for him to turn and defend himself.
Merlin was too far away to do anything, even if he'd been able to think of anything to do. He had no choice, there was nothing he could do except- He raised his hand, no time to think of any incantation just pictured the monster not killing Arthur.
There was a bright flash of white light, so strong that Merlin automatically closed his eyes. Merlin heard a terrible screaming sound, a startled shout from Arthur and then a huge thump as something - hopefully the monster - hit the ground hard.
Ha! Merlin thought, but it was a hollow victory.
When Merlin opened his eyes, he saw the monster lying dead at his feet, Verdandi hurrying across the cave presumably to recover whatever it had taken from her and Arthur… Arthur was standing carefully, one hand clamped to a deep cut across his shoulder but his eyes fixed on nothing but Merlin.
"Okay," Arthur said slowly, so slowly that Merlin had time to wince over each syllable. "That was magic."
Merlin wanted to close his eyes again. Maybe if he couldn't see Arthur, Arthur wouldn't be able to see him and he'd conveniently forget the whole magic thing.
Right.
"Yeah," Merlin said. "It was."
Arthur pressed a hand to his face. "Fuck, Merlin," he said flatly.
Merlin shifted, feeling helpless and having no idea what to say. There wasn't really anything he could say. He should have had something prepared for this eventuality, he thought grimly; he'd just let himself hope that it wouldn't ever happen.
"Is everything all right?" Verdandi's voice made Merlin jump and he saw Arthur do the same; apparently they'd both forgotten they had company.
Arthur rounded on him. "You didn't see any of this," he snapped. "You didn't see anything."
Merlin did his best to quell the irrational urge to smile. Arthur was protecting him; he couldn't be that angry. Hopefully.
Verdandi shrugged. "What was there to see?" she asked ingeniously, like she saw servants kill monsters with their minds all the time. She was wrapping a bracelet made of intertwined threads of what looked like silk around her wrist.
"Thank you," Arthur said crisply. All the charm and curiosity he'd been showing towards her earlier was gone. "Do you have what you came for?"
Verdandi blinked at him slowly. "Yes," she said. "Thank you."
"Excellent," Arthur said and caught Merlin's wrist in a tight, relentless grip. "We'll bid you good day then. Merlin, with me."
Merlin looked back at Verdandi helplessly before letting himself be dragged out of the cave and back into the forest.
Arthur stopped eventually, wheeling back around to glare at Merlin. "That was magic," he repeated.
Merlin nodded miserably. "Yes, sire."
"You can do magic."
Merlin looked down at the grass around his feet, feeling slightly sick. "Yes, sire." Merlin didn't think he'd ever used sire without making it sound a least a little mocking before.
"Are you stupid?"
Merlin's head snapped up. "What?"
"No, no stupid question. Of course you're stupid." Arthur pushed his fringe out of his eyes and glared. "What were you thinking? Did you think I could protect you? I can't protect you."
"No," Merlin said, confused. "I didn't-. I'm not asking you to-." His hands were shaking. He didn't want to be executed and he didn't want Arthur to be looking at him with those hurt, angry eyes. In fact, he couldn't be sure which one of those he wanted least.
Arthur fell quiet; something about his baring told Merlin not to interrupt.
"You're going to have to leave," Arthur told him eventually, looking and sounding about as miserable as Merlin felt. Merlin's was a cold sort of misery though; Arthur's looked hot and furious.
"What?" Merlin asked. "Aren't you going to have me executed?"
Arthur shook his head, but it was more like he hadn't heard than he was saying no. "I can't protect you and I won't go against my father but if you leave I won't have to know about anything you may or may not do."
"What?" Merlin said, unbelieving. Not sure if he was relieved that Arthur didn't want him dead or upset that Arthur wanted to send him away. Upset was starting to win out.
Arthur's hand clamped down on Merlin's arm and for a minute Merlin thought he was about to be killed after all, but Arthur just squeezed his arm and said again, more urgently, "You have to go."
Merlin nodded, swallowing hard. He fought down the childish urge to say but I don't want to. "I'll leave in the morning," he promised. He didn't know what he was going to tell Gaius. Well, he did. He wouldn't need to worry about any potential executions; Gaius was going to kill him.
Arthur nodded once, firmly. "Very well," he said and turned on his heel, continuing his angry march back home. He didn't speak to Merlin again until just before they reached the gates of Camelot.
"Merlin," he said quietly. His voice sounded wretched and Merlin hated being the reason for that.
Merlin looked up. He sucked in a helpless breath at the look of complete… what?... complete hopelessness on Arthur's face. "I'm sorry," Merlin said immediately. He meant it this time and he'd never apologised for his magic before.
"I thought," Arthur said then broke off, rubbing his hand over his face. "Weren't we friends?"
"Of course we were," Merlin said, words coming out harsh in his desperation.
"I thought we were-." Arthur didn't finish his sentence but his gaze stayed locked on Merlin's lips for one beat then another.
Merlin closed his eyes. He hated this. This was so unfair. "Arthur, please. Look, you could just forget this happened and the king would never need to know and-."
"What?" Arthur scoffed. His was looking at some distant point over Merlin's shoulder now. "Are you going to wave your wand and make me forget?" His face twisted up into something ugly for a second before it went back to the empty expression Merlin couldn't stand to see. "My God, you're not are you?"
Merlin bit back a million angry retorts, finally able to grit out a "No".
"Okay," Arthur said and nodded. His hand twitched at his side like he wanted to reach for Merlin. Merlin held still but Arthur didn't touch him. "Okay," Arthur said again. "Goodbye, Merlin."
Merlin watched him walk through the gates to the castle and couldn't say a word.
Merlin felt awful. He remembered the time Will had dared him to drink a barrel of apple cider that had been sitting in the sun for five days; his belly had hurt less after that than it did now.
The sky was just beginning to grow blue-grey, the sun coming up on the morning - the morning that Merlin had promised he would leave Arthur and Camelot and Gaius and everything else that he'd come to lo- like.
He swallowed hard and rubbed at his eyes with the back of his wrists.
"I'm sorry," said a voice and Merlin jumped, scraping his fringe down to hide his eyes and looking up to see Verdandi standing above him.
"What do you want?" Merlin asked. It wasn't her fault, but Merlin needed someone to blame.
"I didn't mean to cause you problems," she said, smoothing her cloak down and sitting on the stoop beside Merlin.
"It's okay," he told her honestly, "It wasn't your fault."
Merlin watched out of the corner of his eye as Verdandi played with the complicated silk bracelet that they'd helped her to rescue. "I can help," she told him eventually.
"How?" Merlin asked, telling himself not to hope. There was no way she could really help him.
She leant forward, eyes shining. "I can give you your day back," she said softly. "If you want."
Merlin blinked at her. That was a level of magic he didn't even know how to access. "Are you serious?" he asked uncertainly. "I'm not sure-."
"This isn't a trick," she said, smiling softly. "You helped me, so I'll help you. I can send you back to the start of yesterday, just before you met me. All you have to do is make sure Arthur isn't with you when you meet me this time then he won't need to see you doing magic."
Merlin opened his mouth to argue. This was too good to be true; it must be.
"Okay?" she asked. "Yes."
He shook his head. "I'm not sure." One part of his brain was screaming at him to get sure. If she was telling the truth, then he could fix this mess. "How?"
She shrugged. "I have a little influence with time," she said.
Merlin frowned and rubbed at a building pain between his eyes. "It's really possible?" he asked.
She smiled and nodded. "You have to promise to still meet me tomorrow in the courtyard. Retrieving my bracelet was harder than I expected; I will still need your help."
Merlin nodded. He didn't realise that he was agreeing to her plan until she smiled.
"Give me your hand," Verdandi said and reached for him, guiding his fingers to her bracelet. Merlin gasped; the power was immense. It bit at his fingertips, spiralled up his arms and seemed to pull him in.
"I'm not sure about this," he opened his mouth to say, but between one syllable and the next he was spinning, flying, landing on his own bed, the sun shining in his window and Gaius banging on his door, telling him he was going to be late.
"Shit," Merlin swore and rolled out of bed.
Merlin looked down at himself. He was wearing the clothes he usually slept in; his shirt and trousers were folded over the end of his bed.
"This is mad," he said aloud to himself. He went to the window and looked out; Camelot looked the same as always but it could be yesterday again. There was nothing to tell him that it wasn't. He wished he could say that the birds' singing was familiar but Merlin didn't really pay much attention to nature first thing in the morning.
"Merlin," Gaius called.
"Coming," Merlin yelled back. He pulled off his shirt to get dressed and realised that his bruises were gone. He'd been stiff and aching after the fight yesterday, bruises and scrapes across his torso and hands but now his skin was clear.
"Mad," he repeated and started to smile. He finished getting dressed and clattered down the steps to Gaius workroom.
"You're late," Gaius said again. Helpfully.
Arthur was standing in the middle of his chambers, holding his chainmail in one hand and frowning. "I think I see some rust," he said when Merlin skidded through the door.
It was the same thing he'd said yesterday. Well not yesterday. Today version one. Even if it hadn't been, Merlin knew there wasn't any rust.
Yesterday, he hadn't bothered to take a proper look, secure in his chain-mail cleaning abilities; today he was so relieved that Arthur was talking to him without that horrible, betrayed look on his face that he found himself actually stepping up for a closer look.
"I don't see any rust," he said.
"Hmm," Arthur hummed, sounding unconvinced. "Anyway," he held the armour up to Merlin. "Help me dress; you're late."
"Um," Merlin said, automatically taking the armour then casting around for a diversion. He needed to get downstairs to help Verdandi and he needed to do it without Arthur. "I'm not late."
"Yes," Arthur said slowly. "You are." He held out his arms. "Dress me."
Merlin put on his cockiest expression. "Can't you dress yourself?"
Arthur frowned. "What's got into you?" he asked, "Are you feeling all right?"
"I'm fine, I just. I just-."
Arthur was frowning really hard now. "Yes?" he asked, his tone the sort of innocent curiosity that Merlin knew meant trouble.
"Put on your own armour," Merlin said then backed up a couple of steps, crossing his fingers behind his back, hoping that when Arthur put him in the stocks this time, there wouldn't be any rotten tomatoes. Those were always the hardest to wash out of his shirt.
Arthur advanced on him. "Insubordination will not be tolerated, Merlin," he said. His expression was serious but his eyes were twinkling the way they did when he was enjoying an argument. Merlin sucked in a breath.
Oh well, he though, I started it. He tipped up his chin. If he could just annoy Arthur enough, Arthur would send him away and Merlin would be free to find Verdandi.
Except. Except Arthur wasn't sending him away. He was advancing on Merlin still further and Merlin had no where to go.
"Are you sure you're feeling all right?" Arthur asked but there was something totally different in his tone now.
Merlin swallowed hard and forced himself to nod.
"Sometimes you drive me crazy just for the fun of it, don't you?" Arthur asked.
It was true, but Merlin still shook his head. Arthur stilled him with a hand against his throat. It wasn't squeezing, he wasn't threatening in any way, just holding Merlin still.
Merlin swallowed again and felt his adam's apple contract against Arthur's hand.
"Don't you?" Arthur breathed, the word a warm puff over Merlin's mouth.
Merlin nodded. He was just lifting his chin again, watching Arthur closely from under his eyelashes when Arthur leant in closer. Merlin saw the flicker of doubt, the flash of want and then Arthur's mouth was on Merlin's.
Merlin gasped; he couldn't help it.
Arthur stood back immediately. "Sorry," he said, sounding less sure of himself than he had a moment before.
"No that's uh." Merlin briefly pushed all thoughts of Verdandi out of his head and curled his hands around Arthur's wrists. "What was that?"
Arthur's mouth tipped up and he chewed briefly on his lower lip. "That was a, uh. A momentary weakness?"
Merlin pulled on Arthur's arms until Arthur took the final step, closing off any gap between their bodies.
"Do it again," he said and Arthur did.
Arthur kissed him and Merlin's head reeled. This was fast. They'd been heading towards this forever but Merlin hadn't thought they'd ever get here. Princes didn't tend to kiss Merlin, however much they - he - sometimes looked like they wanted to.
An hour ago, Merlin had been preparing to leave Arthur forever and now he had Arthur's broad hands on his face and throat, Arthur's tongue in his mouth and Arthur's hair under his fingers. He pulled on Arthur's hair a little, unconsciously testing that he was real.
"Ow," Arthur said but didn't stop kissing Merlin's jaw.
Merlin tipped his head back. The sun was rising in the sky; Verdandi would be on her way to fight the monster by now; Merlin really should go to her. "Don't stop," Merlin said.
Arthur's smile curled against Merlin's chin. "Do I seem like I'm stopping?" he asked and squeezed Merlin's arse. Merlin made a noise that was somewhat not unlike a squeak.
It would be so easy just to stay here, kissing Arthur, maybe doing more if Arthur's wandering hands were anything to go by, but Merlin couldn't.
"Stay here," he mumbled against Arthur's mouth and forced himself to take a step back.
"Wait, what?" Arthur asked, hands still firmly on Merlin. "Where are you going?"
"Nowhere." Merlin kissed him again. He couldn't stop. It wasn't as if he hadn't known he wanted to do this but just how much was kind of a surprise. "I'm coming back, I promise. Just stay here."
Arthur had his most mutinous frown on but he didn't stop Merlin from leaving; Merlin felt a wave of guilt that Arthur trusted him when Merlin was basically betraying that trust, leaving him behind so he could use his magic without Arthur finding out.
Merlin took a deep breath, pushed aside his guilt and hurried on.
Verdandi wasn't in the courtyard but he hadn't expected her still to be. Kissing Arthur apparently took a lot of time.
Merlin ran along the way they'd gone yesterday- last time and finally caught sight of her cloak swishing behind her through the trees near the mouth of the cave. Merlin steeled himself to run faster.
"Wait?" he gasped, catching the back of Verdandi's cloak just before she entered the cave. "I'm here."
She swung around. "Yes you are," she agreed. "Who are you?" And oh, wait, of course she didn't know who he was; she hadn't met him yet. Somehow he'd been expecting her to remember him.
"Merlin," he said, trying to exude as non-threatening and harmless an air as possible. "My name's Merlin. A uh, a friend sent me to help you?"
"I don't have any friends here," she said, just as coolly but Merlin saw her hand begin to move towards her scary, lightning-producing necklace.
"Okay fine," Merlin said, losing patience. He'd stopped kissing Arthur to come and help her. "You sent me. From the future." That sounded pretty cool to say.
Verdandi's stance shifted. "Prove it," she said.
"You uh." Merlin frowned. "You've lost a weird kind of bracelet that lets you send people through time," he said hopefully.
"Hmm," she hummed. She turned back towards the cave. "Well? Are you coming?"
Merlin seemed to be doing a lot of double-taking lately. He did it some more because it seemed like the thing to do. "…sure?" he said and followed her into the cave.
Defeating the monster was actually easier without Arthur there - although Merlin would be careful never to tell Arthur that. Not having Arthur there meant that Merlin didn't have to hesitate about using his magic and between his magic and Verdandi's blue lightning it wasn't long at all until the monster was very, very dead.
Merlin was a little bit heroic, even if he did say so himself.
"Well," Verdandi said, leaning back against the cave wall. She had monster guts in her hair; that hadn't happened last time. "That was exhilarating." She raised her eyebrows at Merlin. "So what went wrong last time?"
Merlin was pretty certain he had monster guts in his mouth so he was legitimately distracted when he asked, "What?"
"If I sent you back in time then something must have gone wrong the first time. What was it? Did you die?"
"Oh," Merlin said, "It was nothing." My best friend learnt something that made him hate me so you were nice enough to move time and space for me sounded a bit pathetic really.
"Okay," she said, shrugging. "Well be ready for whenever they take your day in payment."
Wait what? "Wait, what?" Merlin asked. "Who's taking my day? Taking it where?"
Verdandi frowned at him. "Surely I don't need to explain this; you're a sorcerer."
"Um," Merlin said, feeling his cheeks heat up. "I'm not a very, uh. I don't read a lot of books?"
"No," she hummed, "I suppose you're hardly Dumbledore." ("What?" Merlin asked again, but she waved him quiet.) "Okay, it works like this. Time was nice enough to give you back one day of your life. For payment, it will need to take another. You can't just create time out of nothing, you know."
"So what, I'll just wake up one day and find it's the day after?" That really didn't sound like a good idea. What if he did something really embarrassing on the day he didn't remember?
"Exactly," she agreed, inclining her head. "I'm sure you won't miss it." Then she tapped her bracelet and disappeared.
"But it's my day," Merlin argued to thin air.
"I didn't think you were coming back," was the first thing Arthur said when Merlin let himself back into Arthur's rooms.
Merlin slipped the bolt across the door and turned to see Arthur sitting at the table, watching Merlin coolly over the top of his goblet. "I said I would," Merlin said, aware that his palms were suddenly sweaty under Arthur's level gaze. Arthur had never made him nervous before; time travel couldn't be good for him.
Arthur stood up and rounded the table. "I didn't think you were coming back," Arthur repeated. He sounded almost uncertain.
"I had to go and be a hero," Merlin said, feeling his mouth tug up into a grin. He'd done it; he'd saved the day: Arthur didn't know about Merlin's magic, Merlin didn't have to leave Camelot and all Merlin had to worry about was this little matter of a lost day at some point in the future. How bad could that be?
"How did that go?" Arthur asked, eyebrows raised doubtfully. He stepped up to Merlin, not quite touching. "Where were we?"
He sounded cocky, sure of himself and Merlin would have been forced to give him a hard time over that if he hadn't seen the soft, relieved look on Arthur's face when Merlin had first walked back into the room.
Arthur's hands curled around Merlin's shoulders but Merlin shook his head. "Not there," Merlin said. "More like here." He took Arthur's hands, guiding them down to his arse and Arthur grinned at him before moving in for a kiss.
It turned out that sleeping with the crown prince of Camelot wasn't that dissimilar to merely working for him.
Merlin still tidied Arthur's rooms, carried his messages, and brought him food. Only now, when Merlin had finished putting away the ridiculous number of near-identical brown boots that Arthur owned, Arthur would catch his hand and pull him down onto the bed (or the table or the floor or, on one memorable occasion, the window seat with the drapes only half-drawn) and they'd lose an hour or two in each other.
"You're smiling a lot lately," Gwen told him one morning at the water pump.
"I'm not," Merlin said automatically. He put down his bucket and felt the corners of his mouth; they were pointing up. "Am I?"
"Did you get a girlfriend?" she asked. She looked over her shoulder and flashed him a smile. "Or a boyfriend?"
"No," Merlin said automatically. It wasn't a lie exactly. Arthur wasn't Merlin's boyfriend.
"No of course not," Gwen said quickly. "I wasn't trying to imply that you-. That you might." Her cheeks went red.
Merlin laughed. Yeah, okay, maybe he was smiling a lot. "I'm just happy," he said, smiling at her. She smiled back.
It happened nearly a month later.
Merlin woke up in his own bed like every morning. For once, he didn't remember Arthur shaking him awake at some ungodly hour before the sun came up and ordering him back to his own rooms before the castle servants were awake but Merlin had sleep-walked back to his own room before this.
Merlin rolled out of bed, pulled on his clothes and walked down the stairs humming softly under his breath. The sun was shining and Merlin was still in an embarrassingly good mood.
Gaius's head snapped up when Merlin clattered to the bottom of the stairs and he half-rose from his chair.
Merlin opened his mouth to say good morning and broke off short at the sight of Gaius's grey-pale face and tired, red-rimmed eyes.
"Gaius?" Merlin asked. "What is it? What's wrong?" Nothing had been wrong when Merlin fell asleep last night; he and Arthur had been planning to go for a ride some time today.
Gaius stood straight and came around the table, reaching out for him. "How are you feeling?" he asked, squeezing Merlin's arm in a gesture of much greater affection than Merlin was used to.
"Um," Merlin said. "Fine? Are you all right? You look terrible."
Gaius passed a hand over his face. "I confess I didn't sleep well." His lip twisted. "I can't imagine you did either."
"No," Merlin said, sure he was missing something. "I slept okay." He yawned right on the end of the word and suddenly realised that he did feel tired. Strange. He pointed towards the door, reassured that whatever craziness was going on, Gaius himself was all right. "See you later."
"Where are you going?" Gaius called, but Merlin was already out in the hall. He shook his head; where did Gaius think he was going?
There were more servants in the corridors than normal and they all seemed to be huddled together and whispering. Several people avoided Merlin's eye when he tried to smile at them and everyone stopped talking when he passed.
"Excuse me," he said, catching the arm of a kitchen maid whose name he'd never been able to find out. "What's going on?" He tried a winning smile, attempting to emulate one of Arthur's most charming ones. Apparently it didn't work because the girl bit her lip and ran away.
"What the hell?" Merlin muttered under his breath. He saw a familiar blur of grey up ahead and was just opening his mouth to repeat his question to Gwen when she flew at him, flinging her arms tight around his shoulders and sniffling into his neck.
Feeling flustered and confused, he patted awkwardly at her back. "Gwen?" he asked, hoping he sounded concerned rather than freaked out. "Gwen, what's wrong?"
Apparently that was the wrong thing to say because it just made her cry harder. Merlin had never understood girls.
"Okay," he said uncertainly, worried about making her cry again. "Well, I should get going. Arthur's going to want his breakfast, soon and-." He stopped, the hairs on his arms rising at the hoarse, broken sound she made.
"Oh Merlin," she said. She pulled back and stared at him out of her big, dark eyes that had somehow got bigger and darker while Merlin wasn't paying attention. Gwen's lower lip was wobbling and Merlin suddenly had a really bad feeling.
"I don't-." Merlin started to say. "I don't know what's going on." Panic gripped his belly. "Where's Arthur?"
Tears leaked out of Gwen's eyes, spilling down her cheeks. She bit her bottom lip and stared at him with the kind of sympathy that Merlin hadn't seen directed at him since. Since Will had died.
Merlin took off at a run for Arthur's chambers. He crashed through the door and for a moment was struck almost dizzy with relief at the sight of a figure curled under the blankets. Except, he realised, it wasn't Arthur.
Morgana was curled up on Arthur's bed, her face pressed into his pillow and Uther was sitting by the window, staring blankly down at the courtyard.
"No," Merlin said and both their heads snapped up toward him. Morgana's face was dry but Uther's wasn't. "No," Merlin repeated, shaking his head.
Morgana scrambled up from the bed. "Merlin," she said, just that, in this voice full of understanding and sympathy. She put her arms around his neck and pulled his head down onto her shoulder. She smelled sweet and smoky and like she'd been awake all night.
Almost as if he were in a dream, Merlin put his hands on her back, feeling them both shake.
There was absolutely no way that what Merlin was starting to suspect had happened had actually happened. It just wasn't possible. "I don't-," he said again, pulling back to stare at her helplessly. "I don't remember."
From somewhere in his memory, Merlin remembered Verdandi, what she'd said about losing a day. He felt cold all over.
Morgana frowned at him for a long minute then seemed to come to some kind of conclusion and slid her fingers into his hair, holding his head still with sharp nails in his scalp so he had to look her in the eye.
Merlin didn't care about the tiny pricks of pain; he was weirdly numb inside.
"It wasn't your fault. You did everything you could. It was just a stupid accident." Morgana told him, voice firm.
What wasn't my fault? Merlin wanted to ask. What happened to Arthur? But he couldn't; right now he didn't want to know.
"Arthur's dead?" he asked instead. She took an audible breath and nodded.
"Perhaps you should rest," Uther said abruptly and Merlin jumped, having forgotten he was in the room. "You seem to be suffering some kind of trauma."
"I'm fine," Merlin said automatically. Unlike Arthur, Uther normally insisted on the sire, but this time he said nothing about it.
"Goddamn it," Uther shouted, making Merlin jump. "My son is dead and you're babbling like an idiot."
"Uther," Morgana chided and Uther frowned at them both, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Excuse me," he said and swept from the room without another word.
Merlin had to sit down. The give of Arthur's mattress was familiar now, but normally Merlin had Arthur pushing or pulling him down onto it. Arthur. Arthur who was dead.
Morgana sat next to him, rubbing his arms and talking softly but he didn't listen. This felt like a nightmare. Arthur was dead. Arthur was dead because of something that happened yesterday that Merlin couldn't do anything about because Merlin wasn't there yesterday. Because that was the day that God or fate or whoever controlled time had decided to take as payback.
"This isn't right," Merlin said to his folded hands. He turned his head, straightening his shoulders and meeting Morgana's eyes. "This isn't right," he repeated. "This isn't how things are supposed to be."
She nodded. She was paler than ever. "There was nothing we could do," she said and Merlin wondered if she'd had a vision, if she'd seen Arthur die when Merlin hadn't (had but didn't remember).
Merlin felt something hot and angry lick at his chest. "No," he said, pushing Morgana's hands away and standing up. "There has to be."
He heard Morgana call his name as he left the room but she didn't come after him and he didn't stop to hear her questions.
The lights burning in the Dragon's cave seemed dimmer somehow or maybe that was just Merlin's mood.
"Where are you?" Merlin shouted. There were only so many places the Dragon could hide and Merlin wasn't in the mood to be kept waiting. "Hello?"
"What do you want, young warlock?" The Dragon's disembodied voice seemed to be coming from all around and it took Merlin a minute to find him, curled on a ledge high above Merlin, one eye and the leathery spread of one wing the only things visible.
"I need," Merlin started to say then stopped. He didn't know what to ask for. He just knew he needed Arthur back. "Do you know what's happened?" he asked instead. "Has anyone told you?" Merlin hesitated, not sure if anyone else visited the Dragon.
"I know," the Dragon said. Merlin had never heard him sound so grave. Merlin tucked his hands into his sleeves and tried to ignore the shiver of dread running down his spine.
"Well?" Merlin asked. "What can I do?"
The Dragon shook his head. It had the alarming effect of sending small rocks flying every which way but Merlin found it hard to care, let alone duck.
Maybe it was Merlin's imagination, but he thought the Dragon looked sad, defeated maybe. "You made a deal with someone not of this time. I could not foresee that, nor can I condone it."
"Wait," Merlin said. "Are you blaming me? You can't blame me. You're the one who's all 'don't let Arthur find out about your magic' and all I did was stop that happening. This wasn't-." He sucked in a breath. "This wasn't supposed to happen."
The Dragon's tail swished into view then out again. "Together, you and Arthur were supposed to bring magic back to Camelot," he said softly. "Now it seems that is not to be."
Merlin balled his hands into fists, feeling his nails cut into palms. He'd never felt like this, this helpless and this determined to do something about it. "It is possible," he said firmly. "I'm going to fix this."
He could feel the Dragon watching him until he was out of sight.
"What?" Gaius asked him, his eyes wide and worried. "Merlin, you're not serious."
Merlin nodded fast. He'd already explained once, tripping over his own words, but he was prepared to do it again and again until Gaius understood. "I'm serious, Gaius," he promised. "Trust me; I've never been this serious."
"Time travel?" Gaius shook his head.
"She said she had some influence over time," Merlin said, ignoring Gaius's doubts. "Do you know of anything with that kind of power?"
"No," Gaius said, but it was the elongated sort of no that meant maybe. He stood up, pulling a book off the shelf and quickly flipping pages. "Merlin," he said, finger pressed to the top of one page. "What did you say this young lady was called?"
"Verdandi," Merlin told him, starting to spell it when Gaius didn't answer.
Gaius help up a hand. "I think you may have met a Norn."
"A what?" Merlin asked, standing up so he could read the book over Gaius's shoulder. Gaius hated that.
"See here." Gaius pointed to a particular line, reading it aloud as Merlin read along with him. "'Verdandi is one of a trio of Norns. They hold the thread of life in their hands and are responsible for deciding the fates of man.'"
"What?" Merlin asked. An image of Verdandi's bracelet flashed into his mind, the complicated interwoven threads of silk that she'd been so desperate to get back that she'd fought a three-headed, four-tailed monster for.
"She's a Fate," Gaius said. "She literally controls your destiny." His face went firm and serious. "Nothing that's happened can have been an accident, Merlin."
Merlin felt suddenly furious. It was a strangely wonderful feeling after all the numbness. "Are you saying she set me up?"
"Not exactly," a voice said from behind him and Merlin jumped, heart beating too fast as he turned around to see Verdandi standing behind him. She was glowing in a way that he was sure she hadn't before; she looked otherworldly and powerful.
"Who are you?" Merlin demanded, aware that he was shouting but not really able to stop.
She shrugged, her smile dimming but not quite melting all the way off. "You know what I am, Merlin," she said with a nod to Gaius.
Merlin stalked forward. "Was this some kind of test?"
"Well, not at first," she said, sounding contrite but not contrite enough for Merlin.
"This was a test?" He couldn't get passed that. Arthur was dead as a test.
"I lost my bracelet," she said. "That was genuine. But when you and Arthur came to my aid, it was too good an opportunity to miss."
Fire lapped at his insides and between one blink and the next, Verdandi was flying backwards across the room, slamming into the wall and books falling around her.
"Merlin," Gaius snapped but Merlin didn't listen.
"Woah," Verdandi said, stumbling to her feet. "That's an awful lot of power you've got there."
"I'm just getting started," Merlin said and he wasn't sure if he meant it, if he could really do all the things to this girl that he was suddenly imagining, all the ways he could punish her for taking Arthur. He thought he would do anything to have Arthur back again.
She rubbed her shoulder, holding her arm awkwardly. Merlin felt sick and satisfied all at once that he'd hurt her. Then he just felt sick.
"Merlin," she said, strangely gentle. "You're going to be sorcerer to the greatest king Camelot will ever see. We had to know you knew what you were fighting for."
Merlin heard her first sentence but couldn't quite take it in. "I am?" he asked then interrupted himself. That wasn't the point. "Do you believe that I do? That I know what I'm fighting for."
She smiled softly. Her hand dropped down from her shoulder and he wondered if that had been another bluff, if he really had been able to hurt someone as powerful as she must be. "Tell me what Arthur means to you, Merlin," she said.
Merlin had a million possible answers ready. But he stopped, suddenly seeing clearly. He thought of the frustration and fun of arguing with Arthur, the exhilaration of kissing him and the peace of sleeping beside him. He thought about how it felt to wake one morning and find that Arthur was gone.
Merlin opened his mouth and said, "Everything."
The smile he got was blinding, literally, reminiscent of the bright flash of light that had sent him back in time the first time.
"Perfect," Verdandi said and the light flared brighter.
Merlin found himself on a horse.
The sun was shining, almost blinding him and the horse smelt really, really bad. But Merlin didn't pay attention to any of that. Arthur was riding in front of him.
Merlin brought a hand up to his eyes, rubbing them, wanting to make sure this wasn't some cruel trick of the light, but no. There was Arthur, Arthur was there; Arthur was alive.
All the breath went out of Merlin's body. "Arthur," he said, before he could stop himself.
Arthur turned, smiling an easy, questioning smile. He was unarguably alive and whole, his cheeks and eyes bright from the ride.
"Nothing," Merlin said, which got him a quizzical look and an eyeroll before Arthur turned back to face front.
Merlin had to close his eyes for a minute in relief. "Are we there yet?" he made himself call out. He had no idea where they were going. He didn't care.
Arthur's laugh was carefree. "Have some patience," he called back.
Merlin opened his mouth to retort something, he didn't know what. He was glad Arthur couldn't see his face; Merlin didn't like to think what kind of relief and wonder might be written there.
Merlin glanced down at the ground, focusing on the path they were taking while he fought to make his expression more neutral. Which was the only reason that he saw the snake.
He watched it swish through the grass by Arthur's horse's hoof, saw the branch above Arthur's head that he would hit if his horse reared up from a bite and realised what must have happened last time, what had killed Arthur. Morgana had been right; what a stupid accident.
Merlin hissed out a sharp command and the snake spun once in a confused circle before slithering fast in the opposite direction. Arthur rode out from under the canopy of the oak tree, uninjured.
Merlin wasn't sure his heart could take much more of this.
"Did you say something?" Arthur called back over his shoulder.
Merlin's eyes were burning; his heart was beating too fast. He'd saved Arthur; that had to be the last of it; this had to be over. "No," he said then, "Yes. Can we stop?"
Arthur pulled his horse to a halt and turned to face Merlin when Merlin drew up beside him. "Is something wrong?" he asked.
"No," Merlin said, "Nothing." He reached across to Arthur, wrapping his hand around the back of Arthur's neck, thumb stretched to feel his pulse.
Arthur's eyes darted left and right while he licked his lips. "Here?" he asked.
Merlin hadn't even been thinking about kissing, he'd just wanted to touch. Now he was thinking about kissing. "Yes," he said and kissed Arthur hard. Arthur exhaled into Merlin's mouth and Merlin tasted fresh air on his breath.
Merlin definitely knew what he was fighting for.
/End |
Jade looked down at her timetable and excitement fluttered in her stomach. She already knew what class she had but just seeing it written down was exciting. Omorashi, one of her favourites. The class was always third period, so clean up could be done during lunch, or a double period spread over fourth and fifth so that if any of them broke the rules they would have to stay behind after lessons for even more sweet torture. There was homework like any other class, sometimes it was to find somewhere public and wet a diaper or to do a hold outside of class, and it was the work that Jade looked forward to even more than the required masturbation. It was also a requirement for two bottles of water to be drank during form time on the days of any Omorashi lessons so students would be ready to participate when the right school bell rang.
There went the bell and, boy, was Jade ready. The water she'd had to drink in front of her form earlier weighed heavily in her bladder but, unlike last lesson, she wasn't already desperate and so could confidently walk past her teacher into the class room.
"You look more prepared this lesson, Miss Harley." She pointed out with a cool smirk that most of the teachers seemed to have. She was tall, with dark red hair and lipstick to match. She wore sleek black heels, a red wine coloured blouse and a dark grey suit jacket and pencil skirt.
"I am, Miss." Jade said proudly and took her seat in the centre of the classroom. It wasn't usual that British schools had separate desks and seats for each student, unlike American schools, but some of the classes found the layout more useful for their particular subject. This was one of them. With each student at least a foot apart it was easy to see who was going to wet themselves first. Jade was torn. Half of her wanted to be the first to break, to have all her desperate classmates watch her with arousal and jealousy as pee trickled down her legs, the other half wanted to prove she wasn't going to loose it in the first ten minutes like last time. Everyone was sat down now, Jade looked over to where Dave was sat next to the wall to her right and gave him a smile. He nodded back coolly, giving a little shift in his chair already. Their teacher walked to her desk and the front of the classroom, each click of her heels giving Jade tingles.
"Now class, am I right in assuming everyone has drunk their water today?" She asked with a confident smile. Everyone nodded.
"Good, good. It's important we keep you all hydrated, isn't it?"She smirked as she sat down to face the class.
"Has anyone drunk any extra?" A few people shyly raised their hands, including Dave. Jade realised that must be why he was already showing signs of needing to go, usually he kept cool until the very end.
"Well then good luck to you all." She hummed and Jade felt a shiver go down her spine. "Into your positions please."Everyone, some a little reluctantly, spread their legs apart until they hit the legs of the desk and put their hands on their desks. From her desk at the front their teacher could see pretty much everyone. Those who had worn trousers or skirts, those with panties and those without. Jade pressed her feet into the ground, ready to take on her class.
The rules were quite simple. Everyone drank their water in the morning, then took their position at the start of class. The first person to put their legs together would receive some sort of punishment, usually another glass to drink, but then the rest of the class was allowed to put their legs together too. It went on through the various stages. First legs together, then crossing your legs, then moving around a lot and finally using your hands. Jade had quite often received punishments and still wasn't sure whether she did or didn't want any today.
The first five minutes went by quietly, the teacher having chosen to not give them a distraction such as a lecture or video, or the 'all clear' to talk to each other. Jade liked it this way, looking around at her fellow classmates she could see who's thighs were shaking, who's feet were tapping and who's forehead had started to glisten with sweat. She looked up at the teacher and gulped. The woman had her legs spread as wide was her pencil skirt allowed and her eyes seemed to pierce through everyone sat in Jade's column. The water filling her bladder made it's self known. Jade shifted her hips and her teacher smirked. The lady stood to hitch up her skirt to her hips and sat down again, this time spreading her legs as far as they could go to reveal her white lace panties. There were quite a few more shuffles and shifts around the room. Eyes still on the centre row the woman let her desperation start to show. For the next few minutes she shifted, wiggles and winced, putting on a show for them. Then she gasped softly and her hips bounced a little as a small leak made a yellowy spot on her panties.
Slowly one of the girls to Jade's right put her legs together.
Their teacher smirked and stood, pouring a tall glass of water and taking it over for the girl to drink. She stood over her as she drank, not showing how desperate she was any more. Once the girl was done she nodded in approval and took her seat once more. As soon as their teacher sat down pretty much everyone pushed their legs together instantly,Jade was one of them and she looked over to see, unsurprisingly Dave hadn't. Dave liked to stay a stage or two behind the class, showing off, but Jade could tell he wouldn't last as long today.
Another five minutes went by, people wiggled their hips, rubbed their thighs together and clenched their fists, but no one had crossed their legs yet. Their teacher gave another smirk before crossing her own legs and suddenly seeming on the brink of letting go once more. The woman moved about in her chair, giving little moans and whimpers, bouncing her leg desperately. Dave's legs slowly closed. She gave a little jump and a squeak, pushing her hands to her crotch and trying to hold off the floor. Tension was high in the room, all eyes on their teacher. Jade was about to cross her legs, her teacher squirming and whimpering making her want to do the same. Someone else beat her to it. A boy way on the front row crossed his legs with a small whimper, gripping the desk tightly.
Their teacher stopped her show and chuckled, pouring him only a half class and watching him drink, slowly and with a shaky hand, before sitting back down again. Jade crossed her legs tightly and clenched her muscles. This was getting good. This time their teacher went straight back to giving them the works, looking as if she was about to piss herself. She was flushed and sweaty, bouncing in her chair and bending over to hold her crotch tightly. Jade felt particularly bad pang of desperation so she bend forwards, her chest nearly on the desk, and managed to ride it out without moving too much. She looked over at Dave to see him in almost as bad a state as she was. Another pleading whimper came from their teacher and Dave suddenly crossed his legs tightly and bounced his hips a few times to keep the flood inside.
Jade felt a hot flush of arousal as the sound of water filling a glass echoed through the room. Dave stared up at her as he took the glass, looking almost as if he were about to grab a hold of himself too, but then started to down the glass to get it over with quickly. His cool façade down, some water dribbling down his chin, Dave let the class see that he needed to go. Jade started to moved about in her seat like rest of her classmates as soon as the teacher sat back down again. She let out a soft whimper and clutched the edges of her desk tightly. Clenching her muscles and squirming hips around was only going to help for a certain amount of time and she knew this very well. A few more aching minutes past.
"Everyone legs apart until I say otherwise." The teacher announced, standing up. "Starting... Now." People groaned and whimpered as they quickly pushed their legs apart.Jade was one among them, her foot bouncing and her hips unable to stay in place as she desperately tried to stop her self wetting.
"H-how long for, Miss?" One of the girls asked.
"Until I say so." The woman replied with a vicious smirk and Jade let out a whimper.
Jade's thighs quivered, her muscles clenched and her hips wiggled to try and keep her pee inside. Many people with in the same state as her but she gasped as suddenly a small spurt pushed it's way out. She looked up to find her teacher looking piercingly down at her. The woman's eyes focused on Jade's wet crotch, then she made eye contact. Without warming the woman spread her legs apart a bit, threw her head back and let out a moan as she let out a decent dribble of pee. It trailed down her smooth legs to her heeled shoes and no one could take her eyes off her. Dave let out a soft grunt and that was it. Jade couldn't do it any more. In a flash she'd crossed her legs and was squeezing her crotch with one of her hands, the other clutching the desk.
"Legs together." Their teacher said cooly, pouring full glass of water and slowly walking to Jade's desk. The air was hot and heavy, the room was filled with soft pants and soft rustles of fabric. Jade let out a whimper as the glass was set down at her table. Shakily she used her free hand to pick up the glass and start drinking as fast as she could. Her stomach ached and her bladder burned but she couldn't let go yet. With a glance up at her teacher and a small sob she finished the water then used both hands to hold herself. After that everyone had their hands on their crotches.
"Very good." Their teacher purred, sending a shiver down Jade's spine, then the woman spread her legs slightly again and pulled her panties half way down her thighs. She was still stood directly in front of Jade. She was doing this for her and Jade knew it would be torturous. With another gorgeous moan the woman started peeing once more. Jade's mouth went dry and she couldn't keep her eyes off her teachers shaved crotch as pee flowed out from her. Jade whimpered and held herself tighter as she watched. The golden liquid trailed down the woman's legs and puddled on the floor, several people moaned and whimpered as their teacher did. Finally her stream tapered off and she panted a little as she straightened herself up again.
"Hmmm." Their teacher pulled her panties back up, pushed her skirt down and took her place and the front of class once again. Jade sucked in a breath and squirmed desperately, her fingers rubbing her damp panties against her clit as she did so. She glanced over at Dave who nearly had his head on the desk and couldn't keep still. Suddenly her need increased and Jade let out a whine as she massaged her crotch and wriggled about, bouncing her hips needily. Oh god, oh god, there was no one at her level of desperation yet, she was gunna go down first she knew it. A strong surge of arousal hit her and she hummed loudly, feeling another spurt hit her hand. There was no helping it now, it was only a matter of time.
And it wasn't long either. She had to pee. Now. Despite her best efforts Jade couldn't hold back and more and pee was pushing past her fingers. It soaked her hands and her panties, leaving damp marks on her skirt and pooling on the chair and the floor. Everyone was watching her as she moaned in relief, letting her hands fall away and her thighs slide open. It felt wonderful. Slowly her stream slowed to stop and she looked around to see who else was going down. Quite a few people had leaked small puddles in their chair, no one could keep still and a lot of people stared at the puddles of piss at Jade's feet. Almost shyly she moved a hand back to rub at herself through the ruined which cotton, shivering pleasurably at the drag of the wet fabric.
Then people left and right let out shuddering moans, soft curses and whines as they too let go of their floods. Pee soaked down and formed puddles under the desks until their was only one person left. It was a girl Jade couldn't remember the name of white light pink hair. She panted and whimpered then suddenly moaned and spread her legs, letting go all at once and forcing a strong stream of piss to pour out of her. Once she was done Jade glanced over to see Dave was also rubbing himself through his soaked trousers, she came to the realisation most of the class were.
"You have ten minutes till clean up." Their teacher announced and Jade didn't bother to hold back a moan as she rubbed her fingers once more on her clit. This time was for people to get off on what had just happened. They had ten minutes to fuck, wank or just bask in the pee soaked class room. Dave seemed to have the same idea and put his forehead against the desk, shoving his hands down his pants to jack off. Jade leant back and spread her legs, rubbing her clit in firm circles until she couldn't hold back and came loudly into her pants.
As she came down from her high she watched Dave bring himself to released and moaned with him when he further ruined his pants. Dave was usually so straight faced it was quite a show to watch him come undone. Once the ten minutes was up and everyone who wanted on had had at least one orgasm, they started to tidy the room. Some people washed the chairs, other mopped and some collected their clothes for washing. Only when everyone was stood at least half naked at their spotless desks were they allowed to put on their clean clothes and leave.
Jade loved her Omorashi class. |
The Citadel was far more quiet than Ignis could remember it being throughout his childhood. It was a peculiar realization that made the hairs on the backs of his arms stand straight up. The little niggling feeling of dread, of something watching him, returned the moment he stepped through the towering doors. But the silence remained.
And now knowing that the Crystal lurked just beyond, always listening and forever casting its ethereal glow...
He should have noticed it as a little boy. He should have realized that there had always been something lurking. It shouldn't have taken the Omen to have realized that there had always been something there... slinking through his mind, feeding.
The thought made Ignis swallow. Hard.
They were quick in heading toward the King's Inner Chambers, the Glaive following behind with a slowness that Ignis could tell was somewhere between confusion and suspicion. The man had every right to feel that way; it wasn't every day that a member of the Royal Crownsguard and personal Chamberlain to the Crown Prince himself exchanged pedantic Galahdian traditional fighting just to lay eyes on a weapon.
But the price had been worth it. Ignis had carried around one of the Kukri for ten years in a world of unending night. The other, nestled in the ruins of the once beautiful Insomnia, had been been him for a much shorter time. Yet... it had been a weapon that Ignis had quickly adapted himself to use. It had been a perfect mix of weight and power, and it had gone seamlessly into the Armiger.
When Noctis had died... Ignis could remember the feeling of the smooth hilt of the weapon disintegrating in his hands.
It hadn't even been hours, and yet for Ignis it could have been a lifetime ago. And in each second it felt like the weight was pushing further into his stomach, a weight that had blossomed through his chest... The pain would never fade away, just like Ignis knew that he didn't want it to go. If it left him, if he dared to forget what the Omen of the Stars had told him...
He would not forget Noctis.
This was for Noctis. Only Noctis.
Ignis turned his head to the side, seeing Noctis next to him, trying to hide the way he was discreetly looking at Ignis. Had it been before, had it been when they had first set out all those long years ago, Ignis knew he would have made some kind of comment to Noctis to try and rouse him from his own wandering thoughts. Yet now...
He wondered if Noctis was thinking of the same things he was. He wondered if Noctis could understand...
He had hoped the battle would have shown Noctis through actions rather than just words what he said was the truth. Noctis had watched him fight, had sparred with him and against him and beside him enough times to be well acquainted with the way he fought. If Ignis could remember clearly, though it was still difficult to pull the pieces apart at times, he had been connected to the Arsenal for years. Their magic coalesced in ways that had baffled Ignis at first. Yet it had always been that way, and so Ignis had never once questioned why he could pull magic from nothingness the way Regis himself could.
Noctis... Noctis had never been so in tune with the magic, at least not in the same manner. He had perfected the Armiger, had taken in the weapons of his long-deceased ancestors who had given their lives in a constant battle of sadness and misery. Yet his magic...
It made sense, now. If it were true, if the Crystal had bonded to Ignis as a young boy...
He could understand why the sparks came to his hand, how they licked and caressed at his skin in a way that had always felt so right and yet so very wrong. And he could understand some of the terror inside Noctis, because not knowing would have almost have been better.
Noctis had the right to be scared, to be confused. Ignis himself could barely hold himself together. But despite this, Ignis could see it in the way his lover would occasionally turn toward him, as though he were readying himself to say something. Anything.
And then Noctis would clamp down his hands and shake his head so softly that Ignis could have believed it was a trick of the light if not for the weariness in his blue eyes.
The entire day had been more than Ignis could bear, and he wanted to be back in Noct's rooms or in their apartment again with just Noctis around him. Yet at every turn, every moment where he thought he would have a moment to speak with Noct, something else pulled him in. Ever pressing duties, requirements, obligations.
The trip to pick up the Glaive had been just so that Ignis could hear himself think, even for just a moment. And even though the ride there had been silent, the sound of the Regalia had almost made Ignis weep. He hadn't driven her since... Since Altissia. Since the Wall of Water.
Since his blindness.
He could have taken that moment to explain to Noctis, to tell him of his blindness, of the loss of his sight, but... it was almost trivial in comparison to what Noctis had lost.
The darkness may have taken his sight, but Ignis had never lost his heart. He had never lost his life.
He knew that Noctis would never brand him weak, but the thought of Noctis knowing all of what had transpired made Ignis feel like a powerless rag doll. He had been that once, but not again. He could not be powerless, a feckless infant in the eyes of the Prophecy. But he would tell Noctis anything, because Noctis deserved it. And the Prophecy would never hurt Noctis.
Not if he were to stop it. Not if he were to end it, to figure out how to break the Crystal's Omen.
Ignis caught sight of the Glaive again as they rounded the corner into one of the side rooms, passing by members of the Crownsguard who seemed poised to ask questions. Thankfully whatever his face said was enough to not need words.
The Glaive... Ignis hoped that it was true that the Ring had accepted the man before him as worthy of the power of the Lucii... even if he had perished.
It was a terrible thought that Ignis had to fight against, but it took all of him not to grab the Glaive by the back of the neck and throw him in front of the King, to rip the ring off his aching hand and force it onto Nyx Ulric. Damn the responsibility of the line of Lucis Caelum. Damn Ardyn for failing to end the Scourge. Damn Bahamut and the other Astrals for bringing the Crystal and the Ring to Eos and presenting it like a poisoned chalice to a man dying of thirst in the desert.
Ignis didn't care about the Glaive's life; it was cold, perhaps, but Ignis had lived in a world without sun for ten long years. He had grown used to the cold.
Ignis stopped in front of the door into King Regis's private quarters, surveying the two guards stationed out front. They were members of the Crownsguard; Ignis couldn't place their names, but their faces looked vaguely familiar. It was not enough to trust them, but... The King could hardly dismiss them, not without causing more attention.
The man on the right rapped his knuckles across the door before stepping away.
"Your Highness. His Majesty awaits."
The door opened and a harried Clarus took his position in front of the three.
"That took longer than expected," the man remarked. There was a pointedness to his words that reminded Ignis of his son so sharply that it nearly took away his breath. He sounded just as Gladio had. "And you look half dead on your feet."
"Apologies. There were matters that needed attending to." Ignis chose not to respond to the second half, though he did notice the Shield staring at the hole in his shirt.
"A pissing contest," Noctis said. "Real impressive."
"As if I would have been anything less."
Clarus said nothing, instead moving to the side with a sweeping of his arms, his gold and black Shield uniform clinking against the metal door.
Noctis went in first, followed by Ignis. Nyx Ulric followed behind and bent in deference to Regis.
"Rise, Nyx Ulric. You are here for a very special purpose. Clarus, the door."
When Clarus shut the door he turned and braced himself against it. For Ignis it had been a welcome relief, but he was sure that the Glaive was more than a little uncomfortable. From the way he quickly assessed the King's Inner Chambers, it was clear he was looking for a way to escape if things went south.
It wasn't the first time Ignis had been inside the King's Inner Chambers, though it was like looking through a glass. The other side was the same and yet looked so different, though Ignis couldn't tell just how.
Regis sat at a table lined with a map, the edges frayed and warped. Ignis had to wonder how many times the man had sat at that very table with the map of the Tenebrae lands, letting the pads of his fingers work against the paper until the ink had faded.
Their continued talk had mentioned her, and Ignis had been sure that Regis had withdrawn breath too quickly when Ignis mentioned her fate and her ties to the dawn. Of course, it came as no shock, but the pain of her death had been enough to shake something in the King.
Lady Lunafreya...
Ignis allowed his face to go slack. Thinking of Lady Lunafreya always brought him back to the water, always back to the bleeding seas and the screaming while Noctis lay dying. He could remember her dress stained with black as she slipped into the water.
Then the searing pain as his eyes burned.
She had done her duty well, had fulfilled her destiny. And yet there was the never-ending question of why. Why had she kept it secret? Why had she given Noctis the ring and yet never told him of the fate that would be forced for him to bear like a crown of thorns? Both she and Regis owed Noctis the truth, and if Ignis could change the stars, then he would very well force them...
There was so much Noctis did not know.
And part of Ignis now knew just what they may have felt, wanting to conceal the cruelty from Noctis. But Ignis knew better; he knew Noctis in a way that they did not. And in the ten years of silence, in uncovering every line he could of the immortal Accursed... Ignis had know with more fierceness than ever that Noctis deserved the truth. She owed that to him.
And the shattered man who had emerged from the Crystal... Ignis would never let that happen again. He would not let it.
"Please, have a seat. We'll be here for a while yet." The King gestured to the leather chairs, Noctis already picking one to plop himself down in. He rested his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward, looking down at the map.
"Your Majesty—"
"You as well, Ulric."
Ignis took the seat closest to Noctis, leaning over to see the red lines traced over the paper. He looked to the fresh marks, ignoring the others. As far as he was aware, Regis had never once tried to bring those plans into fruition.
The Glaive looked at the other chair on the opposing side before sitting straight-backed and uncomfortable.
"Glaive Ulric, what is spoken of this day does not leave this room. Do you understand?"
"Your Majesty—"
"This can not be spoken of to anyone. Not your fellow Glaive, your friends, nor your Captain." Regis's green eyes stared forward at the man, and Ignis could see the scars at his left temple flare red for just a moment. "It is of grave importance. You... you are the only one I can trust in this matter."
The Glaive looked to Ignis then. "Does this have something to do with my Kukris, Your Majesty?"
"Would you accept my answer and not question it?"
The man nodded. "Of course, Your Majesty."
Ignis looked at Regis. "The Kukris were of less import than knowing that you can wield them appropriately," the King lied. "Though you are of my Glaive, Ignis is considered an important member of the Crownsguard. If you could handle yourself in an impromptu battle against him, then I believe you will be able to handle anything that may come to pass during your journey."
"Journey?"
Noctis reached out, sliding his boot under him as he inspected the maps. "Tenebrae... Luna?" He blinked at the paper, reaching out to let the tips of his finger touch the red slash across a wilderness of trees and greenery.
"Princess Lunafreya? As in the Oracle, Your Majesty?" Ulric asked.
"One in the same. There is something underfoot occurring with Niflheim—the battle at the Wall earlier in the week was proof of that."
Ignis did not remember much of the battle—only that it had rattled Regis enough to consider the treaty an option of some sort. But Cid's words rang in Ignis's ears long after they had been spoken...
Lucis had been dealt a losing hand, and Regis had done his best with the cards he had. But those cards had been people. It was no wonder the Kingsglaive had turned on him in their moment of grief, particularly with Drautos at the helm. It would be something Ignis knew they would need to take care of in the near future, but he still had no idea how.
Even knowing bits and pieces hadn't been enough. Ignis wished that he had tried to piece together more about the time between when he pulled Noctis from the sheets of his bed and when the call came from Cor about the fall.
Yet there were no restarts, and they would make do the best they could. And if Lady Lunafreya not being a tactical pawn (and perhaps removing Ravus from the equation as well—before losing an arm) would help... Ignis was willing to push back his questions. At least until she was there, until he could stand before her and ask her the questions that had plagued him like the falling ash.
Why did you let him die?
Ignis removed himself from the thoughts and looked to Noctis.
There was something on his face, a deepness that Ignis only ever saw when he was thinking of Lady Lunafreya.
She had always been... she had always been Noctis's burden. He had blamed himself for her capture, blamed himself for him living tucked away within Insomnia's Walls while she suffered.
It was unfair to her, Ignis knew. It was no fault of her own that Niflheim had attacked her home and killed her mother, imprisoning her and her brother. He felt nothing but pity for her in that regard, a caged bird only left to sing sweet, mournful tunes through the metal bars of her tomb. The only freedom afforded to her had been that of her duties as Oracle... The duties that had led to Noctis pinned to the throne...
The same duties that had led her to her death.
And yet she was nothing but a constant reminder to Noctis of the calling of the Crystal, a calling that Ignis now knew as a sweet siren's song into the inky void.
How much did she know?
In the ten years of darkness, Ignis had searched high and low for anything of Lunafreya. The book that she and Noctis had wrote in as children had disappeared—none knew where it had gone. He had searched the Arsenal for it, but never felt it. The damage to Tenebrae's castle had been massive, but even after the fires stopped burning the number of daemons that had taken to calling the dusting of trees against the mountainous ranges of the sylleblossom-spotted land had made the trip perilous.
He had gone with Prompto and Aranea that single time, searching for a lock of hair, a teardrop, a book of stamps where she may have licked the back or sliced her finger. The scientists could have used that to fashion something of the Oracle, something to bring back the dawn or at least fight back against the tidal wave of daemons purged from the ground.
But all Ignis had found was the charred remnants of a long-dead castle, the foliage rotting through the stone.
Nature had taken Tenebrae back.
They had left it as it belonged.
But still...
"You're going to rescue Luna."
"Not I, Noctis. Glaive Ulric will be charged with her care."
Noctis blinked and frowned, looking at the man. "They're not going to let her go without a fight. One Glaive against the entire empire? Not happening. Not without Luna getting hurt."
Ignis noticed the way Nyx's shoulders stiffened.
"No offense," Noctis added, though it was clear from his baleful expression that he certainly did not care if offense was taken or not. "But a solo Glaive to save Luna sounds like a suicide mission."
"Your Highness, I take my duty seriously." Ignis wondered if the Glaive was aware at how impolite his tone was, but he stopped himself from interrupting. "If His Majesty wants Princess Lunafreya, then I will get her."
"I have no doubt of that. You are perhaps one of the best of my Glaive. Noctis, I know you care for Luna... but if what we know is true, leaving her with them will only cause more strife... and I cannot send a fleet."
The entire Wall had come down in the vain hopes to protect her. It had come down when it could have stayed... when it could have nestled them safely within the Walls, at least for a little longer.
Even if Ardyn was knocking on the Wall with his bare fists, this time Ignis was sure that he would not be getting in... Not in the way he wanted to. Not without Ignis ripping him apart with his own bare hands.
And yet even then Ignis knew that what he wanted to do with Ardyn was impossible; wishful thinking, dark dreams of destruction and devastation. What he had done to Not, what he had done to Eos... the husk of the planet, the frightened populace, his burning home...
Noctis, locked inside of a Crystal, never to escape.
There would be no pity.
Not from him.
"I want to go with him."
"Absolutely not. After Glaive Ulric takes his leave we will begin processes for containment."
Ignis looked to Regis, then to Clarus. The stern resolve across their brows was steely in its resolve. "Then we will not surrender."
"You're thinking about a siege—" Noctis responded, "but that isn't going to work. Not this time. Not with what's going on." He reached up and pulled at an unruly bit of his hair, a bad habit that Ignis had known he had never been able to break from the Prince.
"Your Majesty," Nyx interrupted, "I think I'm missing something. What's going on?" He repeated Noctis's words back.
Regis peered up to the Glaive with pale green eyes. A few of the hairs rubbed against his lips as he looked to form his words. "There... there is a matter of the highest national security, Nyx Ulric." His tongue darted out to touch his bottom lip. He did not look nervous, but Ignis could still see the hint of a tremor in his hand. "There are those within the Kingsglaive who we have knowledge are planning an assault against the city within the fortnight."
"A... a traitor." The Glaive stood, pushing back from his chair. The leather chair clunked against the floor below with a deep sound that set Ignis's teeth on edge.
Nyx forced himself to his knee, refusing to look up. "Are you certain?"
He should not have made this request of the King, not even in the candor of the King's Inner Chambers.
Ignis could not fault him. The shock of finding out about Drautos had left a heave weight on Ignis long after his meeting with Libertus and a handful of the other Glaive who had remained loyal. One had even mentioned having seen Marilynn within a throng of refugees heading for Altissia after the Wall had fallen.
In the ten years of darkness, he had heard... nothing.
One of the millions lost to the Scourge, the Daemons, or the water.
"Unfortunately so. We have been given irrefutable proof to some of those involved in the treachery."
The air was tense, thick like the rolling ache in Ignis's stomach.
"Then... I'll go to Tenebrae. I'll bring back Princess Lunafreya."
"I will be in your debt, Nyx Ulric." Regis looked to Noctis then, rubbing his palms together. "Have you sent Luna a response in your notebook?"
Noctis picked at his nail, a flush to his cheeks. "No. Not yet. I was gunna do it today. I... I can tell her about this."
"Please. Tell her she must not be caught. Pack nothing and have Gentiana bar the door. This may be our only chance to secure her passage. Clarus, get Ulric everything he'll need for the journey."
Ignis interrupted then. "Your Majesty, I think it would be best if you link him to your Arsenal. Getting information back and forth without a secure phone line would be a challenge... The Arsenal would allow them access to whatever they need and unmitigated safety."
"We used to send notes through the Arsenal. It's faster and Niflheim won't be able to infiltrate it."
Regis looked at his son. "I can only imagine the kind of chaos you have caused with that knowledge."
Noctis shrugged. "You telling me you never tried it out?"
Ignis remembered the scraps of letters he had pulled from the ether and how he had wept over them, unable to read the words. Prompto had offered once to read them, but Ignis had only curled his fingers against the paper and smelled them. He could almost pretend like he could smell Noctis's cologne on the pages.
Regis did not respond, though there was a small smile pulling at his lips. "Then we have it, Nyx Ulric. It would make you an official member of the Crownsguard. Would you be willing to enter into the bond?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Good. We'll see it done."
The rest of the meeting was short, only filling in what little Regis thought that Nyx would need to know of how best to secure passage through Lucis.
"First, head to Hammerhead. Cid will be able to fit you with anything you may need for your vehicle; we can't send you with an Insomnia-made car. You'll attract far too much attention."
Ignis had been able to impart some of the knowledge of the Havens spread across the map, marking down in particular a shack on the outskirts of the Three Valleys.
"You'll find a hunter here named Dave. Give him a potion and help him to the Hunter's outpost in Longwythe. He may be willing to help you on your journey to Cape Caem. If anyone is to ask, you are a Hunter from Galahd, traveling to find a loved one. Board a ship to Altissia; when you arrive, Immigration will request your paperwork. The King will make sure to put one in before you arrive. If you receive any trouble, tell them you are there to learn Altissian culinary crafts under Weskham Armaugh."
They tracked across the map, Ignis pointing to locations, circling them with a blue marker. "Take the train here; it will only take a day or so to cross through to Tenebrae. I... I cannot help you further with Tenebrae except to tell you those who are employed to the Nox Fleurets will protect Lady Lunafreya, though not at the cost of her brother's health. Be careful with whom you trust."
And…
"There is a man you must avoid at all costs. His name is Ardyn Izunia. If you meet him on your travels, find a way to escape. Do not let Lady Lunafreya near him. I... I do not know if he will harm her now, but I can say for certain that his intentions are not welcome."
And do not trust Gentiana, Ignis wanted to tell him, but knew better. Gentiana, whose ice had destroyed the Infernian... whose ice had nearly killed him.
Gentiana, one of the Astrals, whose connection to the Crystal and Noct's life...
He would never trust her, no matter what Ardyn said of her fondness for humanity.
But he said nothing, and allowed excused himself when Regis and Clarus began the simple ceremony to give Nyx the powers of the Arsenal. Noctis excused himself as well, pushing his hands into his pockets as he told Regis and Nyx that he would head back to his apartment to get the book so that he could write to Lunafreya. He had wavered there for a moment before offering his hand to Nyx, who accepted the Prince's hand in a firm shake.
"Make sure she's safe. She's... she's been through enough."
They all had been through enough.
Ignis had wanted to go with him, but when he asked Noctis shook his head twice.
"Can I... can I do this on my own? I just... I need some time."
Some time to think. Some time to ponder what had happened that day. Some time away from Ignis.
It had stung, but Ignis had understood.
He wanted to kiss him there, standing in the King's Inner Chambers in front of Regis, Clarus and the Glaive. After having lived in a world without Noctis for ten years all he wanted to do was curl up with him and drown in the other man. But he knew what Noctis needed, and in that moment what he needed was a moment to breathe, to try and put some of the pieces down and to understand the puzzle that was before them.
So Ignis stayed at the castle, wandering the lobby and the chambers. He found his feet carrying him back toward the old library he had spent many sleepless nights curled in the dusty brown leather seats, two other three books propped on his lap as he explored places and people of long before. The smell of the parchment, the feather-light touch of the bindings, the way the paper felt in his hands... thousands of years of history that he had never managed to read all the way through. He had always imagined that there would be time in the future, but...
Bzzzzt. Bzzzzt.
Ignis reached down and pulled his phone out of the inside pocket of his jacket, looking at the small message that was truncated for length.
Iggy what's going on? My dad called and he's got Iris locked up in the house. She really pissed off and getting on my las—
Ignis swiped his finger across the message, continuing to read.
—t nerve. He said something happened this morning but won't go into detail. You still at the Citadel?
Ignis tapped out a quick reply.
I'm still here. Something happened this morning. It would be best if we spoke in person. Can you come by?
No go. Dad told me to stay put. There's a lot of commotion going on. Heard some top Niff came to see the King today.
Yes.
And?
Wait for your father. He'll fill in some of the details. Can you and Prompto come by Noct's apartment at dawn?
Oh, man. Now I know it's big. You want us to come by when the sun rises?
Ignis smiled for a moment until the next message came in.
You want Noct to die or something?
Ignis swallowed and typed out a simple, No.
Gladio didn't notice. We'll if it's gotta be dawn then I'll drag my ass out there.
Ignis clicked the button on his phone and placed it on the armrest nest to him. He folded his ankle over his knee and leaned back into the chair, ignoring the buzzing from his phone.
Closing his eyes, Ignis listened to the silence. The use of his eyes again after so long has been making his head spin since he picked himself up off the floor of the Throne Room.
It was the first moment to himself since the walk up to Noct's old room... it was the first time he had been left to his thoughts, rather than the constant action that had been required of him.
But now...
What on Eos was he supposed to do?
He had thought about it, what he would have done in this position, over a thousand times as he sat at the campfire, surrounded by the sting of warmth that couldn't warm the impenetrable cold. If he had the chance to change the fate, to change the stars, what would he have done?
And every time it always came back to Noctis. To protecting Noctis. To holding Noctis one more time in his arms. To keeping Noctis away from what tragedies would befall him.
He had dreamed of stringing Ardyn Izunia up and feeding him to the wild beasts that roamed Duscae. He even thought of the words, full of anger and spite, that he would yell at the King and Lady Lunafreya for their actions in leading Noctis down the path to the Dawn.
But now, sitting in the library with the feeling of the Crystal's Omen as a weight against his palms...
Ignis didn't have any idea of what to do next.
So, Ignis waited. He breathed in and out, listening for the sound of the Crystal which called to him, the humming that had begged for him to pay attention when he had yet to know what it was.
But more than that, he waited for the chiming from his phone to let him know when Noctis was ready for him. Noctis, whose entire world had been turned on his head. Noctis, whose questions Ignis would answer with absolute truth, even if it cut him open to tell.
If Noctis asked who had killed him, Ignis knew he would tell the truth.
Ardyn Izunia, a man who wanted death but equally wanted to watch the Lucis Caelum family suffer for their sins. Lady Lunafreya, a woman who had taken him by the hand and led him straight to the waters of the Hydraean's alter without so much as a whisper of what truly laid ahead. King Regis, who had known since Noctis was four that the Gods had both blessed and cursed Noctis to be the Martyr King who would die for their failures...
A man who had lost himself to the daemons. A woman who had lost herself to her duty. A father who had lost himself to his own mourning.
And the Crystal, its hues of pinks and purples that pulsed through the skies like a warning beacon.
And, if Ignis were honest with himself...
Ignis had killed Noctis, too. He should have done better, should have protected him. He could have figured out another way, figured out something that could have been done to bring the dawn without the surrender of Noctis's life. He had deserved so much more than what he had been given. They had deserved a life together as the dawn rose.
How long Ignis sat there, he wasn't sure. His fingers played with the scars on his hands and his eyelids fluttered, but he tried to block out everything but the familiar feelings of the Citadel and the quiet.
When his phone finally rang, he answered quickly.
"Iggy... can you come home?"
"I'll be there shortly."
A whisper of a thank you made Ignis's heart seize in his chest.
It didn't take long to get to his old car, the urge to take the Regalia again being a force he had to actively fight against. He almost laughed when he opened the door to his standard Crownsguard car, seeing the little moogle stuffed animal that Noctis had given him so many years ago hanging from the rearview mirror. An extra set of gloves sat in the dash, the music turned on to a low hum of classic pop music when he slid his keys into the ignition. Even the air freshener reminded Ignis of the way things used to be, how things were now...
In the World of Ruin, everything had smelled of death and decay.
The laugh bubbled up in Ignis's throat and he couldn't control it. It felt like ten years of poison trickling up from the surface and he couldn't control his hands, either, when the smashed into the steering wheel. The blaring of the car horn was a loud screech that barely covered up the sound of Ignis's voice, half twisted laughter and sobs.
It took three songs for Ignis to pull himself together enough to click his seatbelt into place. He felt like he had when he was nineteen again, falling apart and needing Noctis to pull him back together.
Had he learned nothing?
Ignis resisted the urge to shove his feelings into the deep recesses of his mind. Years of doing that had damaged him enough; he was older now. He knew now that the coping mechanisms he had used as a young man had nearly killed him more than once. The guilt, the fear, the constant anger at himself for not being good enough, not being able to do more... it was more than he could bear. He couldn't go back to that time, he couldn't submit to his own pain and terror again.
He managed to get to Noct's apartment building in only a few minutes. Just like when he had sunk into the Regalia's front seat, though he hadn't driven in years it felt like riding a bicycle. His hands turned, his foot moved, and he traversed the roads of Insomnia as the sun began to set. The sky was a blazing fire, perfect reds and blues and the impenetrable fog of pink that he shouldn't have been able to see.
His feet carried him past the doorman and the neighbors who gave him brief waves and pleasantries. He tried his best to smile, but from the looks on their faces he knew he had smiled too wide, his lips too open. But he was tired and all he wanted was for the elevator to take him away and he could be with Noctis.
He waited for the whirring and the sudden drop in his stomach as the elevator pulled him up to the pent house suite he and Noctis had called home. His own home was still in the Citadel—he hadn't bothered to even stop by his chambers since he had everything still at home with Noctis.
Ignis looked at the shiny metal doors, the filigree set into the metal. He could see his own face in the reflection.
He looked ill. It was the only thing that Ignis could clearly make out, despite his perfect sight. It was as if someone had taken a paintbrush to his face, blotting out the contours of his nose and the hollows of his cheeks. All Ignis could do was see the purple under his eyes, the trembling lips, the red painted like thick gloss across his skin. What a right mess he was...
But when the doors opened he was no longer looking at his own face, but instead it was Noctis.
"Hey..."
"Sorry for the wait."
Noctis shook his head and hesitantly reached out a hand into the elevator, palm up. "Don't worry about it. I just, uh, sent Luna a letter. Umbra's gone now."
Ignis didn't reply, instead reaching out for Noctis's hand. It was warm in his hand, so warm...
"Iggy... c'mon, let's get inside."
Ignis let Noctis guide him into the apartment, only letting go of Noctis's hand to pull off his shoes. He dropped the car keys on the counter next to the door and stared out into the apartment. It felt... it felt like walking through the ghost of a memory.
"I made some coffee..."
"Noct, it's well past suppertime."
Noctis scratched his head. "I just... I think we need to talk. You may need the help."
"... thank you."
Noctis minutely nodded and slowly reached out again for Ignis's hand. "I can order you some food if you want. Are you hungry?"
Though Ignis loved cooking, the thought of food made his stomach roll. "Perhaps tomorrow. I don't think I could handle it at the moment."
"Figured. We've got plenty of Cup Noodles stashed, so it shouldn't be too bad if you do."
Cup Noodles. Ignis could have laughed... how long had it been since he had a Cup Noodle?
"Maybe later."
They entered the living room, a cup of coffee set on the table with the milk and sugar bowl next to it, little granules of sugar sticking to the wood from where they spilled over. The spoon was still in the cup and it clanked against the side when Noctis picked it up and handed it to him.
It had been... a long time since Ignis had managed to get a cup of coffee. He savored the feeling of the warm cup on his hands, ignoring the peculiar texture from his scars. The smell was simply divine, and he had to resist the sudden temptation to down the entire cup.
And then Noctis reached out to touch his right cheek, pulling away damp fingers. "Didn't think a cup of coffee would make you cry. I mean, I know I'm a bad cook an' all, but that kinda stings—"
Ignis snorted back his tears. "I am making a fool of myself. My apologies, Noct..." He stared down into the inky black, steaming cup. "I'm sure it'll taste lovely. Not even you can spoil coffee."
"That's good to know..."
Ignis wiped at his eyes with the other hand and slowly sunk down into the couch, Noctis taking the cup from him and putting it back on the table.
"Specs... just take your time." He slid his feet under him and let his shoulder bump into Ignis's arm. "We've got all night."
All night... all night to tell the story of the summer that would never be, of the water, of the burns, of the freezing night and the bitter laughter of the Crystal as Noctis disappeared. The farewell to the sun, the pits of hell he had fought through in blindness.
Noctis returning and then once again saying his goodbyes.
Ignis didn't want to say it, but he did. He filled in everything he could and Noctis sat next to him, listening intently. He only asked a few questions here and there about what had happened, the long drawn out silences between Ignis's answers only tolerable because at some point Noctis had pulled Ignis's head into his lap.
How long they spoke, Ignis couldn't have been certain. What he did know was that he could see the twinkling of the stars and constellations, the moon full and pregnant hanging above them. Noctis's hand was gently caressing its way through his hair, fingertips running across the delicate skin of his forehead and up past his ears and back again. He could feel the teardrops on the back of his neck and felt his own eyes burning.
"Ignis." Noctis leaned down to kiss the spot where his own tear drops had fallen.
Ignis turned his head up to look at Noctis. His face was flushed, eyes rimmed red. There was a stillness to him that made parts of Ignis hurt that he could not express, and he just wanted things to be how they were before.
"I love you."
The words were like a weight lifting off his shoulders, a pain of ten years that had never given him a moment of peace.
Ignis reached up and slowly pulled Noctis down to him, kissing his dry lips. It felt like Noctis was air and Ignis was learning how to breathe.
Their kisses were slow and long and deep. Noctis took off Ignis's glasses, placing them on the table, before slowly pulling Ignis to his feet and bringing him to their bedroom.
It felt like home.
Noctis was gentle, and that was exactly what Ignis had needed. The feverish lovemaking of desperation and pain... he didn't want that. It would have reminded him of their last night together in the World of Ruin. He never wanted to feel that again, the way their bodies knew it was a goodbye and tried to take as much as they could.
Instead, Noctis was measured as he removed each piece of clothing from Ignis, making sure to lay him gently in the center of the bed. He kissed along the lines of Ignis's flat stomach and up the curve of his hip, letting his fingers play against the track of pale brown hair that led down his stomach. Every kiss was tempered, every word just what Ignis had so desperately needed.
Noctis did all of the work, which was rather different than usual. Noctis loved to be spoiled in bed, for Ignis to touch him and kiss him until he was a writhing mess in the sheets. But this time Noctis took care to prepare himself and then slotted their bodies together like two pieces of a puzzle.
Ignis pressed himself on his side as Noctis spooned in front of him. He gently lifted Noctis's leg, letting it drape over his thigh as he positioned himself to slip inside.
It was tight and warm and felt like things he had forgotten, just like this day had felt. Every overwhelming moment, every angry thought, every tear—none of it compared to feeling Noctis surrounding him, to kissing Noctis's neck, to breathing in Noctis's cologne, to listening to his soft pants and whispers of Ignis's name.
Ignis slipped his arm under Noctis, throwing the other around him to hold Noctis's hands in his own. The feeling of Noct's fingers scrambling against his slick skin, of his nails against the scars across Ignis's palms... This was what life felt like.
This was why Ignis would fight and kill and move the heavens and earth. Because in that moment as he clung to the vestiges of his hopes, he could open his eyes and see the outline of Noctis. He could feel every shudder and hear every moan.
And he would do anything to keep Noctis whole and safe in his arms.
He would defy the stars for Noctis.
Always.
|
“What do you think is worse: meeting the right person at the wrong time or not meeting them at all?”
Jessica isn’t even surprised by the question, even though it came randomly in the middle of casual conversation. It’s typical Tiffany: romantic and whimsical. Jessica used to find it strange, even laughable; now she finds it endearing.
“How about meeting the right person at the right time?”
Tiffany makes a face. “...That wasn’t an option.”
“It never is, is it?” Jessica says wryly.
“Well,” Tiffany looks at her expectantly. “Answer the question.”
Jessica takes a moment to think it over, avoiding Tiffany’s eyes as she does so. It’s hard to think with the force of Tiffany’s gaze on her.
“I’d rather meet them.”
“Why?”
“Because even if we had just one day together, I’d rather have had that one day with them than a lifetime without them.”
Jessica clears her throat right after the words escape her – that’s what it feels like, not her saying the words so much as them leaving of their own volition. Tiffany is looking at her, quiet for once even though her eyes are anything but.
“That was cheesy,” Jessica says with a weak smile.
“No, it was…very sincere.” Tiffany smiles back, and it’s small but certainly not weak. Jessica still can’t tell what Tiffany is thinking at all. Then again, she rarely can. For all of Tiffany’s cheerful openness, it just makes her harder to read when it comes down to it.
“What about you?”
“Me?”
“Yeah, you,” Jessica says. “Which one do you think is worse?”
Tiffany blinks very slowly, lashes casting long shadows on her cheekbones, eyes looking darker than ever. Jessica finds herself holding her breath and trying to save this moment, to tattoo it behind her eyelids, grasp it in her palm, tuck it in her pocket.
“I like what you said,” Tiffany says quietly. “Option C.”
Jessica doesn’t call her out on avoiding the question. There’s something about the look in her eyes, like something will unravel in her if she’s pushed.
“Option C,” Jessica agrees, and wishes.
They return to light conversation, to talking about coffee (Tiffany likes hers with enough cream and sugar to make dessert, while Jessica likes hers just with a caramel shot) and seasons (Tiffany wants to see and play in snow, while Jessica just wants the sun to be lazier) and pets (Tiffany wants a dog while Jessica wants a cat).
“Knowing you, you’d probably name your dog something stu—questionable.”
“What do you mean, stupid?” Tiffany says indignantly. “What’s wrong with my naming skills?”
“You named your goldfish Goldie and your hamster Chubby.”
“My goldfish was gold and my hamster was chubby!”
“What are you going to name your dog – Fluffy?”
“What’s wrong with Fluffy as a name?” Tiffany stares at Jessica with wide, wounded eyes. “It’s totally cute. Actually, that’s a great idea. I’m going to write that down.”
“You—” Jessica closes her mouth. She’s learned through experience that it’s wiser not to argue with Tiffany when she has her mind set on something. “Okay, Tiff,” she ends up saying. She says that a lot; indulgently, affectionately.
Okay, Tiff, let’s make muffins from scratch instead of buying the pre-made boxed mix. (They ended up burning all three batches and just buying cupcakes instead.) Okay, Tiff, let’s skip class and go to that water park we saw on the way to the mall. (The water was shut off because of pipeline repairs, and they ended up sitting under a tree talking for the entire afternoon instead.) Okay, Tiff, let’s climb a tree to help the baby bird that fell out of its nest. (Jessica fell off a branch and badly sprained her ankle, but Tiffany was the one who cried.) Okay, Tiff, let’s.
“Jessi?”
She snaps out of it, realizing that the corners of her mouth are turned upward. “Huh?”
Tiffany’s looking at her so intently that it could be called a stare. Tiffany looks at her like that a lot. “What are you smiling about?”
“Just—remembering some of the things we got up to,” Jessica says. “The questionable things you talked me into.”
“And by questionable, you mean stupid?” Tiffany says wryly.
“Hey, you said it, not me.”
“I guess I do have some questionable ideas sometimes.” Tiffany drops her head, her bangs falling over her eyes.
“It’s okay. We’ve had some great times due to your questionable ideas.”
“We have, haven’t we?” Tiffany murmurs, sounding almost like she’s talking to herself.
“Yeah.” Jessica wishes that Tiffany would look up, or at least brush her hair out of her eyes. She doesn’t like not being able to see Tiffany’s eyes. “And we’ll continue to have them. I’m sure you’re not going to run out of questionable ideas anytime soon.”
“Jessica.” She freezes up at the use of her full name. Tiffany raises her head, and the look in her eyes is so grave that Jessica wishes her bangs were in the way again. “I have something I need to tell you.”
“Okay…?”
“I’m.” Tiffany breaks off for a second, but then ploughs on the way she always does. “I’m going to Seoul.”
“Seoul?” Jessica repeats numbly. “In Korea?”
“Yes, in Korea.” Tiffany’s eyes are dark with something Jessica can’t name but feels all too acutely. “SM Entertainment casted me and I’m going to go to Korea and train under them.”
Tiffany’s going to Korea. Tiffany’s going to train under SM. Tiffany’s going; she’s leaving. Leaving America, leaving California, leaving Jessica.
“You’re going to be an idol.”
“I’m going to train to be an idol,” Tiffany corrects. “There’s no telling whether I’ll make it.”
“You’ll make it,” Jessica says. Of course Tiffany is. If she can’t, who will? “You’re going to be an idol. A star.”
And Jessica will be here, watching, wishing, waiting.
“It’s my dream,” Tiffany says quietly, like she’s justifying something.
“I know.”
“It’s what I’ve wanted for a long time.”
“I know,” Jessica repeats, “and I’m really happy you’ve achieved it. I’m really happy for you, Tiff.”
And she means it. She knows how badly Tiffany wants this, has always wanted this, and of course she wants Tiffany to have it, to have anything and everything she wants. Jessica just wishes that she were part of that list.
Tiffany looks at Jessica for a long moment, and Jessica is alarmed to see that her eyes are wet. “I’m sorry, Jessi,” she whispers.
“For what?” Jessica fights to keep her voice steady. “For pursuing your dream? You shouldn’t be sorry for that.”
Tiffany’s eyes are bright, glimmering with unshed tears and something else. “I’m sorry that it’s the wrong time. I’m sorry that we couldn’t have option C.”
Jessica tries to say something, but her throat closes up on her. She and Tiffany have been dancing around this for so long, around this—attraction or whatever you would call it, toeing the line between friendship and something more. Jessica has never stepped foot past the line, never let her lips graze Tiffany’s cheek after whispering something in her ear, never let her arm linger for long around Tiffany’s shoulders, never let herself cross that line lest that she take the plunge and fall.
In reality, she’s already fallen long ago, but maybe she’s only hitting the ground now.
Jessica clears her throat. “When are you going to Korea?”
“Next Friday.”
“Next Friday,” Jessica repeats. That leaves them exactly a week. “Do you want to—” She trails off, unsure of how to finish that question. There are too many things that she wants with Tiffany, from Tiffany. Too many firsts that she didn’t dare to imagine, too many lasts that she thought would never come.
“Yes,” Tiffany says. “I want to.” She blurs the last t, and Jessica can’t tell whether she’s saying ‘I want to’ or ‘I want you.’ “But.”
But?
“I’m not you, Jessi. I. That one day wouldn’t be enough for me. Would never be enough. So I would rather just not have it at all, so it wouldn’t haunt me later.” Tiffany’s eyes are still wet but the tears aren’t spilling over, like she’s holding them back through sheer force of will. Knowing Tiffany, she probably is. “I’m sorry.”
Jessica just shakes her head, and she doesn’t know if she means don’t be sorry or just don’t.
“I have a lot of things to prepare before next Friday,” Tiffany says, and Jessica can’t help but wonder if one of those things is to forget her. “I-I probably won’t see you much.”
“Maybe that’s for the best.” Jessica’s voice comes out sounding robotic, and she pretends she doesn’t see the way Tiffany flinches.
“Yeah,” Tiffany says softly. “Maybe.” She looks at Jessica for another moment, one that stretches between them like a ribbon. Jessica is afraid to blink, to breathe, for fear that she’ll tear it. Tiffany is the first to look away. “I have to go, Jessi,” she says, and Jessica doesn’t know if she means she has to leave right now or she has to leave, period.
“Right.”
“I’ll—I’ll see you later.”
Jessica just nods, past the point of speech, and Tiffany turns to leave. She makes it three steps and then she turns around.
“Come with me.”
“What?”
“Come with me. To Korea.”
Jessica makes a sound of incredulity. “Are you—what are you saying?”
“I’ve heard you sing. You have a great voice. And you’re beautiful. You can make it. With me.” Tiffany says it like it’s a future she can see. “We can do this together.”
“Tiffany.” Jessica can’t even pinpoint the ache she feels; it’s everywhere and nowhere at once. “You know I have no interest in the entertainment industry. That’s not what I want to do with my life.”
“I know,” Tiffany says. “I told myself I wouldn’t ask. But.”
But.
“I’ll keep an eye out for you,” Jessica says. “I want to see you in SM’s top girl group, okay? I won’t settle for anything less than that.”
Tiffany smiles, and Jessica pretends she doesn’t see the way her mouth trembles at the corners. Pretends she doesn’t want to cover that unsure smile with her own mouth until it turns sure and steady, until she can ease the ache inside her if only for a moment.
“Thank you, Jessica.”
“I mean it, Tiffany.”
They look at each other, stare at each other, again, and this time Jessica is the one who breaks eye contact. This time Jessica is the one to turn and walk away, because she knows that if she doesn’t, she’ll never let Tiffany go. She knows that if Tiffany asks her again to come with her, she’ll agree. She knows that there is no option C here, there is only the right person at the wrong time. |
The Repairman Cometh
Not many of our friends or relatives really knew the private sex life we enjoyed when we were younger. I'd bet that none of them would suspect that even toward our "middle age" we were still quite active even though we've been on a bit of a hiatus for the past few years. However, that changed the other day after our refrigerator went on the fritz. Yep, our failed refrigerator helped to bring the heat back to our sex life. It's sometimes strange how such a pain in the neck incident could kick start something in your life that had been dormant.
Both my wife Jill and I recently crossed the dreaded half-century threshold into our 50's. Nevertheless, with our trail biking, yoga, and regular work outs at the gym, we are both in great shape. We've both been told that we look 15 years younger, and Jill can still sport a hot bikini at the beach. She told me that she loves to attract the eyes of the young men that ogle her tits and ass as she struts along the edge of the waves. I sometimes love lagging back a few paces and chuckle to myself as I see their heads turn and follow her as she strolls by. I know that their dirty little minds are filled with thoughts of slipping their young steel-hard cocks into her pussy or mouth or ass. I wonder if they realize that she's thinking the same thing about them.
In years past, we enjoyed a somewhat open sex life with several other couples. Together, we enjoyed erotic adventures at our home, or theirs, or on cruises and other vacations. Our sharing was safe and secure and very erotically satisfying because it was with select couples like us. Neither Jill nor I ever played at swing clubs or picked up strangers in bars. We were not really into traditional "hotwifing" or anything like that. We both generally balked at the risk for diseases or other undesirable issues. Neither of us wanted any sort of "scandal" or wanted to risk infections that could cause us or our friends any embarrassment or danger. We are what most people would call "pillars of the community". Jill has been a 4th grade teacher for nearly 30 years, and I've been a successful estate-planning lawyer for over two decades. Most people see us spending significant time volunteering for community projects or supporting the PTA and Rec Council when we aren't enjoying our condo at the lake or traveling on river-cruises. True, much of the time at the lake and on those river-cruises has been with one of the several couples with whom we enjoyed swapping bedrooms or sharing group fun. When our kids were younger, we'd always set aside certain weekends and vacations as family time just for them. However, sometimes, we'd leave them with grandparents so that Jill and I could have or own type of vacation with one of our special couples.
Over time, our relationships with other couples would eventually came to an end. Often, we'd have several years together, but then something would happen to end our relationship. Ted and Nancy, our first special couple, moved to San Diego for his job. We did get to go on an Alaska cruise with them once after they moved, but after that, we never could keep our relationship going from 3000 miles away. We were with Tom and Joan for almost four years, but they ended up divorced for reasons other than their sex life. We actually had a few threesomes with Tom and Joan separately after their divorce, but then Joan eventually married a guy who was not at all into any sort of sharing. The third couple, Jeff and Sarah, lasted about two years but just died a slow death. We eventually realized that we weren't really as compatible as we had initially thought. For the past five years or so, Jill and I have been in a bit of a dry spell while our kids were in high school. We learned that it was desirable if not necessary during that period to keep a fairly tight watch on them and their activities. Also, they were getting too savvy and curious about some of our vacations with friends. They were too curious as to why we wanted them out of the house when we entertained Jeff and Sarah, and had too many questions. Jeff and Sarah had the same problem with their kids as well. However, both of our kids are now away in college. We are officially empty nesters who have been contemplating alternatives for rekindling the sort of erotic play that we had enjoyed in years past.
All of that history leads us to the other day when we discovered that our refrigerator was in effect, no longer refrigerating. It was a worrisome situation, but sometimes problems can open up other opportunities that you hadn't considered. Along with an emergency run to buy dry ice, we called several repair companies till we found one that could respond quickly. The next day, a handsome, fit young black man with colorfully beaded dreadlocks arrived at our home.
"Good morning, Mahn," he greeted with a beaming broad smile as I opened the door. "My name is Nathan. Don't you worry because I am going to have your refrigerator working like new."
"I hope so," I replied standing aside to let him in. "I had to drive into the city for dry ice to get us through the night. I'd rather not have to make that trip again."
As Nathan stepped in, I couldn't help noticing his broad shoulders and strong back along with his weightlifter's biceps. He was about my height but certainly sported more muscle than my regular two days at the gym gave me. As he entered, I also noticed that his eyes looked past me at Jill who was standing in the doorway to the TV room at the end of the foyer. His eyes roamed up and down her body that looked very sexy in rather short shorts and a tee shirt. Jill was not wearing a bra and was also barefooted. I knew that her nipples were visible through that light shirt and her bare feet added a touch of casual surfer-girl sensuality that was palpable. As I followed Nathan past Jill and into the kitchen, I could see that Jill was obviously quite impressed with his body as well. Given our experiences over the years of enjoying the sensual company of a few of our friends, I knew that there was probably some serious moisture building in her sweet pussy.
Nathan went right to work pulling the refrigerator away from the wall and climbing behind it with his bag of tools.
I leaned over and whispered into Jill's ear, "I'll bet a dollar to a dime that you're thinking of his cock in your mouth or up in your pussy that's already dampening the crotch of those shorts. I know you aren't wearing panties. I hope it doesn't show through."
Jill smiled coyly and whispered back. "You know me too well. But it's just a little fantasy. I've always wondered about having a black man in me. But we know nothing about this guy or if he'd even entertain such a notion. I see he's sporting a wedding ring."
I whispered back to her, "Silly girl. You and I both know that wedding rings aren't prison cells. Maybe we can find out more about him to see if your lusty thoughts could be more than just fantasy."
Jill sat on one chair at the kitchen table leaning back with her legs stretched out and slightly spread. She knew that as Nathan looked up from behind the refrigerator he'd be looking right at her crotch. She was oh so right. When he looked up, I could see his eyes moving up her shapely legs to the crotch of the shorts pulled tightly up to her pussy.
"So Nathan," I said. "I'm hoping that whatever you find back there is fixable and that we aren't going to be out shopping for a new refrigerator today. By the way, my name is Frank and my wife's name is Jill. Your accent indicates that you're obviously from outside the US. It sounds like you may be from the Caribbean. How long have you been here?"
"Yes, I am originally from Jamaica. I came here about 12 years ago."
"Well it looks like living here agrees with you," Jill said. "Saying that you look strong and healthy would be an understatement. Do you lift weights? Frank and I go to a gym and you look like a lot of the guys that are seriously into weights. Are you married Nathan? Do you have a family?"
"Oh yes, Mahm," Nathan replied smiling. "I've been married for 10 years and have a boy eight and a girl six."
"That sounds like a nice family," Jill said. "I'll bet your son loves those strong arms and shoulders of yours. I can just see you lifting him high into the air with one hand."
Nathan looked a little sheepish. He was obviously enamored if not a bit confused by Jill's obvious flirting. My guess is that he was probably a bit uneasy that she was doing it right in front of me.
"Yes Mahm." he said smiling. "My boy is strong and wants to play football when he's older."
"Did you play football?" I asked
.
"Not what you call football in America," Nathan replied. "I played what you call soccer for years and was almost good enough to be a professional. Sadly. I hurt my knee in a motorcycle accident and that ended my dream."
Nathan went back to work. In a few minutes he announced, "You are very lucky. The problem is only a seal at the compressor that has failed, and your refrigerant leaked out. I can replace it and recharge your system in a few minutes.
As Nathan continued working, I slipped upstairs for a few minutes to get the check book and to do some things for what I hoped might work out for Jill. When I came down, he was finishing up and pushing the refrigerator back into place.
"It should be fine now Mahn." he said.
Nathan wrote out the invoice and handed it to me. I wrote out a check and handed it to him as he was packing up
.
"Before you rush off," I said. "Jill and I had a few questions and some things we want to discuss with you. We'd like to ask you something personal because of a discussion we were having about people raised outside of the US. I hope you aren't too shocked or offended. We don't really want to pry or embarrass you. We mean nothing sinister by them
.
Nathan looked at us quizzingly.
"Nathan," I said. "You said you've been married for ten years. During that time have you ever had sex with a woman other than your wife."
Nathan looked a bit shocked and a little miffed. "What the hell kind of question is that to ask someone you hardly know? What business is that to you?"
Jill jumped in to sooth the ruffled feathers. "Please, Nathan, we don't mean to insult you or suggest anything, but we have friends that have said that people from where you came from are quite free with their sex even if they are married. We don't know many people like you so we're just curious. We make no judgement or have any intention of making trouble, but we do have a serious reason for asking. We hope you'll talk with us and are willing to be honest with us. Seriously no judgement. But you know, sometimes it's easier to discuss something like this with a people you don't know in your regular life so there is no danger of it ever coming back to you. It's like how people pour their life story out to bartenders."
Nathan looked back and forth at both of us trying to figure out what we were up to. Finally, he said, "Not that it's your business, but I have never had sex with any woman other than my wife since we've been married."
"But before you were married you had girlfriends, right?" Jill interjected
.
Nathan laughed. "Oh Mahm, before I was married, I had my share of girlfriends for sure."
"I thought so," Jill added smiling. "You are a very handsome, well-built, and charming man. Looking at you, I'll bet the girls were lined up around the block."
Nathan laughed again. "Mahm, there were some that were friends of other girlfriends that came looking for me because of what their friends told them. They knew I had something special to offer. I knew how to make them happy for sure."
It was my turn to chuckle. "I'll bet you indeed made them very happy. That's why we wanted to know a bit more about you and that you've been close to home since you were married. I'm sure you make your wife very happy. How would you like to make my wife very happy? I see how you look at her. She's a very attractive woman isn't she?"
Nathan looked like he wasn't sure how to answer but he did. "She is very pretty for sure, Mahn. You are very lucky. What do you mean that you want ME to make her happy?"
"Well," I continued. "As soon as you came in, I could see that Jill thinks that you are very handsome and quite sexy. She told me a little while ago that she would love to have sex with you."
"WHAT?" Nathan said incredulously. "Your wife said she wants to have sex with me, and you're ok with that? I told you I don't mess around behind my wife's back, and if some man said he wanted to have sex with her, I'd punch him in the face. What are you thinking? Are you some sort of crazy?"
"I can understand your feelings Nathan," I said softly. "Your thoughts are rather commonplace, but not everybody shares that point of view. There are many married people who find that allowing each other to have sex with other people is a way of keeping their relationship fresh and exciting. It can be quite liberating and prevents erotic stagnation. It opens up lines of communication so that you don't feel compelled to hide your sexual fantasies and desires. Years ago, Jill and I had a few other married couples that we shared sexual time with. We were never indiscreet or promiscuous with strangers. We chose the limited number of people we shared with very carefully and maintained closed long term relationships. We haven't done that sort of thing for a long time, but when you came in, Jill and I both thought that this could be a very good opportunity to rekindle what we had in the past. Don't take this the wrong way Nathan, I mean nothing insensitive by my comment, but Jill has never had sex with a black man."
Nathan laughed heartily, "That's so funny, but I have to say that I never had sex with a white woman."
Now it was Jill who broke into a full-throated laugh, "See that, we're made for each other. This is destiny Nathan. It was fate that brought you here. We were destined to fuck and suck each other today."
Nathan looked a little taken aback at Jill's candid language, but my laughter put him at ease.
"I'm not sure about any of this," Nathan said. "After ten years you're asking me to cheat on my wife."
"Don't think of it as cheating," Jill said. "It's not like we're going to be romantically involved in any way that would threaten her. It wouldn't be much different than you dancing with another woman at a wedding. You can dance with other women right? Well just think of it as you and I dancing together; it's just that we'd be naked and you'd be inside me as we danced very energetically."
We all laughed at that comment.
"Nathan," I said. "Would it help you make up your mind if I offered you $500 cash?"
"What?" Nathan responded incredulously. "You want to pay me $500 to fuck your wife? I never knew anyone like you Mahn."
"Seriously," I added. "Think about it. Christmas is only four months away. I'll bet an extra $500 could get your wife and kids some really nice stuff from Santa. It wouldn't be cheating. It would be like earning some extra cash for Christmas."
"I don't know Mahn," Nathan said in a way that I knew he was very tempted. "Are you going to want me to do something crazy?"
"Not at all," I said. "Neither Jill nor I are into whips and chains or anything off the wall. You'd be doing pretty much the same things I'll bet you do with your own wife. The only hook is that I get to watch and take video. I would make sure not to show your face in the video if that worries you. If I talk to you, I'll only call you 'Jamaica' and not use your real name. I have no reason to cause problems. Have you ever had sex while other people were watching Nathan? Can you be comfortable with it?"
Nathan said, "Years ago when I was in high school in Jamaica, there was a girl in my school who wanted to have several of us fuck her as a group. There were four of us. We all watched each other fuck her, sometimes two at a time. It was very sexy, and I had no problem. I'm not that shy."
Then he added, "But that was just friends in high school. It still seems strange to me that you want to watch me fuck your wife," Nathan said. "How do I know you won't get jealous, change your mind, get angry, and hit me with a bat or something."
"Frank's not like that," Jill interjected. "We're not angry people or jealous people. Frank told you that we used to share with other couples. He's seen me fuck and suck with other men, and I've watched him do the same with other women. For us, it's a turn on and not something to get upset about."
Nathan thought and then finally said looking at me, "$500, right? And there isn't going to be any funny stuff with you and me, right?"
"Right," I answered. "You don't have to worry about me touching you or doing anything like that. I am 100% a pussy lover. I'm NOT into men. I have no interest in physical contact with you or any other guy. In fact, I'm going to keep my clothes on to make you feel even more comfortable. I'll give you 200 up front and the rest after it all goes well."
I took two one hundred-dollar bills from my wallet which I had gotten from the cash box upstairs earlier. "Before I give this to you, you have to show us in good faith that you aren't going to be a shy guy and disappoint us. We both would like a little preview. We'd like you to take your clothes off for us."
Nathan hesitated for a brief moment and then took off his shoes, socks, shirt and pants. He looked back and forth to us and then pulled down his briefs. At that point, both Jill and I simultaneously said, "whoa".
I had always been relatively happy with the equipment I was given, and from all the statistics I'd read, I knew I was a bit above average. Having seen other guys over the years as well as the husbands in the couples we shared with, I could see I was larger than them. In fact, their wives had even discreetly told me as much. But Nathan was in a whole different league. I suddenly felt like the kid from the minors steeping into a big-league batter's box for the first time and seeing what a real fastball looked like. That mini salami and attached meatballs hanging between his legs was somewhere between a generous cucumber and small zucchini.
"Damn, Nathan," I exclaimed. "God must really love you because He gave you a double helping of cock and balls when you came through the line."
"And it isn't even hard yet," Jill said still staring. "I'm wondering if that's going to fit in me."
"Hell, Jill," I said. "No problem. You've had my whole hand up your snatch more than just a few times."
"Yeah," she responded. "But your hand was just wiggling while you licked my clit. It wasn't full-on fucking me like a horny bull."
"Nathan," Jill continued. "Is your wife a large woman? Can she take all of that without a problem?"
"She is probably a bit smaller than you, Mahm." Nathan said, "and she tells me she loves the way it fills her up. I know how to do it for her that she likes it very much. I can do the same for you."
"That's it," Jill said standing up. "Pay the man Frank."
As Nathan took the money and shoved it into his pants lying on the floor. Jill took his hand and began leading him upstairs. "Just leave all that stuff there Nathan. Let's get busy with that one-eyed anaconda and give me a fuck I'll never forget."
As we got into the bedroom, I picked up my video camera. It was nearly a professional unit and would be much better than just using my cell phone camera. There was a ton of storage and the high-resolution wide aperture lens would let me get close ups in available light without getting so close to Jill and Nathan as to get in the way. It also had much better audio and could balance the loudness of my voice close to the camera against the sounds from Jill and Nathan several feet away. I no sooner had the camera in my hand then Jill had her shorts and tee shirt off and was standing before both of us in all of her fully naked glory. Trust me. Nobody would consider hers to be the body of a 50-year-old. It was pretty obvious that Nathan liked what he saw because he was nearly fully hard by the time Jill pushed him back to sit on the edge of the bed. I positioned myself in the right location to get a good close up of her starting to work her mouth on his huge dark-skinned dick. I zoomed in close and could see that she could get barely more than the head of it in her mouth.
"Is that all of it that you can take Sweetie?" I asked.
"I can barely get past the head without feeling like my jaw will pop," she said looking back at me with her hand barely encircling his cock.
"Lick it," I instructed. "Lick his meaty balls and all up and down the shaft like a big chocolate ice cream cone . Use the tip of your tongue in his pee hole. You know how much I love when you do that."
I kept the camera zoomed in on her tongue licking his big black balls and up and down his thick, hard, veiny shaft. I zoomed out to get a wider angle of her working on him along with his muscular body as he sat on edge of the bed with his legs open giving Jill full access to him. However, I was true to my word and did not include his face in the frame even though the look on it was something I would have loved to video. He was in ecstasy. I know that he would have loved to grab Jill's head and shoved her mouth down on his dick, but he also knew that if he hurt her, both she and I would be on his case, and the whole erotic event would come to an end.
.
After a while, I said, "So Jamaica; it looks you're really enjoying that mouth and tongue. She's pretty good at using it don't you think?"
"Oh Mahn," he said breathlessly, "your wife is the queen. She is an expert for sure."
I couldn't help chuckling a bit as I answered, "I've always told her that she could give lessons to all the clueless wives out there, and their husbands wouldn't be out sniffing around other women. I know you're loving this, but I think it's time to return the favor a little bit. Do you like eating pussy Jamaica? Jill has a very special wet and delicious pussy. Honey, how about climbing up there and spreading nice and wide for the camera and your new friend. Let him learn what a perfect pussy looks and tastes like."
Jill climbed up on the bed. She looked right into the camera as she pulled her knees up and spread her well-toned legs wide to give me a good shot. I zoomed in and then back out again as Nathan positioned his face in her crotch and put his tongue and fingers to work. I moved the video frame from the back of Nathan's head between her legs, up to her face that was contorted in a wonderful sensual way as she enjoyed the pleasure of his tongue. When I eat her, she loves to run her fingers through my hair and pull my face to her as she humps and smears her sweet nectar all over my face. She was grabbing Nathan's head and seemed not to know exactly what to do with those beaded dreadlocks. I was betting that the feel of them rather than my hair was making her soar even higher into ecstasy as she was reminded that it wasn't my face and tongue working on her clit and up into her cunt hole; it was without doubt Nathan's.
I let them go at it for a good while as I moved from one side of the bed to the other. I could zoom in for an extreme close up of Nathan's tongue in Jill's slit without actually showing his face. I knew that later when Jill and I watched the playback, she would love those shots as well as others I had planned.
Finally, I said, "Ok Sweetie, I get the feeling that your cunny is hot and wet enough for that nice big black banana to slide in."
"Oh yeah," Jill panted, "but get the lube out of the nightstand anyway. I want to make sure my fuck tunnel is ready for that tour bus sized dick of his."
As Nathan positioned himself between Jill's legs, I handed her the lube. She squirted some on Nathan's cock and worked it around with her hand. His big hard member glistened. I held the frame on Jill's hand as it positioned it at her open woman hole.
"OK Jamaica," Jill whispered. "Work that horse dick into me nice and slow so Frank can get a good shot of it."
Nathan pushed forward. I watched through the view finder as it moved an inch, two inches, three inches, more into her. I recorded her moans and whimpers as it stretched her, but she never balked for a second. I loved the mix of pain and pleasure and wonderment coming from Jill as he kept entering her. Again, I wanted to capture it all so she could see what I was watching real time. I wanted her to witness her vulnerable open womanhood being stretched around that huge, slick, glistening ebony cock. It was a sight to behold.
"Come on Jamaica," I said. "Get all of it up into her. I want to see those huge balls bottom on her asshole."
Nathan gave one last little push as his entire man pole entered her completely. Jill gave a yelp, panted several times, and grabbed his ass. He held steady and motionless as Jill allowed her cunt to relax and become accustomed to Nathan's hot flesh inside her.
"This is how I wait for my wife to get used to me in her before I fuck her," Nathan said. "She has no problem if I let her stretch slowly."
"Do it," Jill said. "Fuck me. Fuck the shit out of me and keep fucking me."
Nathan pulled about halfway out of her and slid back in. Jill yelped a little but this time it was move of a moan of pleasure. Nathan pulled out again and then back in. This time a little faster and harder. I zoomed in to watch Jill's pussy lips stretched around him. Nathan began fucking her hard and deep and steadily. I zoomed out for a moment to get the full effect of Jill's white legs spread wide and feet held high for deep penetration. It was a perfect frame for Nathan's firm black ass as his meat pole plundered Jills fuck hole. I zoomed back in to get a good close up of Jill's juicy cunt being filled to the max. Nathan's balls bounced on her taint each time he bottomed in her with every animal thrust. I flipped the camera to slo-mo for a few seconds. I knew it would look super hot on playback to see those balls bouncing in his wrinkled scrotum as he gave her one hell of a fucking. I flipped off slow-mo and pulled the frame out again so the picture included Jill's wedding ring on the hand gripping Nathan's firm butt cheek. That would give us an extra emotional jolt when we watched back.
As I moved slowly from one side of the bed to the other stopping each time to capture my favorite view of Nathan's cock and balls deep between her thighs, I could see Jill reach down to play with her clit. I could tell she was getting close to cumming and wanted to give it a little help. I positioned myself so that I could get both the ebony cock in ivory snatch as well as her face. I wanted to be able to zoom to each area when she finally went over the brink.
It wasn't too long that I could tell by her sounds, the speeding up of her fingers, and the contorted face that she was about to explode. I captured her fingers on her clit along with Nathan's shaft piledriving into her. I moved the frame to capture her face as she gave out a loud scream.
"OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!! OHHH OHHHH OHHHHHH"
Her eyes were rolled back staring to Heaven as she moaned and shouted, "SHIT! FUCK! THAT'S IT! THAT'S IT!!! JESUS!"
It's such a wonderful thing to watch her and hear her cum. We've been married over 25 years and I'll never tire of seeing and hearing her loud animal orgasm. I feel sad for women who cum quietly. It's no wonder the French term for orgasm is "La Petite Mort"; the little death. It captures the flailing and screams of an animal being killed by a predator the jungle
.
Then I heard Nathan, "Hell Mahn, she's squirting all over the place. She's soaking my balls. Jesus Mahn!"
I zoomed in to see Jill's cunt gushing all over Nathan's balls and soaking the bed. I had neglected to tell Nathan that she was a squirter, and he seemed genuinely surprised. Perhaps I accidently on purpose forgot to tell him because I wanted to see his reaction.
"Damn Mahn," he said again. "That's so fucking hot. I'm gonna cum"
"NOT IN HER," I said quickly. "We have other plans. Hold on and pull out."
I think I surprised Nathan enough that it halted his orgasm for a moment. He pulled his huge slick wet dick out of Jill. Her cunt was still gaping like on the occasions when I had gotten my whole hand up in her and pulled out. Jill quickly slid up to rest her head on pillows against the headboard.
"Get up there Jamaica," I said. "Straddle her with your dick at her mouth."
"There's no way I can let him fuck my mouth Frank," Jill exclaimed. "He'll break my jaw."
"Just take the head and jerk him off," I answered as I framed Jill's face with Nathan's black-iron cannon pointed at it.
"Jamaica, you just let her do the work," I commanded
.
Jill wrapped her mouth around the head of Nathan's cock. The shaft was so slick from Jill's snatch nectar and residual lube that her hand slipped over the flesh effortlessly. It was only seconds before Nathan was bellowing like a bull.
"OH JESUS GOD ALMIGHTY!", Nathan moaned loudly.
Jill pulled back slightly and held her mouth open as the first volley of his thick semen shot into it. As she closed to capture and swallow, the next two spurts hit her square on the chin and across her cheek. Several more spurts later and Nathan relaxed panting. His huge load was covering Jill's face. He looked down as Jill was using the head of his cock to smear it around and move it toward her mouth. She licked it off the tip of his dick that was slowly losing its stiffness. I shut down the camera.
"Oh Mahm, I don't believe it," Nathan said looking at Jills gooey gloppy face. "My wife would never let me do that."
"How do you know Nathan," Jill said looking up at him. "Did you ever ask her? Did you want her to? You should tell her. You might be surprised. A lot of women like it more than they let on. I personally love it. I have for years. I love the sight of a man's seed spurting out of his pee hole. I love the smell of it, the taste of it, the hot sticky feel of it. You should say something to your wife. Maybe she'd be more into it than you realize."
I returned from the bathroom with a warm wet facecloth and handed it to Jill. Nathan pulled back as she wiped her face.
"Nathan my man," I said. "That was fantastic, absolutely fantastic. Jill and I are going to LOVE watching this playback later."
"Then that means I get the rest of my $500, right?"
I laughed out loud. "Absolutely," I said and went to the cash box in the closet. I returned with six 50-dollar bills to give him. "I'll go back downstairs with you to see you out."
"No worries Mahn." he said. "I'll get dressed and get going. I have three more calls to make yet today. It was a good thing that your repair was fast."
"Who knows," Jill chuckled. "Maybe there will be another couple on your repair schedule ready to have good time with you,"
"You guys are like nobody I ever knew," Nathan said as he moved toward the door. "Crazy people, but if you're happy, I'm happy."
As he went down the steps, Jill asked, "When are you going to play me that video?"
"Later," I smiled. "Right now, I have some other plans."
I was undressing as we heard Nathan leave and shut the door. By the time I pulled my briefs off to reveal my raging hard-on, Jill was giggling
.
"How did you stand it?" she said. "I thought I'd look up and expect to see you with that pecker in your hand wailing away."
"Outstanding willpower," I said climbing into bed. "I wanted to wait for the real thing."
I maneuvered her back up onto the pillows, straddled her face. She didn't have to be told to open her mouth. I slipped in and began fucking her face like a horny husband that just watched and videoed his wife getting fucked by a hot Jamaican guy. Oh wait, I indeed WAS a horny husband that had just watched and videoed his wife being fucked by a hot Jamaican guy. I always loved looking down at Jill's face while I fucked it. Often she had her eyes closed enjoying the feeling of, as she put it, being used like a whore. It's funny how some women get off on that sort of thing and some feel insulted. I suppose it goes to the sort of relationship and trust they have with the guy "using" her. I especially liked it though when she'd open her eyes and meet mine, telling me with her look that she loved this sort of thing.
"See there is an advantage with me over Nathan," I joked. "At least you can get more than just the head of my dick in your mouth and down your throat."
I enjoyed the wonderful pleasure of Jill's mouth for several minutes but did not want to cum there today. I had other thoughts. I pulled out and scampered off the bed.
"Get over here and bend over the side of the bed," I ordered.
Jill knew what I wanted and quickly got into position. I stepped up behind her and slipped my dick, still slick with her saliva, into her cunt.
"I hope you aren't too stretched out to feel it," I quipped.
"Oh Lord," Jill moaned. "I feel it just fine baby; just fine. Fuck me like your little slut wife. I know that's what you're thinking. Go ahead and say it."
I did just that. I grabbed her hips and pounded into her. Watching her with Nathan and not getting myself off took every bit of willpower I had but now I was letting my inner stallion take over. I smacked her ass cheeks hard a half a dozen timed. She yelped out each time but did not protest.
"That's for behaving like a bad, bad girl; a total slut," I hissed. "Bad girl sluts get their asses spanked."
Without any hesitation, I wet my thumb with my saliva and shoved it right up her asshole that was presented so brazenly. Again, she yelped but did not protest. I knew she loved this. I was almost surprised she didn't request it of Nathan. It's often a super orgasm trigger for her.
"You love that in your asshole don't you?" I said horsey. "You love getting both holes fucked at the same time don't you? Say it. Tell me how much you love getting it in both holes," I ordered her.
"I love it. You know I love getting my ass and cunt fucked at the same time," she moaned. "Do it. Fuck me in both holes."
Given my state of horniness and need, it wasn't long before I was sending spurt after spurt of my cum deep into her woman hole.
"OH FUCK!" I screamed. "TAKE IT ALL. I'M GONNA FILL UP YOUR FUCKING CUM -HUNGRY CUNT."
No sooner had I finished than I threw her back on her back, held her thighs open and buried my face into her cream pie snatch. I don't do it all the time, but when I'm in the right mood, I adore licking my cum out of Jill's cunt. I'd never want to lick another man's seed out of it, but mine is an erotic joy that makes me feel extra slutty myself. I crave it when I'm feeling particularly sleazy and today I was indeed feeling super sleazy.
Jill thrashed and moaned and pulled my face to her as she wiggled and smeared the creamy sticky mix of her juice mixed with mine all over my face.
"EAT IT!" she screamed. "Eat that fucking sloppy pussy you cunt licking man-slut."
It was only a few moments till she was cumming on my face. Her juice along with what was left of my jizz gushed onto my face. When her climax was finally subsiding, I squirmed up to kiss her and snuggle.
"Umm," she cooed as she kissed me and licked my lips. "I taste pussy juice and cock juice all over your face. I love it."
We snuggled for several minutes when I said, "You are without a doubt the sexiest woman on the face of the earth. I hope you know how happy you make me. Do you want to watch that video now or later?"
Jill smiled and gave me a sweet kiss. "I love when you say that. Before we watch that video, there's something I want to talk to you about; something that I wasn't going to say till I knew for certain, but I'm pretty sure about things at this point."
I sat up and looked at her quizzically. I always hated when she said we needed to talk because it often wasn't something I wanted to hear. I braced myself.
Jill continued. "You know Anne my friend that teaches 5th grade at my school? You know her husband Alan. He plays in the same golf league with you."
"Yeah," I said. "I've played golf with Alan a bunch of times. I know who she is. We always see them at the school Christmas party and the rec council summer pool party."
"Well," Jill continued, "Anne and I had lunch a couple of weeks ago at that place up on the river. It was a perfect day and we sat for two hours finishing off a bottle of wine. It may have been the wine that loosened us up more than usual, but we got to talking about a bunch of rather personal things like keeping a married sex life fresh and interesting. It turns out she admitted that she thinks you're very attractive and even thinks about you when she uses her favorite vibrator."
I sat up. "Really," I said with a big smile.
"I admitted to her that in the past you and I had experimented a bit with others and she seemed really intrigued. Then I told her that your birthday was coming in a few weeks. I casually, almost in the form of a joke said that having her come over to entertain you in bed would be the best birthday present imaginable. I fully expected her to say hell no, but after thinking for a few moments said, 'I'm all in for it.' She wanted to know for sure that I would be ok with it, and after convincing her again that our past experiences made it fine, she agreed to be your 51st birthday present. She wanted to know if it would be just you and her or if I was going to be there as well. I told her it was her choice, to think about it, and let me know. Her last comments were that she'd feel better if I were here because then she could be sure it wasn't like you were cheating behind my back. I wanted this all to be a surprise, but after today with Nathan I just couldn't hold back from telling you."
"FANTASTIC!" I exclaimed. "So, not to jump too far ahead, did you bring up the possibility of getting Alan interested?"
"I did not," Jill answered. "I felt like I didn't want to push things, and Anne gave no indication that either she or Alan would be open in such a thing. However, we'll see how it goes with Anne. If she enjoys herself and finds it exciting, then maybe slowly I'll test the waters about her and Alan together. I did not get any notion that she and Alan have ever discussed such a thing. Still, I think you and I both hope it could develop into a nice steady foursome. I miss what we had with the others and would love to have that situation again with such a compatible couple."
"Me too," I said kissing her. "We'll just take it slow and see how Anne does with my birthday."
"OK now that I've spilled the beans about your birthday present," Jill said getting out of bed. "let's go hook up that camera to the big TV downstairs and let me watch my staring performance."
"Sounds like a plan," I responded getting up to retrieve the camera. "But be wary; seeing that playback just might get my little soldier standing at attention again."
"I can only hope," Jill laughed as we started down the stairs still naked as jaybirds. "I can only hope."
|
As Tadokoro's childhood friend, it would only make sense for Makishima to spent the majority of his time in the same places as Tadokoro.
Thus, when Tadokoro begins helping out in his family's bakery, Makishima does too. The only difference was that Makishima spent more time helping in the back than the front; the last time Tadokoro's parents had asked him to help man the register, the customer had taken one look at Makishima and ran out of the store screaming for forgiveness.
"At least he paid before he ran," Tadokoro tells Makishima later, patting him on his skinny back as Makishima curls his lanky body into a sulking ball. "So you couldn't have been that scary if he decided to pay first."
"He was probably terrified that I would come after him if he didn't," Makishima mutters.
Tadokoro can't find anything to say after that.
Makishima ends up self-sentencing himself to the kitchen when he comes over to help on the weekends. That doesn't change even after he and Tadokoro are hired as kindergarden teachers at Sohoku: Makishima still comes over on his free days to help in the bakery and he still only works in the kitchen where no one can see him and run away screaming.
Makishima's fine with this; he's been fine with how things were and saw no reason in changing this well-established pattern of repertoire during his free time to balance out his chaotic work days. Things were normal—until Hakogaku's and Sohoku's class' field trip.
"Maki-chan!"
There's a brief feeling of nostalgia as Toudou charges into Makishima's leg with all the force of a hyperactive rocket, almost knocking him over along with the tray of breads in his hands. Fortunately, Makishima's gotten used to dealing with the brunt of Toudou's overexuberent tackles and stands his ground. He even manages to walk five feet to hand Tadokoro the tray before Toudou starts wailing for Makishima to pay attention to him.
Makishima internally heaves out a heavy, exasperated sigh before bending down to pick Toudou up, much to the kindergartner's delight.
"Maki-chan!" he squeals again before throwing his arms around Makishima's neck.
"Sorry for barging in like this," Shinkai apologizes as he ushers the rest of the children—Sohoku and Hakogaku combined—to the two tables Kinjou and Fukutomi have put together. "We hadn't planned on having our annual field trip here, especially when you guys were here but the kids wouldn't stop talking about how delicious the bread was here—"
"—And someone was rather eager to try out the apple pie here," Kinjou adds, smiling slightly in Fukutomi's direction.
Fukutomi flushes and looks away. "Only because the apple pie here is known to be the best."
Arakita scowls at the red on Fukutomi's face and slaps Fukutomi's calf. "Stop blushing Fuku-chan. Stupid stone face!"
"Now, now Yasutomo," Shinkai lightly chides. "What did we say about calling people mean names?"
"Sakamichi-kun," Manami gleefully calls out as he runs over to Onoda. He's about to throw his arms around Onoda the same way Toudou threw his arms around Makishima until Naruko seizes his collar with both his hands and pulls him back the same moment Imaizumi grabs Onoda around the waist to lift him up and plops him down at the glass display next to Teshima and Aoyagi.
"Stay away from Onoda-kun," Naruko orders, crossing his arms across his chest cause he's a tough boy like that and it's his duty as Onoda-kun's husband to protect him!
But Manami is not deterred by Naruko's toughness and merely goes around him, charging straight at Onoda again with his arms spread wide. He's further blocked by Imaizumi becoming a physical barrier between him and Onoda, unfortunately squishing the smaller child against the glass display while attempting to block Manami from reaching him.
"Sakamichiiiii," Manami whines, small little arms uselessly flailing about in his attempt to reach around Imaizumi to Onoda.
"Stay away from Onoda-kun!" Naruko demands as he starts pulling on Manami's collar again. Manami ignores his shirt is pressing against his throat and cutting off his oxygen supply, his gaze focused only on Onoda even as his face begins to turn a shade of blue just lighter than his hair.
"Who the heck are Andy and Frank?" Arakita demands, face twisted in a scowl as he stares down Izumida in a very delinquiet-esque fashion that should not have been possible for a five-year-old.
Izumida's chest puffs up. "They're my friends, of course."
"You just said they were your pecs! You liar!" accuses Arakita, to which Izumida scowls right back and stands up straight.
"They're my friends and my pecs!"
"You can't be friends with your pecs," Arakita points out. "They're just your pecs!"
"Yes I can," Izumida insists. "I'll show you!"
He proceeds to pull his shirt up.
Arakita begins to scream.
"Pervert, it's a pervert!"
"Yasutomo!" Shinkai is there in a flash, kneeling between the two boys. "You should never call your classmates a pervert. Where did you even learn that word?"
Izumida wails, "I'm not a pervert!" and proceeds to latch onto the back of Shinkai's apron while Shinkai reproaches Arakita.
"I'm sure you had a very good reason for insisting that both our classes take our annual field trips together," Kinjou is saying to Fukutomi with a very small but smug smirk on his face.
Fukutomi stares down the turtle-shaped melon bread on display. "The pie here is very good," he repeats.
Kinjou's smirk widens a little into a smile. "I'm sure you would enjoy eating that pie with company too."
Fukutomi's staring contest with the melon bread intensifies. "I don't know what you're talking about, Kinjou."
"Is that so?"
"For the last time Toudou, I'm not feeding you bread. You can eat it yourself."
Toudou pouts at Makishima's denial, bouncing up and down in Makishima's arms in annoyance. "But Maki-chan you're my bride and brides are supposed to feed their husbands cause they're in love. That's what they always do on the TV shows."
"When did I agree to be your wife?" is what Makishima wants to ask but already knows he'll get another illogical response so he gives up on arguing his case, just as Teshima and Aoyagi run past him.
"Tadokoro-sensei!" The two boys leap towards their teacher arms who, true to his nature, lets out a guffawing bear laugh as he bends down and sweeps the two of them into his arms.
"Teshima, Aoyagi! Ready to take a tour of the kitchen and make some bread?" he asks.
They nod excitedly in unison. "Yea!"
"I wanna see Tadokoro make his famous BearBread," Teshima enthusiastically goes. Aoyagi eagerly nods in agreement.
"Gahaha, of course! I'll show you the best BearBread the world has ever known! Makishima, get ready to start the tour!"
Makishima surveys the inside of the bakery: Kinjou and Fukutomi are still semi-flirting at the two combined tables where all the kindergardeners were supposed to sit down at but are now only occupied by the two of them, Shinkai is coaxing Arakita to uncover his eyes and convincing him that Izumida was not a pervert as Izumida continues to cry into Shinkai's apron, Naruko is still pulling on Manami's collar hard enough to make him turn blue while Imaizumi continues to squish Onoda against the glass display case in his effort to protect him from Manami and Toudou is starting to wail for his attention again.
Makishima briefly looks up at the ceiling, and wonders what he ever did to deserve all of this.
It's not until Makishima's putting his third batch of bread into the oven in the kitchen located at the back of Tadokoro bakery after wiping off (for the fifth time) all the excess flour in Naruko's clothes, face and hair, fixing the bunny ears (for the second time) on Imaizumi's hand-made bunny styled bread and singing the Love Hime theme song with Onoda (for the upteemth time because he's already given up keeping track) while helping him roll his bread, that Makishima comes to realization that his days off are no different from his usual work days.
(Except with a lot more bread.)
In hindsight, Makishima would find himself blaming Tadokoro for bringing up the field trip suggestion to Kinjou. He would also blame Fukutomi for having a glaringly obvious crush on Kinjou because that meant he would do anything to spend more time with Kinjou even if it meant dragging his whole kindergarten class down with him.
(Makishima should just be grateful Shinkai was such an easy-going teacher or things could have ended up much, much worse.)
Yet when all's said and done, Makishima still finds himself fussing over each and everyone of his students as they waited for their guardians to come pick them up from the bakery. He makes sure they each have the breads they made, there's no stray flour in anyone's hair or clothes and no Toudou you are not allowed to come home with me as he waits for the kids to leave.
When they're all gone, the bakery closes for the day and he's finished cleaning the kitchen, Makishima collapses at one of the tables in the front while Tadokoro helps his parents finish wiping the counters down. He can barely feel his eyelids and it's only because he hears Tadokoro place something on the table that he doesn't fall asleep.
"Good work today," Tadokoro tells him, grinning. "You managed to keep the kids under control pretty well today."
Makishima musters enough energy for a dry smirk. "Is that what it looked like?"
Tadokoro lets out a loud, full-belly laugh. How he still had the energy to laugh so heartily after a day like this will forever be a mystery to Makishima.
"You still did great today," Tadokoro insists, sliding the plate of BearBread and bottle of cola he had placed on the table closer to Makishima. "Maybe being a kindergarten teacher really is your calling."
Makishima chuckles as he bites into the BearBread. It's the only type of pastry bread he's able to stomach and whether it's because Tadokoro made it while keeping Makishima's preferences in mind or simply because Tadokoro made it, Makishima enjoys every bite.
Spending time with his childhood friend after a long day of taking care of a bunch of overly energetic children (not to mention having to deal with Toudou's temper tantrum when his parents refused to let him go home with Makishima) was definitely not part of Makishima's plans for today but he doesn't mind.
"It could be worse," he quietly says to himself after saying his farewells to the Tadokoro family and he begins the trek home.
"It could definitely be worse," he says, ten minutes later when he finds Toudou sitting at the front of his apartment. The Hakogaku kindergartner had been waiting for him to come home—how did he even know where Makishima lived?—so they could begin their "married days" together.
"They always say that in the movies I watch," Toudou happily crows as he clings to Makishima. "What are you waiting for Maki-chan? Open the door!"
Makishima closes his eyes. "Toudou, do your parents know you're here?" he wearily asks, already afraid of what the answer is going to be.
"Nope," Toudou chirps. "Shinkai-sensei says married couples can do what they want cause they're grown-ups and since I'm married to Maki-chan I can do what I want without having to tell my parents!"
Makishima keeps his eyes closed, mentally counts to ten ("Maki-chan? Maki-chan are you ignoring me?") and pulls out his phone.
As a kindergarten teacher, Makishima Yuusuke's work is never done. |
Lena is working through a stack of papers when Jess storms in, hardly even knocking. She sighs and puts her pen down to see what her secretary wants to have interrupted her so rudely.
“Miss Danvers, I apologize for barging in,” Jess says with her wide eyes as if she suddenly remembers her place.
“It is quite alright,” Lena replies, offering Jess a tight smile. “What is the matter?” she asks, wondering why Jess is being nervous.
“Detective Sawyer is here to see you,” Jess answers. “She said it has something to do with your daughter.”
“You may send her in,” Lena says, worried about what’s going on. “Next time, let her in immediately,” she adds, since family is allowed to enter when necessary.
“Yes, Miss Danvers,” Jess replies respectfully before walking away.
Maggie walks into Lena’s office, one hand wrapped around Rose’s arm who is grumbling. “My men found her drunk at a party from which they had received a complaint about the noise,” she says, sighing when she lets her niece go.
“I’m not drunk,” Rose objects. “I’ve only had a few beers. That’s it.”
Lena pushes her chair back and walks around her desk. “Thank you for bringing her here,” she says gratefully to Maggie. Kara would go nuts if they’d have to go get Rose out of jail, even though they’d probably only keep her for a night. “And you, young lady,” she says as she turns to look at her daughter, “are in trouble.”
“I was just having fun with my friends,” Rose replies, muttering while she crosses her arms.
“You’re not allowed to drink until you are twenty-one, that’s the law, mind you,” Lena says sternly, very displeased and disappointed. “I don’t want you to go to such parties anymore. You’re sixteen, you’re still a child.”
“A child?” Rose guffaws. “I’m not a child,” she disagrees.
“You are my child and you will do as I say,” Lena replies, not interested in excuses. “No more drinking, period.”
“But that’s not-”
“And you will not talk back to me, Rosalind,” Lena says sharply. “Your mother will hear about this, of course,” she continues, considering she always tells Kara everything.
“Great, then she can lecture me too,” Rose mutters.
“I can’t take Rose here if there’s going to be a next time,” Maggie comments.
“That’s perfectly reasonable,” Lena replies, understanding that Maggie can’t always do them favors. “Rose, you are grounded for a month.”
“What??” Rose asks, shocked. “A month? But it’s my summer vacation.”
Lena hates having to be a strict parent, but she can’t sugarcoat this because it’s not okay at all that her sixteen year old daughter has been drinking. If she’d let Rose do what she wants, worse things could happen. “A month,” she reconfirms.
“My life sucks,” Rose groans. “First mom doesn’t let me go out with the guy I like and now you’re grounding me for a month just because I had a few beers.”
“Consider it a lesson rather than a punishment,” Lena says, having her daughter’s best interest at heart. “Now since you’re here, you might as well help me plan a surprise party for Faye.”
“I think I’ll have a giant glass of cola,” Harley says, skimming through the menu. “Oh, and chicken nuggets,” she adds, spotting it on the list.
Lucy peers up from her menu card to look at the small table where Lyra is sitting across from Lily. It feels weird to be chaperoning the first date from her oldest daughter so soon. She can see that Lyra is smiling at Lily and they’re holding hands over the table.
“Relax, Luce,” Ivy comments, catching her gaze. “Lyra and Lily will be fine.”
“This double date is nice,” Harley says, smiling. “Well, triple date rather really.”
Astra puts the menu card down, deciding to have a glass of water and a burger. She can hear that Lyra and Lily are talking about flowers again, which seems to be one of their favorite topics. Earth is different from Krypton with the dates and everything. She always assumed Lyra would find someone someday, though not so soon.
Lucy mumbles a bit when the waitress takes their order, going with cola, a burger and some fries. “So your sister is kind of like you, huh?” she asks Ivy, because she saw Lily make a rose appear before they arrived here to give it to Lyra.
“A little bit,” Ivy answers. “She’s a lot softer and she’s more interested in flowers rather than plants.”
“Recently, she told Ivy her garden looked dead,” Harley says, recalling it. “Then she made flowers grow everywhere.”
“Now my garden looks like a fucking rainbow,” Ivy mutters. “I think those two need a little something,” she says, smirking as she turns around on her chair. She moves her hand casually until a mistletoe appears above Lyra and Lily.
“Ivy,” Lucy hisses quietly. “We’re in public, don’t do that.”
“No mistletoe,” Astra says to Ivy, wanting it gone. “Remove it or I shall.”
“Aw come on, dolls,” Harley tries. “It’s cute, just let it be.”
Lyra frowns when ashes drop onto the table she’s sitting at with Lily. “I think my mama is meddling,” she whispers to her date.
“You two are no fun,” Harley says to Lucy and Astra, pouting. “Let them kiss and be happy,” she continues. “Maybe they’ll get married someday. Then we’ll be family. Lily is my sister in law so Lyra would be too.”
“Har, Lyra is thirteen,” Lucy replies, not wanting to think about her getting married. “That’s stuff I don’t want to think about for like, seven more years or something.”
“Lyra needs to be eighteen, at least,” Astra points out.
“Shhh,” Harley whispers, grinning when she sees Lyra and Lily leaning over the table.
Astra tenses because seeing her daughter get kissed for the first time is uncomfortable and suddenly she pictures Lyra as a baby. It’s not easy to see her daughter getting older. She relaxes slightly when Lucy’s hand rests on her arm.
“Okay, that happened,” Lucy whispers with a sigh. “Har, stop humming wedding songs,” she grumbles, hearing her friend sing wedding tunes.
Ivy smirks and joins in to sing with Harley.
“Worst triple date ever,” Lucy mumbles, feeling the strangers in this place looking at their table.
“Mama, mommy!” Lyra smiles happily as she runs up to their table, dragging Lily along with her. “Guess who I found?”
“No, no, no,” Lucy replies, shaking her head to stay in sweet denial. “This is not happening,” she whispers, not ready for this kind of reality.
“My soulmate,” Lyra announces, hugging Lily. “Her lips are so warm.”
“Oh snap,” Harley whistles. “Got it right on the first try, very impressive,” she says approvingly.
“Why does the universe hate us?” Lucy whispers in Astra’s ear. She can’t believe that their thirteen year old found her soulmate already, which is incredible, but also scary. They made peace with this first date thing, but she didn’t make peace with Lyra being kissed and that kiss being from her soulmate.
Ivy whistles a bridal tune and winks at Lucy.
“Lily is your soulmate?” Astra asks Lyra, who nods. She takes a deep breath and looks at her wife. “If they court, Harley and Ivy will be our family?”
Lucy sighs and nods, because that’s exactly what would happen in that case.
“I did not sign up for this,” Astra whispers, smiling at her wife.
“Is nobody going to be happy for us?” Lyra asks, offended.
“I’m happy for you two,” Harley answers, hugging both girls. “Superkid and Flowergirl, great match.”
“At least try to keep your voice down,” Lucy says to Harley, not needing this whole place to hear. “I’m happy for you as well, sweetie,” she whispers to Lyra, simply needing to process all of this.
Maggie has one arm draped over Alex’s stomach when she feels someone moving her arm a bit. She can hear her wife mumbling sleepily and when she opens her eyes, Jamie is looking at her. “Hey, munchkin,” she whispers, smiling at their daughter.
Alex opens her eyes and flicks the light on from her nightstand. “Jamie, why aren’t you in your bed sweetie?” she asks softly.
Jamie pouts and huddles closer to her parents. “I had a scary dream,” she answers sadly. “The boogeyman was going to eat me up and he was being really mean.”
“Aww, sweetheart,” Maggie whispers while wrapping her arms around Jamie. “It’s okay, it was just a dream.”
“I want to sleep here,” Jamie whispers, nuzzling herself against her mother’s shoulder.
Alex looks at their tiny daughter who is trying to hide her face in Maggie’s neck. “Okay,” she gives in, seeing her wife is going to accept anyway. “But only for one more night,” she adds.
Maggie bets Alex will be saying that again within a week because she always does. Together they keep Jamie safe, even from bad dreams.
Alex switches the light off and cuddles up with her wife and their daughter. “I love you both,” she whispers, pressing a kiss to their forehead.
“I love you too,” Maggie replies, “both of you.”
“Love, mammies,” Jamie whispers sleepily. She tangles one hand in Maggie’s hair and rests her other hand on Alex’s cheek.
Alex hums a lullaby in Italian, one that Maggie taught her and she listens how their daughter drifts off to sleep. Having this family is perfect and each time she looks at Jamie, she sees her wife. It’s a blessing to have a mini-version of Maggie around. Unfortunately, she can’t say no to either one of them, especially not when they give her that dimpled smile that’s too cute to resist.
“Being a parent is sweet, isn’t it?” Maggie asks her wife, whispering so she doesn’t disturb Jamie’s sleep.
“Yeah,” Alex breathes out, smiling as she looks at her wife. “Our daughter is perfect,” she whispers, happy that they have a child together. “I hope it takes a long time before she fully grows up.”
Maggie smiles at that, knowing exactly what her wife means. “She’ll always be our baby girl,” she says quietly. Now that she’s a mother, she understands why her father kept calling her his baby girl even when she became an adult.
“I know you’ve always been an only child,” Alex whispers, sharing her thoughts. “I used to be an only child as well until I was thirteen and then my parents adopted Kara. Up until that day I had always been fine being an only child because it meant I had nobody to compete with in any way. Then when my sister came along, I grew attached to her and realized that having a sibling felt nicer than being an only child. Did you ever wish you’d have had a sibling?”
“Sometimes I did want a sibling, but I was fine being an only child,” Maggie answers, not having minded it. “Since we got married, I got Kara and Lena as my sisters though, so that makes up for it.”
“I wonder how Jamie will feel about not having a sibling once she’s older,” Alex whispers, wondering if they really did make the right choice to stick to one child. They had always agreed to only have one child and not more.
“Hmm, I don’t think she will mind,” Maggie replies thoughtfully. “There are a bunch of kids in the family and the twins are only a week older than she is.”
“Ah yes, the twins,” Alex smiles as she thinks of Astra’s and Lucy’s twin girls.
“Yes, the two little munchkins who think our daughter is a doll to play with.”
“This location is neat, but I liked our old one,” Lucy says while they’re standing in a room at the DEO to train. It’s not like she needs much training anymore, but she likes it as a hobby and there’s always room for improvement, to push past her limits.
“Yeah, I liked our old location as well,” Alex agrees because the setup Astra used to bring them to was good. “It’s better than nothing though,” she reasons.
“It’s tough with the kryptonite emitters,” Lyra says, feeling weakened due to those green lights.
“That is how you learn, little darling,” Astra says to Lyra, though she also trains her daughter without kryptonite from time to time, usually not at the DEO.
“We could go to another room,” Kara suggests. “One without the kryptonite,” she adds.
“J’onn wants us to train here for a while,” Alex comments. “Now our strengths are about even, so it’ll be a fair fight.”
“Star can coach us,” Lucy suggests, for the sake of the good old days. “I’ll go up against Kar.”
“Wait, what?” Alex asks, frowning. “If you go against my sister then that means you want me to go against Lyra,” she realizes. “I don’t want to hurt her.”
“I don’t think you need to worry about Lyra hurting you,” Lucy replies, grinning. “You should worry about her hurting you,” she points out, confident in Lyra’s skills.
“Pft as if,” Alex huffs, not believing that Lyra would be able to defeat her when she doesn’t have her full powers.
“I will prove my worth, cousin Alex,” Lyra says with determination.
“You’re going to get your ass kicked,” Lucy says to Alex, betting on it. “Lyra has been training with Star for two years, she’s good.”
“Everyone should be careful,” Kara warns, not wanting anyone to get hurt. “I can’t stay too long,” she says, since Lena is watching Rose, Kai and Faye by herself. “Lena will need me.”
“I wonder how Mags is handling the twins,” Lucy says, sharing her thoughts. She dropped Sirius, Alura and Mayara off at Maggie’s apartment to let her babysit them.
“She loves kids, I’m sure she’s fine,” Alex replies, not worried about it. She’s sure her wife will be able to handle four children for a while.
Lucy would have dropped them off at Lena’s place, but she already has her hands full with three children, one being a moody teenager.
“Less talking, more training,” Astra reprimands, narrowing her eyes. In moments like this, she feels like General Astra again, even if it only lasts a little while.
“Sir yes sir,” Lucy replies teasingly. She catches Astra’s wrist when her wife makes a move to attack. “I wasn’t distracted, Star,” she says smugly. “I’m always on guard, like you taught me.”
Astra clears her throat and glances down at the knife that’s in her other hand, which is held near Lucy’s stomach. “You were saying?” she asks, enjoying this.
“Okay fine, I was a tiny bit distracted,” Lucy admits.
“If I was an enemy you would be bleeding,” Astra replies, wanting Lucy to be more cautious.
“Well, so would you,” Lucy points out, tapping her own knife against the back of Astra’s neck. She draws her wife closer and kisses her, feeling happy to know they were both distracted.
Kara clears her throat, waiting to start their training. “Luce, you said you’d train with me?” she asks, ready to begin.
“Yup,” Lucy answers, getting ready to start. She tucks her knife away so she can use the martial arts skills she’s been taught.
Lyra kicks her leg up high against Alex’s, trying to kick her down. She ducks when her cousin takes a swing at her.
Alex grasps Lyra’s arm and pulls her cousin towards her, holding her arm wrapped around her body while Lyra tries to wriggle herself free. “Sorry, kid,” she says apologetically. “You’re good, but I’ve been training more years than you have. We can go in a room without kryptonite to continue though.”
“I really wouldn’t do that,” Lucy warns Alex, finding that a bad idea. “She’s going to floor you.”
“I like a challenge,” Alex replies, aware that Lyra can best her when kryptonite isn’t involved.
|
PART I
Bria moved slowly across the bed toward her lover's hand as he continually inched back. He forced her to crawl to him. Her aching for him was more than penetrable. It seared her soul.
"Why do you do this to me?" she asked in a breathy staccato-like voice. Matt, looking at her mouth, wet and pouty before him, forced a sudden lunge startling her. He deliberately, but gently took hold of that plump lip between his very white teeth. He began to slowly nibble and she instantly felt her sex catch a flame from the chaotic burst of fervid heat. Just like the humid and sticky Philadelphia heat in late August that she was actually experiencing. Not that moment with Matt, the handsome lanky swimmer. His lip biting often ran through her head at moments that she least expected.
She was furious that she had no control over that relationship. She seldom had control in any of her relationships for that matter. But Matt was different. His late night visits up West River Driver and over the Falls Bridge up winding roads to her house in Germantown were times she anticipated with great yearning. She would often leave the door unlocked for him so he would just slip into bed beside her. She relished the thrill of being awakened by her paramour, feeling his long slender legs wrap themselves around her thick thighs as his manhood greeted her joyously. She hated these thoughts, but they came so randomly, and her desperation was manifesting itself again with longing for the touch of a man. That special someone to remind her that she was indeed a human and in great need of affection. She accepted Matt's inconsistent bidding on her because she was needy, and she didn't want to cause trouble. Therefore, she pushed her true feelings aside and chose to have it his way. She thought it was much easier to accept these sub-standard lovers, for it was better to have some attention rather than none at all. At least that is how she rationalized it. She tried to play it brave. Unfortunately, it was all such a horrible front.
The truth was she was hypersensitive, and to pretend to be emboldened was much easier to pull off. And although some people thought that she had some nerve in being picky, she felt that it was justified considering all that she had been through. She always asked herself why sensitive people are the pickiest people. She thought that it was quite peculiar. Considering that she would not by any means be thought of as a standard American beauty. She was just a Philly girl. A smart girl, but a fat girl. And one that had been through such a god-awful divorce that she knew there was an entire population of men she would never date again. In her quest for new found glory, she tried to immerse herself in pop-cultural indulgences such as café mochas, designer shoes, handbags, and fragrances since she couldn't quite fit into clothes she longed to be in. She was jealous of the pale, yet fashionable mannequins that stood chicly in the shops on South Street. She passed those stores by with great contempt, and stopped in Soho, the gift shop. Here she could get that pink wig she promised herself she would wear to the Diabolique fetish ball this November if she got the nerve.
She knew that if she only tried a bit to mingle in the scene, she would find someone again. She simply had to, but was her pickiness that kept her at bay. What was she supposed to do? Bria was 32, and without any prospects whatsoever. Although she had recently lost some weight, she was still a "biggun," as her ex would tease. She learned to get around this by being thankful she never grew a second or third chin, and that her breasts were prominent enough to give an illusion of a waistline. One that had gone from a 29 to god knows what. She had always been a curvy girl, but had been burgeoning on the edge of morbid obesity in all her sorrow. As she moved about in Soho, looking for silver rings that would style rather nicely on her chubby soft fingers, she tells people who aren't really that close to her, "excuse me" so that she has enough room to fit down the narrow path leading to the glass case that houses all the steal-worthy items.
"I'll take that one," she tells the petite woman who looks at her suspiciously. Bria, feeling paranoid as usual, is not sure she is getting this look from the woman because she is black, or if it's because she is fat. It makes her uneasy as she watches the rings in the display case. The clerk reaches for a snake-like ring that has a black jewel for an eye instead of the ring Bria points out. "No, not that one," she says, "that one. Yeah. That's it."
The clerk walked the ring to the front counter. There, Bria sees a darling little velvet and rhinestones collar with the word "PRINCESS," in the center.
"I'll take that too. Plus the pink wig," she tells another woman behind the cash register, and then reaches for her credit card. She also takes out her license because she knows the clerk, who has seen her in here before, is going to ask her for her identification. Bria hands her the card only, and in what sounded to Bria like a Southeast Asian accent, the clerk said, "ID." She didn't say please, which irritated Bria. However she obediently handed her license over to the woman, and waited as she charged her card.
"Thank you," Bria said as he took her receipt and belongings and headed back to her car. She was lucky to find a spot on 4th Street between South and Bainbridge, which is practically a miracle in the late afternoon. Now she would go back home, and sink into the world she had grown to become comfortably wrapped up in the middle of: her Internet world.
PART II
Bria kicked off her open-toed sandals as she entered her living room, and dropped her bags on the floor. Sweat slithered down the sides of her face as she tried to catch her breath from walking the 14 steps to her front door. Her happenings were routine, and teetering on the edge of OCD behavior. In fact, it was. She described things in her childhood that her former therapist attributed to a posttraumatic stressful event. This supposedly explained her rush to sex, specifically her oral fixation that drew her to long thick shafts that contrasted against her full greedy mouth.
She settled in her messy dressing room that housed her PC, Vanity, and a shit load of clothes. Most she could no longer wear, but she held on to them anyway. It was if her fat was unrelenting, and it was a continuous battle for her. She had a bizarre self-image. She berated herself, but only wore the finest foundation and lipstick MAC could offer. Her mother always told her that she had the most beautiful face. So she believed that one positive message. Everything else managed to slip through the cracks. She settled in her swivel armchair, lit a joint, and looked at the pictures on her wall and bookshelf that represented a happier time in her life. It was a time when she was energetic and involved. Now she had become an isolationist although she would never admit that fact. In her cyber world, she was safe, and here she was a princess, and to some, a real beauty.
Initially she couldn't believe the attention that she got from the men online. There were older wealthy men from the Main Line who spoke of unhappy marriages and how they needed a "kitten to spoil." There were the braggadocio types who claimed to be at every happening party that Paper-Street held, and other popular weekly drink fests were only the beautiful Philadelphians played. There were groups and chat rooms for every quirk, perk, or syndrome one can imagine. There were men who called themselves FAs or "Fat Admirers" who wanted to make her fatter. She immediately cast them aside, and put them in the I-might-be-crazy-but-you're-a-freaking-weirdo file. Her most peculiar admirers she thought were the handsome young white men who couldn't get enough of her on web cam, or photos of her breasts and backside. She was the reluctant whore, but enjoyed what felt like a sense of control over the rosy-cheeked boys who dated women much younger, and whose bodies were more taut and supple. Yet the young men unabashedly chased her. She knew that they weren't serious, but it was fun. She teased the 19 and 20-year-old online fans, and became more open to actually meeting 21 through 29 year olds, she had never actually met anyone in person. Now it was about time she changed that. It was perfect that she stumbled into Dustin. He was 26, enigmatic, and a wanna-be rock star from Center City Philadelphia.
"Is that really you on your web page?" he asked in random instant message.
"Who r u?" she replied while feeling insulted he didn't believe it was her.
"Nobody," he responded. "But you're gorgeous. What's your name? How old are you, and when can I "cum" over?! Lol"
She laughed back at his banter because it was simply ridiculous that he would suggest something like that without even knowing her name.
"What's your name?" she asked. "I am Bria."
"Wow, a lovely name for a lovely girl. I am Dustin, and I am 26."
"Oh, um thank you."
"Why oh? How old are you?"
She hesitated but began to type. "I'm 32"
"Ooooh an older woman, how nice. You certainly don't look 32. I mean, don't you like younger men?"
"Well I can't imagine what you want with me," she said.
"Oh," he responded, "there are many things to want from a beauty like you. Your skin is so supple. Do you have any more pics?"
"Maybe, but you never sent me your pic. Do you even have one?"
"I most certainly do," he responded, and typed "BRB" to indicate that he would be right back with something for her.
As Dustin sent photos to his new potential lay, Bria sent hers including two head to toe shots to show her fatness in case he had grand delusions. She opened the mail he sent and her slow-as-hell 56k modem connection caused a heightened sense of anxiety. The first reveal of this male beauty was a thick curly mass of chestnut-colored hair. It happened to be her favorite kind to run her fingers through. Her heart quickened its pace. The strong form of his face now appeared with the most striking and bright green eyes she had ever seen. His smile was delicious and sinister, yet she immediately felt at ease. The download finally completed, and her doubts instantly set in.
He appeared tall and looked wonderfully masculine. The kind of man she would melt over. The photo was taken on a basketball court and he was shirtless in the center of two other men who were also very attractive. They were nothing like Dustin. He had a wonderful wickedness in his eye that increased her disbelief in him actually wanting her.
"You can't' possibly be interested in me. Look, don't mock me." she said with rage in her heart. "Some of us don't have it like you okay, one of the desired people of the world. You don't need the Internet to meet women! Why are you doing this?" She felt tears welling up.
"You are one of the desired people Bria." He said.
"No I'm not." She typed back and paused. She was feeling picked upon. But he continued.
"Bria?"
"Yes?"
"You have the most beautiful breasts I've ever seen. Feed them to me.
Bria wasn't sure how to respond. She felt a rush of excitement not recently had by her.
"Stop," she said. "I don't know you. Stop talking to me like that!"
"You're right. I apologize Bria, do forgive me."
Bria felt her mind being screwed royally. She thought it was another sly ploy from some horny dude who had no regard for who she was. But then what was he to think with a girl whose screen name was BrownSugaa. So, she digressed.
"Okay" she said. "Well would you like another photo?"
To her chagrin, he said no. She wasn't expecting that.
"Why not," she asked desperately even though there was no way for him to gauge her urgency.
"Because I've seen enough. I know I want you."
And just like that, Bria found herself smitten.
So it began. It started with simple hellos and goodbyes. They shared more photos. They moved on to more revealing chats and discovered their uncanny commonality. He was a musician who had been in a grungy cover band specializing in Incubus (one of her favorite groups) and STP songs. He broke from the group to play his original music, and was struggling to do so. She talked of her love of the ocean and hoped to find a new job after grad school. He found her sexy and alluring. She found him wonderfully dominant and sincere. They took their talks to the phone, and fell deeply for the other's voice, always ending the discussions with his creamy release all about his torso. The one she envisioned licking someday. While online one day, he brought up the idea of meeting soon. She said no and refused to see him after a gig he had at Ortlieb's Jazz Haus, and he didn't understand.
"I can't do that," she said.
"Why not Bria?"
"I just can't"
"What, are you really a guy or married or something?"
"Fuck you Dustin! CLICK!" and she blocked him. Stunned, he immediately called her mobile phone, and reluctantly she answered.
"Hello?"
"Bria. Why did you block me?"
"I can't believe you would think I was a guy," she said. "After all this time, how could you say that to me?
"I'm sorry baby," he pleaded. "But I don't understand why we can't meet. I mean it's been four months. Its getting cold, and I need your warmth."
"I know," she said.
"Then meet me. Come down Tuesday night and see me play. Hear me strum my guitar for you."
"I can't D. I mean, you're not going to like me. How could you? This Internet thing is one thing. Talking on the phone is cool too but..."
"But what? Aren't you the one always telling me you want a lover? You want me to be your lover. Meet me Bria."
"Oh Dustin," she cooed.
"Let me see that sweet mouth in person. Let me see the sway of your hips, and the bounce of your bosom."
She giggled at his advances. "Dustin. Stop. You know I can't take you."
"Yes baby," he said with great confidence. "Yes you can and you will. Tuesday I'll be there all night. Meet me Bria. Be a good girl."
PART III
His watch said 11:49, and the smoke rising from the ashtrays burned his eyes. His break was almost up, and his third shot of Jack Daniels was beginning to take effect. Where was she?
Bria drove down 3rd Street past Market then over Spring Garden heading to the blue building of the funky little jazz joint where her "D" awaited. She couldn't believe she was doing it. She smoked three bowls, and was stoned out of her mind, increasing her anxiety and paranoia. She felt foolish and increasingly weirded out. Her belly was in knots as she pulled into a parking space that was only moments away from Ortlieb's doorstep. She could hear the last set starting as she checked her lipstick for the ninth time in 20 minutes. She inhaled a deep breath and stepped into the club not knowing what to expect.
A girl on a stool greeted her and asked for five dollars as Bria's eyes moved about the room hoping to find the boy she lusted after. She was impressed with the crowed. It seemed rather mixed with a relaxed atmosphere. She found a seat at the elongated bar and looked toward the small stage, and saw a figure that could only be Dustin. His hair had grown longer than the photo, and his six foot two frame even more commanding as his head hung low while he plucked his guitar with passion she could feel in her panties. Her nervousness got the best of her. She ordered an Absolute and cranberry, and tried to focus on her fella. She sipped her drink so fast and hard that she got a brain freeze. She signaled the barmaid for another, and considered moving into one of the empty tables closer to the stage. She got up to do just that when Dustin's solo ended. The audience roared with approval that made him stand tall and smile that beautiful smile around the smoky club. His glassy eyes became fixed on the brown girl at the end of the bar. Bria could feel his gaze, and she immediately turned away and headed for the door.
"Bria!" he yelled and ran off stage following her.
"Bria!" he called again as he ran toward her before she opened the car door. "Where are you going?"
"I'm sorry Dustin," she said. "I don't know what I'm doing. I'm sorry. You are just too overwhelming. You're...you are so beautiful"
"And so are you," he said taking her breath away as he pinned her up against the car, fondling her breasts, and grabbing her round bottom. His hot tongue slithered into her parted mouth and Bria let him sink into her deeply and matter-of-factly.
"You're mine Bria," he said.
"I know, " she replied. And their love affair began.
|
Jenny had gotten her old job back. She'd needed to because her useless husband was not only useless in bed, but was useless as a bread winner.
In the years BC (Before Children), Jenny had worked in a laboratory and was very high up in rank. She'd lead a team and was considered one of the best in her field. When she rang up to ask if they had any vacancies, they almost bit her arm off and invited her to start immediately and almost allowed her to name her own price. Suffice to say, they'd made it worth her while to return and, what's more, she was given her old unit to run.
Her unit was as commercially sterile as it could be, given the nature of the lab work, and this necessitated all staff to shower in and out of the unit. You could not gain access to the changing rooms on either side unless you've gone through the shower first.
Jenny had been working on a particular project and her staff had gone home. She'd put her personal effects into a sealed clinical bag and taken it into the shower with her. The shower finished and she pushed to door to get out of the clean side so she could enter the lab. The door was jammed shut. She swore under her breath and tried again. It was stuck fast and would not budge. Thinking maybe the door from the outer changing room was still open slightly, she tried that door too. Jammed. She was stuck in the middle, totally naked in a locked shower unit, her staff had gone home and the unit was so well insulated against pathogens, it was also insulated against sound.
Jenny opened her sealed clinical bag and took out her one personal item, her mobile phone, and rang her boss. He rushed down with colleagues into the female changing rooms and they tried to get the door open. It was no use, the door was jammed.
The governor decided to call the fire and rescue service and, before long, an appliance was despatched and the crew directed to the incident.
The fire chief despatched two of his team to go in via the male changing area and try to gain access that way. The solid doors were like trying to crack a safe, waterproof seals and solid steel stood between Jenny and her rescuers.
The lab itself was very well heated and although Jenny stood in the shower cubicle naked, she was not cold. She could hear the occasional clang as tools were bashed against metal or walls, and other than the air vent which was big enough to get a rabbit through, and the drainage hold which was big enough for a mouse, maybe.
Jenny felt a rush of cool air and the door on the clean side opened. There, in front of her, were two young and very good looking fire officers. She stepped out in her nakedness and one of them took off his jacket to put around her.
"Are you OK, darling?" the fireman said, his common cockney accent accentuating his appeal. She looked up at his face, his kind eyes showing genuine concern.
"Yes, thank you" she said. The second fire officer, a little taller and of half caste skin, squatted down in front of her as she was sat on a bench in the ladies changing rooms.
"Are you hurt anywhere?" he asked. She shook her head.
"No, I'm fine."
"You're more than fine, sweetheart" said the first fire fighter. "I'm Stuart and this is Rob" he said, by way of introduction.
"I'm Jenny" she said, holding out her hand to shake. Stuart took her hand and kissed the back like a gentleman. He was actually looking to see what she wore on her hand.
"Been married long?" he said, noticing her band of Gold.
"Too ruddy long" she said, a little too quick. Stuart smiled at Rob.
"Not happy in your marriage darling?" he said, quickly adding the question "Why's that, then?"
Jenny had noticed that beneath their uniforms, they appeared to be sporting either very heavy tools or they were aroused by her. Assuming the latter, she felt flattered.
"My husband's only got a small dick" she said.
"How small is small then?" Rob asked. She smiled.
"Oh, you know?" she said, beginning to flirt with them and enjoying it.
"Stuart's got a small one, haven't you?" Rob jeered. Stuart took the feed line.
"Yeah, that's right. Wanna have a look?" he said and before Jenny could resist, he'd slipped his braces holding up his trousers and dropped them to the floor, immediately removing his designer label briefs.
Stuart stood there in front of her, sporting his 10 inch dick, fully erect. It was twice the size of her useless husband's dick.
"I see what you mean" she said, flirting some more. "I suppose you're much bigger, are you Rob?" she said, turning to face him. He followed Stuart's approach and, removing his jacket first, removed his pants. He was close to being almost 12 inches long, his short curly pubic hair really bushy, his balls quite pronounced.
"You ever had a black man before" Rob asked her. Jenny shook her head.
"You prejudiced or what?" he challenged her.
"No, never had the opportunity before" she said, liking what she saw.
"What do you mean, never had the opportunity before?" Stuart said. Jenny smiled and stood up, shrugging off Stuart's fireman's jacket and facing Rob.
"Never had the opportunity before now" she said, sinking to her knees and rubbing his large throbbing erection.
"I bet you keep your girlfriend satisfied" she said, running her hands along the full length of his firm erection. Jenny allowed his cock to enter her mouth and she closed her sweet lips around it, feeling it's pulse against her tongue. Stuart had knelt behind her and started to massage her shoulders, removing any tenseness and stress. Jenny could feel Rob's hand stroking her hair and gently pulling her towards him, allowing more of his cock to enter her mouth. She took a deep breath and positioned her neck so she could take as much of his dick in her mouth that was possible, her tonsils being tickled by his erect penis, teasing her. He began to slowly thrust in her mouth and she licked and sucked, tickling his testicles simultaneously. Rob groaned in pleasure.
Meanwhile, Stuart had leaned forward and was caressing Jenny's firm and supple breasts, her nipples erect, so erect they could have hung their jackets on them.
"Suck me baby" Rob said in his best black voice. It was hardly deep like Barry White but the message was understood. Jenny increased the speed which she took him in her mouth, he tongue movements over the head of his dick slow and elongated.
"Mmm, that's nice" he said. Stuart was less vocal but every bit as aroused. His hands moved down her abdomen to the sweep juicy pussy they'd seen the moment she'd stepped out of the shower. His fingers reached his goal and found her labia, her clitoris already stood to attention and craving for attention of it's own. Stuart willingly obliged, causing Jenny to squirm and moan, taking Rob's hot hard cock from her mouth whilst Stuart finger fucked her.
"Deeper" Jenny whispered, making sure Rob's cock did not go soft my wanking him, her wedding ring on her white hand in total contrast to Rob's dark skin. Stuart's fingers delved deeper, causing Jenny to murmer.
"Can you get it deeper?" she asked. Stuart smiled.
"You want something deeper, do you?" Stuart enquired. Jenny nodded.
"Ooh, yes. Deeper. Deeper" she begged. Stuart was knelt behind her and she moved forward so she was now on all fours. His hard aching cock approached her vaginal opening and his cock felt the warmth and moisture of her love lips. He slowly inched himself into her, bit at a time, his massive cock being buried deep in her wet juicy pussy.
"Ooh, yes. That's it" Jenny encouraged, "Deeper". Stuart kept going, deeper into her pussy until it was fully inside her. She'd accommodated him with immense ease and now he was pulling his meat in and out of her, his pace increasing.
"Fuck me deeper" she said, aware she had Stuart's massive cock inside her. Just then Rob's radio burst into life.
"Progress report" said the Governors voice. Rob reached over for the radio, Stuart attempting to keep the noise levels low.
"Just gaining entry now, Guv!" Rob said. Stuart laughed out loud.
"You can tell him I'm just coming!" he laughed.
Jenny smiled, then said "If you're going to cum, then cum."
Rob placed his cock in her mouth again and she greedily gobbled at him for a while before he told Stuart to change places. Jenny was at first disappointed to loose that 10 inch cock from her pussy but was delighted when it was replaced by Rob's 12 inch rock hard love rod.
Not only was Rob bigger than Stuart, he had style and technique.
"Fuck me. Don't stop" Jenny implored. Stuart had found his way to her mouth and placed his pussy flavoured cock into her mouth. She licked away her own juices, eager to taste Stuart in her mouth. It was seconds later that he uttered the fact he was cumming. Now Jenny doesn't normally like waste, she likes cum in her pussy, but she was happy for Stuart to fill her mouth, his seed spilling out of him like the water from the fountains at Trafalgar Square. She sucked and swallowed his cum, licking her lips as though looking for more. Stuart sat down on a changing bench whilst Rob continued to pound her pussy.
"Is this your first black dick?" he asked her.
"Mmm" she replied, still catching her breath from all the cum she'd swallowed.
"You like black dick?" he asked.
"I love being fucked by black dick" Jenny responded, "Fuck me."
Rob did. His long hard cock slid in and out of her smooth moist pussy and she groaned with pleasure.
"Take it out" she ordered and Rob thought he must had done something wrong. He withdrew and found that he, a big burly fire fighter had been rolled onto the floor by this petite (and incredibly horny) woman. Jenny straddled his hips and lowered herself onto his hard, aching cock until it was all in, every last millimetre.
"Now fuck me" she ordered Rob and he began to thrust himself deep into her pussy, her rocking movements varied in direction and this gave her sensations she'd not experienced for a very long time. She ached for big cock. Her husband just couldn't deliver between the sheets and despite everything, she needed to feel fulfilled. Jenny needed to feel filled full too! And Rob could certainly deliver. He reached up and caressed her tits, his strong masculine arms reaching up her slender shapely body to her well proportioned chest.
Jenny ran her hands through Rob's chest hair, throwing her head back in delight as his 12 inch portion filled her entirely. She was reaching the first of her orgasms when Stuart knelt behind her. Rob saw his intentions and took Jenny's arms, lowering her towards him, exposing her bottom to Stuart. Rob used this opportunity to place a tit in his mouth, his lips and tongue eager to explore her nipple, his saliva adding to her body sweat. Stuart placed the tip of his dick against her anus and slowly pushed, inserting his cock up her shitter.
Jenny squealed as the tip of Stuart's cock entered her hole but as he slid it in further, her noises reverted back to satisfied moans. As she moved her body forwards, Rob's dick hit full penetration, as she moved backwards, Stuarts cock stimulated her arse, every which way was pleasurable.
Jenny was being double fucked and enjoying it, Rob's mouth sucking one tit, his hand on the other, and with nearly 2 feet of cock inside her, she was having the ride of her life.
Rob released her tits and pulled her hips towards him.
"Fuck. I'm cumming. Fuck me" he uttered and she thrust herself deep onto his cock.
"Cum inside me. Cum" she whispered.
"Shit, I'm cumming" he said, his voice sounding like he needed breathing apparatus. This horny young nubile bitch was taking his breath away. With one final thrust and a loud scream of "Fuck!" he climaxed inside her sweet moist vagina, his semen pumping into her, looking for eggs to fertilise.
Stuart leaned round as she sat up and took one of her tits in one hand, his other playing with her pussy. His little finger found her clit and with the angle of his penetration, and Rob's pulsating cock, Jenny tripped into another wild orgasm, her body thrashing around causing Stuart to empty a second load of spunk, this time up her rectum. That's the second load of spunk that's gone to waste, Jenny thought to herself.
Stuart removed himself from her and as she stood up, Rob's sperm trickled down her leg, leaving globules of cum on the floor.
"I think we all need a shower" Jenny said.
Shortly after, cleaned and presentable, Jenny said her more formal thank you's. She shook Stuart by the hand, then she shook Rob by the hand, finding time to give him a subtle peck on the cheek. She palmed Rob one of her business cards with her mobile number on which she'd picked up from her office whilst they were cleaning up.
Rob looked at the card quizzically and she gave him a knowing wink.
"Call me" she said. "I'd like to go sliding down your pole again sometime." Rob grinned like the cat who'd got the cream. Then Jenny really surprised him.
"Next time" she whispered in his ear, "how about you bring the entire watch?"
"Sure" he said, gasping for breath. "But you know that only the Governor and Stuart are white, the rest are either black or mixed culture?" he said. Jenny's face did not alter at all. This had been her first black cock and she loved it.
"Even better" said Jenny as she left for the door, her cute arse wiggling in her white summery skirt, her dark string highly visible. Jenny turned and blew a kiss to the entire crew and walked off leaving Stuart and Rob with empty scrotums and a story to tell.
|
If you have the time you can e-mail me and tell me what you thought.
*****
The sun was shining outside as Laurie and David drove into the town of Mynt. They were on their way to the Domino Resort.
Laurie and David were on vacation and had driven all the way from New York. It was mainly Laurie's idea to come here. She had heard about the Resort from a friend of hers, and after hearing what her friend had to say about it, she just knew that she had to go.
Her husband David wasn't that happy about the idea. But he would do anything for her, so he eventually agreed.
It was a couple of months ago that he received the shocking news from his wife, that she had been seeing a bunch of black men.
After that things changed, but strangely enough not the love he had for Laurie.
Laurie had even brought some of those guys home to their house, and David had to watch as she slept with them in front of him.
David is 28 years old and about 6 feet tall. He is quite a skinny person and not a person who would work out.
David works as a stock broker for a large firm. He makes quite a good living, so Laurie and he doesn't have to worry about the financial side of their life.
Because of David's job, Laurie doesn't need to work and she doesn't. In the days she spends most of her time shopping in the city.
Laurie is 25 years old and blonde. She is about 5 foot 5 inches tall and weights about 125 pounds. She has always had a great body, long smooth legs, thin waist, a very firm ass and a pair of perky C-cup breasts.
In other words, she's a real head turner.
As they drove through the town of Mynt they looked around.
"This really is a small town." Laurie said.
"Yeah, it's not New York." David said as he looked over at his wife.
Laurie had a small light colored dress on, which showed quite a bit of cleavage.
"Look honey, there's a sign over there." Laurie said pointing at the sign.
The sign read: The Domino Resort - 1 Mile.
"We're almost there." Laurie said smiling.
"Yeah." David said as he remembered what Laurie had told him about the Resort.
They drove for a few minutes more, then they saw a large building with a two line drive way up to it.
"There it is." Laurie said looking at a Domino sign.
David then drove up the drive way and parked in front of the Resort. As they parked there came out a blonde woman wearing only a bikini with the Domino Resort name tag on it.
David and Laurie then got out of the car.
"Welcome to the Domino Resort." The woman said.
"Hello, hi." David and Laurie said back.
"If you give me your key, I'll have someone park your car and bring up the suitcases to your rooms." The woman told them.
David handed her the keys to the car as he looked at her in that small bikini. Then they heard her ring a bell.
And soon out came this white male wearing only an apron and a small cap on his head. As the man walked by them they also saw that he wore, what appeared to be a tight pair of panties.
David looked a bit stunned at this, but Laurie just giggled.
"You can go in now, this panty boy will bring up your suitcases." The woman told them.
Laurie and David then walked through the front doors of the Resort. As they came inside they walked over to the front desk. There stood a woman behind the desk and she was also wearing a bikini.
"Hi, I think you have reservations for us." Laurie told the woman.
"Your names." She asked.
"Laurie and David Hill." Laurie told her.
"Yes, we do. Did you want separate rooms?" The woman asked.
"Well, do you have a suite with two beds in separate rooms?" Laurie asked the woman.
David wasn't surprised that Laurie would ask for a suite with separate bedrooms. At home he was often forced to sleep on a couch when she had home one of those black males.
"Yes, a couple of those are still available." The woman told Laurie.
"Good, we'll take one of those suites." Laurie told her.
"Here's your key." The woman handed it to Laurie.
As they looked around from the front desk they saw a large room to their left that had a bar and a restaurant.
Inside there, they could see more white couples sitting at tables along with a large black male beside the woman.
Before they went up to their room they decided to take the tour around the resort and see what they offered. As they walked around they saw dance floors, inside swimming pools, outside pools, hot tubes and saunas.
It was getting late when they had finished the tour, and they were tired from all of the driving, so they decided to get some sleep.
When they came up to their room they saw a king size bed in the main room, and a smaller one in the other one.
"Well, we know which one is mine." Laurie said as she jumped into the king size.
"Damn, my bed is hard as a rock." David said as he laid down on his small bed.
"Well you will just have to get used to it." Laurie told David.
"Because my bed is reserved for real men." Laurie then said with a smile on her face.
"I know." David said reluctantly.
A half an hour later they both went to bed, in their separate beds.
"Sleep well hubby." Laurie said as she made out a small giggle.
"Night." David said good night.
As David laid in his hard bed he wondered if all the things he had heard about this place was true.
And tomorrow he was about to find out.
The next day after taking a shower Laurie and David were getting ready to go downstairs. Laurie had put on a short skirt along with a tight top with no bra underneath. David could see her hard nipples through her top.
They then went downstairs to the bar/restaurant area.
When they got downstairs they saw a few other white couples sitting in the restaurant area.
"Where should we sit?" David asked Laurie.
"How about over there." Laurie said pointing at a table.
Laurie had pointed to a table next to another couple.
"Ok."
Laurie and David went over to the table and sat down. As they sat down they looked around for a moment.
As Laurie looked at the couple sitting next to them she made eye contact with the woman and they nodded.
The woman at the next table could tell that Laurie and her husband were first timers at the Resort.
"Is this your first time here." The woman asked Laurie.
"Yes it is." Laurie answered.
"I could tell." The woman said.
"Are you two here alone?" The woman then asked Laurie.
"Yes we are." Laurie told her.
"Well, why don't you two join us at our table." The woman said.
Laurie looked at the woman and then at David.
"Ok." Laurie said.
Laurie and David then got up and then sat down at the other couples table.
"I'm Connie and this is my husband Larry." The couple introduced themselves to Laurie and David.
Connie was also a blonde in her early thirties. She wore a short dress that showed a lot of cleavage.
Larry looked like your average white male.
"Hi I'm Laurie and this is my husband David." Laurie and David introduced themselves.
"So when did you two arrive here." Connie asked Laurie.
"Yesterday." Laurie told Connie.
"So did we." Connie told Laurie.
"Have you been here before?" Laurie asked Connie.
"Yeah we've been here a couple of times. And let me just tell you, there's nothing quite like it." Connie told Laurie.
"That's what I've heard." Laurie said smiling.
"Can I ask you when it was that you traded up?" Connie then asked Laurie.
"You mean." Laurie said nodding at one of the black waiters.
"Yes." Connie said.
"Well I think it was a little more than six months ago." Laurie told Connie.
"And you." Laurie asked Connie.
"Well I went black about two years ago. It was the best thing I have ever done." Connie told Laurie.
"Yeah tell me about it." Laurie said and as they both smiled.
David and Larry looked at their wives as they talked about their black experiences.
"So how did your hubby take it when you told him?" Connie asked Laurie.
"Oh he was so sweet, he had thought that he had been enough for me. But I told him that I was getting tired of faking orgasm all of the time, and that from now on I'm only going to be with real men, Black men." Laurie told Connie.
"Actually one of the reasons that we went here, was so that he could learn just how inferior he is to the black male." Laurie told Connie.
David started to feel humiliated there he sat and listened to the things his wife was telling Connie.
"My Larry has already accepted that fact. And now all he gets to do to me is to clean up the mess after my black lover when he's done with me." Connie told Laurie.
"And Larry just loves creampies, don't you Larry." Connie asked her husband.
"Yes dear." Larry told her.
"Listen to that David, that is all that you are going to be allowed to do with me." Laurie told David.
David looked humiliated as he nodded to his wife. Just then when they were talking, a black man came up behind Connie. The black man just reached down into her dress and cupped her left breast. Then he leaned down and gave her a long tongue kiss.
Laurie and David looked at this in awe. And Larry just watched as his wife was being mauled. Although soon Laurie just wished that it was her that the black male was having.
A moment later the guy pulled away from Connie.
"Oh hi Jafar." Connie said smiling.
Jafar was this huge coal black male with muscles all over. He wore nothing but a pair of shorts.
"I see you're here with your sissy hubby again." Jafar said to Connie.
"Yes." She said smiling.
"I just wanted to tell you that we got three guys for your anal tonight." Jafar told Connie.
"Oh thank you." Connie said as she then went down on her knees and kissed his feet.
Laurie and David both wondered about this.
Then as Connie sat down on her chair Jafar walked over to another table. Connie then looked over at Laurie.
"Laurie, have you had an anal stretching before." Connie asked Laurie.
"No, I've never done it like that." Laurie told Connie.
"Let me just tell you, it's great. I mean at first it hurts a little having those 12 inch black cocks up your ass, but soon you just can't have enough." Connie told Laurie.
"And I'm lucky enough to have three big guys doing it to me tonight." Connie then told Laurie.
Laurie smiled a bit.
"Wait a minute, Laurie why don't you join me." Connie then asked Laurie.
"Well I don't know." Laurie said feeling a bit unsure about it, although it did appeal to her.
"Trust me, it'll be great." Connie told her.
"Well...ok." Laurie then agreed.
Hearing this David felt a little disappointed, because he had always wanted to do that to Laurie, but she had always told him no. And now she was going to let those black men take her virgin butt.
"Great." Connie said.
"But I'll have to ask Jafar if you can join us." Connie told her.
"Jafar." Connie then waved at Jafar as he stood and talked to another couple.
But a minute later Jafar came over.
"Jafar, I wanted to ask you if Laurie here could join me tonight at the anal." Connie asked Jafar.
"Well I don't know." Jafar said as he looked at Laurie.
Laurie looked at Jafar smiling, hoping that he would say yes.
"Stand up." He told Laurie.
Laurie looked over at Connie who was nodding to her to stand up. So Laurie stood up.
Jafar then walked over to Laurie and then got behind her. He then reached over from behind of her and grabbed both of her breasts.
Laurie was a little surprised at first, but she had actually hoped that he would do this to her since she saw him do it to Connie.
David watched as Laurie was starting to enjoy herself. Laurie felt Jafars black hands squeeze her breasts.
Then Jafar reached down and pulled up Laurie's skirt and revealed her pantyless pussy.
"Well I need to check her out a little more closely to be sure." Jafar then said as Laurie smiled.
"Is this your hubby?" Jafar asked Laurie.
"Yes." Laurie told him.
"Well wimp, you just sit there while I try out your wife." Jafar told David.
Jafar then walked away with Laurie into a side room. David just sat there and watched as his wife walked away with Jafar.
"Don't you worry David, Jafar will take good care of Laurie." Connie told David as she licked her lips thinking about the things that Jafar was going to do to Laurie.
"Oh I remember the first time with Jafar, god he was great. Do you remember that Larry, I let you watch that time." Connie said to her husband.
"Yes I do." Larry said.
A few minute past.
"Are you thinking about your wife David?" Connie then asked.
"Yes." David said not knowing how to feel about it.
"Well let me tell you." Connie said.
"Jafar is probably stretching your wife's pussy by now." Connie told David.
David was shocked at what Connie had said.
Connie then drank up the drink that she had in front of her.
"Well Larry we should go." Connie told her husband.
And then as Connie and Larry stood up, David saw that Larry was only wearing a T-shirt and a pair of panties.
"You know David, Jafar and Laurie will probably be a while. But when you see her, can you tell her to meet me in room 231 at 8 O'clock." Connie asked David.
"Ok." David said.
After Connie and Larry had left, David sat there for about an hour and then he went up to their room.
The way up to their room all David could think about was his wife being taken by that huge black guy.
Then an hour later Laurie came back to their room. Her clothes and her hair were all messed up.
"Oh god David, I've never cum so hard in my entire life." Laurie said as she walked over to her bed.
"And Jafar told me that I could join Connie tonight." Laurie then said smiling.
David could see that she had dried cum in her hair.
Laurie then got up and took a shower.
A few moments later Laurie came out from the shower wearing a bathrobe.
"David, did Connie tell you anything about tonight." Laurie asked David.
"She told me to tell you to meet her in room 231 at 8 O'clock." David reluctantly told his wife.
"Well I'll better get dressed then." Laurie told him.
Laurie went over to the drawer were she had her clothes.
"David, I thought that you might want to come and watch." Laurie said to David.
David had mixed feelings about this. But at least if he went along, he would get to be with Laurie. Even though he would have to watch her being ravage by black males.
Laurie knew that she wouldn't be inside of her clothes for long after she arrived to room 231, so she only put on a top and a skirt with nothing underneath.
It was now ten to eight so it was time for Laurie and David to go.
"I'm actually a bit nervous David." Laurie told her husband as they walked towards the room.
"Then don't do it." David said quietly to himself so that Laurie wouldn't hear him.
And she didn't.
Then they were at the door to room 231. They knocked and then they went inside.
When they got inside they got a little surprise.
Connie was already there, but she was naked and on her knees in front of three nude big black men. She was giving them head.
"Oh!" Laurie said as she saw them.
The guys and Connie heard them as David and Laurie came in.
"Hi Laurie, you didn't mind that I got started did you?" Connie asked.
"No." Laurie said as she began to walk towards them.
"What the hell is that sissy doing here?" One of the black guys then said, referring to David.
"Oh I thought that he could watch." Laurie told them.
"We don't usually allow sissy boys to watch." Said another of the black men.
"Well I thought it would be nice to let him watch, because David has always wanted to take me in the ass, but I have never allowed him to do that. And now that I'm going to do it with you guys for the first time, I really would like for him to watch knowing that you are taking what he has always wanted." Laurie told the guys.
They looked at each other and then they grinned at David.
"Well ok, he can watch." They told Laurie.
"Thank you." Laurie thanked the black guys.
Laurie then walked over to the guys as she pulled of her top exposing her big boobs. She then sat down next to Connie and they smiled to each other.
One of the guys holding his cock then placed it in front of Laurie's mouth. Laurie looked up at him as she opened her mouth.
She then took his cockhead into her mouth and started to suck on it.
"Mmm." She moaned as she began to slurp on his cock.
Connie was now switching between the two other guys. She sucked one guy and then the other, whilst stroking both of their cocks.
As Laurie was giving her guy a blowjob she looked over at Connie and what she saw amazed her.
Connie was actually able to deepthroat one of the black guys. And his cock had to be at least 10 inches.
"God Connie, how do you do that?" Laurie asked in amazement.
The guys grinned.
Connie then pulled the guys long organ out from her mouth. She had to catche her breath.
"You just have to relax your throat muscles and just let it glide down." Connie told Laurie as she took it all once more down her throat.
Laurie then decided to try it. She returned to her guy and opened her mouth and tried to get as much as she could inside of her mouth.
"Gagh." Laurie soon pulled his cock out from her mouth as she gagged.
"Yeah girl." The black guy said.
But she had only managed to get half of his cock into her mouth.
Then a moment later, one of the guys got behind Connie. He then got his huge shaft up to her butt hole.
"Yeah, shove it in." Connie moaned as she felt him against her ass.
Laurie watched as the guy started to push his cock into her butt. And then his cockhead disappeared into her ass.
"Wow." Laurie said.
"Oh yess." Connie moaned out.
"Now it's your turn." Laurie's guy told her.
"Wait just a second." Laurie said.
"David, come over here." Laurie told David.
David then got up and walked over to his wife. Laurie was now standing up.
"David, pull down my skirt so this black stud can fuck me." Laurie told David.
David looked at his wife as he then reluctantly took a hold of the top of her skirt and then started to pull them down.
"That's it white boy, pull your wife's skirt down." The black guy grinned.
Laurie had now stepped out of her skirt.
"Now you can go back and sit down." Laurie told her husband.
David walked back and sat down only to see the black man getting behind his wife's butt. That guy was going to do what David had always wanted to do to Laurie.
"Spread your ass." The guy told Laurie.
Laurie put her head down against a pillow on the floor as she reached up and spread her ass.
"Please go slow, it's my first time." Laurie told the guy.
"Maybe." The black guy told her.
Laurie felt his big cockhead against her opening butt hole.
"Oh godd." Laurie screamed out as the guy pushed his cock into her tight ass.
"Damn you're tight." The guy grunted as he pushed deeper and deeper into Laurie's butt.
Soon he grabbed her hips and started to move in and out of her.
"Ah ah." Laurie moaned at each of his thrusts.
Then a moment later she got a cock shoved into her mouth. But this guy's cock tasted a bit different. Laurie looked up at the guy and saw that it was the guy that had just fucked Connies ass.
"Yeah suck it slut." He told her.
Laurie was so damn hot by now that she didn't care, she just continued to suck his cock.
Connie had now gotten up on top of the third guy and was slamming down her ass onto his black tool.
Then a few moments later the guy who was pounding Laurie began to grunt heavier.
"Ah yes." The guy grunted as he began to shoot his load into Laurie's ass.
"Yess cum in my ass." Laurie moaned out.
Then as the guy began to slow down and then pull out from her butt, cum started to run out from her ass.
As it stopped pouring out, the guy who Laurie had been sucking got behind of her and shoved his big black cock right into her ass. He then started to pound her hard.
"Yesss oh god yess." Laurie moaned.
"Ahhh yess." Connie then had an orgasm as her guy started to cum inside of her ass.
Then moments later the guy who was fucking Laurie began to grunt.
"Yeah I'm cumming." He grunted.
Laurie felt him cumming inside of her ass as he thrusted a few more times.
David who sat there watching this felt very jealous that it wasn't he who was cumming inside of his wife's ass.
"Oh god, that was great." Laurie told the guys.
"I told you." Connie said.
That night the both of them got fucked three more times up the ass.
The next day Laurie had a bit of trouble walking. As Laurie and David came down to the restaurant area, they met up with Connie and Larry.
Laurie hadn't seen Larry wearing his pair of panties before.
"David, that's what you are going to be wearing tomorrow." Laurie told David.
David looked down and nodded.
Then as they sat down they ordered some coffees. David and Larry ordered plain coffee. Laurie ordered a mocca light and Connie ordered a black mocca with cream.
They talked for a moment, then their coffees were brought to them by this tall muscle chested black male.
They all took their coffees.
"And now for my cream." Connie said as she looked up at the black man.
The black man then pulled down his shorts and out popped his huge fat cock.
Connie then took a hold of his member and started stroking it and then she took it into her mouth.
Connie sucked on it passionately for about 10 minutes then the guy started to grunt.
Connie then got her cup up to his cockhead as she stroked him.
"I just love cream with my coffee." Connie said as Laurie watched as the guy started to cum.
He was spurting his sperm right into her cup.
Both Laurie and David had "Wow" looks on their faces.
As the guy stopped cumming he had shot a lot of his cum into Connies cup.
Connie then thanked him and raised her cup and took a sip.
"Mmm, delicious." Connie said.
Laurie looked at Connie with what could only be described as jealous eyes.
"Do you want a taste?" Connie asked Laurie.
"Yes please." Laurie told her.
Laurie had always had a thing for sperm.
She took Connies cup and then tasted her coffee with cream.
"Mmm yes, that was delicious." Laurie told Connie and they both smiled.
"You know Laurie, I just checked the activities menu and I saw a particular party that just opened up tomorrow. And I think we would both enjoy this kind of a party." Connie told Laurie.
"What kind of party is it?" Laurie asked curiously.
"It's called a bukkake party." Connie told Laurie.
"A bukkake party? I've never heard about that before, what is it?" Laurie asked Connie.
"Well, if you've never heard about it then I don't want to spoil the surprise for you. But I can tell you this much, if you like cum then you will just love this party." Connie told Laurie.
By this time Laurie had gotten very curious about what it could be.
"Should I sign us up for it, the party is for max two women." Connie said to Laurie.
"Well ok." Laurie said eager to find out what it is.
"But this time, leave your hubby down here or somewhere else." Connie told Laurie.
"Ok." Laurie said as she looked over and smiled at David.
The rest of the day past quickly. And that night all that Laurie could think about was this bukkake party.
The next day as Laurie and David was getting dressed, Laurie came over to David with a pair of her panties.
"Did you forget what you were going to wear today?" Laurie asked David as she handed him a pair of panties.
"No, I remembered." David said.
"Well put them on." Laurie told him.
"Yes." David said submissively.
David took the panties and then slowly put them on. His dick and balls were squeezed real tight inside of the panties.
"Oh they look so nice on you." Laurie giggled.
This time David was actually thankful that he didn't have a big dick.
"Now that I'm off to the party with Connie, I want you to go downstairs to the bar area so that everyone can see what you are wearing." Laurie told David.
"But... ok." David reluctantly agreed.
A minute later the phone rang in their room. Laurie answered it.
"Hi Laurie its Connie here." Connie said on the other end of the line.
"Hi Connie, I was just about to head over to you." Laurie said.
"Well it was a good thing that I caught you then." Connie told her.
"Have you gotten dressed?" Connie then asked Laurie.
"Almost." Laurie told her.
"Well on these kinds of parties, it's best not to wear anything." Connie told Laurie.
"Oh." Laurie said.
"So just put on a robe and nothing underneath, you'll thank me later." Connie told her.
"Ok." Laurie told her.
"Well, see you in a bit then." Connie said.
"Bye." They told each other as they hung up the phone.
Laurie looked at herself in the mirror. She had put on a short dress, so she started to get undressed. When she had removed her bra and thong panties, she got into her robe.
Then as David and Laurie got out of their room, Laurie said good-bye to David as she began to walk towards Connies room.
As she was walking in the hallway she started to get really aroused. She had never walked around wearing only a robe and nothing underneath outside of her house before. It was actually turning her on.
Then as she came over to Connies room she knocked on the door. A few seconds later Connie opened the door. Connie was also wearing a robe.
"Hi Laurie." Connie said as she got out and closed the door behind her.
"So what room is the party in?" Laurie asked Connie.
"It's in room 200." Connie told her.
They talked a little as they took the elevator up to that floor and then walked over to room 200.
"Well here we are." Said Connie.
Connie then opened the door and they both got inside. It was quite a large room.
"Wow." Laurie said a bit shocked at what she saw inside the room.
Inside the room there stood at least 15 naked black guys.
Connie then took Laurie's hand as she walked her into the center of the room. The guys then formed a kind of a circle around the girls.
"Lets take these off shall we." Connie said as she took off her robe.
Laurie looked at all of the guys and then at Connie, and then Laurie removed her robe as well.
Laurie watched as the black men started to stroke their big cocks. And Laurie couldn't help but to start touching herself.
"This is a bukkake party." Connie then said.
But Laurie still didn't know exactly what it was.
"These guys are all going to cum on us. They are going to drench our faces with their sperm." Connie told Laurie.
"Oh god." Laurie said as she realized that this group of guys were all going to cum on her face and in her mouth.
As she thought about it, it actually got really appealing to her.
Then with out notice, one of the guys came over to Laurie and started pulling his cock faster and faster over her face.
"Oh yes." Laurie moaned as she touched herself.
Then the guy started to spurt his cum right into her face, and by this time Laurie had opened her mouth and had stuck out her tongue.
She felt his cum splash against her chin and then hit her tongue. As the guy stopped cumming, Laurie saw two guys standing over Connie and they were both shooting loads of sperm in her face.
Then two other guys came over to Laurie and just as the first guy walked up to her, he came.
Wads and wads of sperm hit her face and her open mouth. Then the other guy started to spurt his load.
"Oh god yes." Laurie moaned out.
Laurie swallowed all of the cum that she got in her mouth. And just as the first guy stopped cumming, another guy took his place and started to cum into her mouth and on her face.
Laurie could smell the musky smell of their cum as it ran down her face. She could taste the salty and sweet taste of their sperm as she swallowed it.
Laurie's face was being drenched by all of these guys.
Now there stood two black guys over Connie and two guys over Laurie. Laurie and Connies faces were drenched in cum as the new guys started spurting their loads onto their faces.
After each guy had cum, he rested for a few minutes then he started to stroke his cock again. But this time as they began to get ready to cum, they shot their load into a large glass that stood on a table.
As the last guy came on Connie the glass started to fill up.
"Oh god that was incredible." Laurie then said to Connie as she wiped some of the sperm away from near her eyes.
"I told you that if you liked cum that you would love this." Connie then said.
Laurie smiled.
Connie then got over close to Laurie and licked her cum drenched face.
"Mmm, you taste delicious." Connie said.
"So do you." Laurie said as she took a lick on Connies chin.
"There's still a surprise for you." Connie told Laurie.
"What's that?" Laurie said smiling.
Connie pointed to the table where the glass stood.
"Oh wow." Laurie said as she saw the glass with cum.
Both girls watched as each guy got over to the glass and then unloaded his balls of sperm into hit.
A few moments later one of the guys nodded to Connie.
"Lets go." Connie told Laurie as they started to crawl over to the table.
"Wow, it's almost full." Laurie said.
Connie then reached over and picked up the glass.
"Now open your mouth." She told Laurie.
Laurie looked at Connie and then she opened her mouth. Connie tilted the glass a bit and the semen started to pour down into Laurie's open mouth.
Laurie could taste it as it was poured onto her tongue and into her mouth. Then Connie stopped pouring.
Laurie held the cum in her mouth for a bit, then she swallowed it.
"Here." Connie said as she handed the glass to Laurie.
Laurie knew what to do.
She took the glass and then held it up over Connies awaiting mouth.
"Are you ready?" Laurie asked.
"Oh yes." Connie said.
Laurie then slowly started to pour the sperm into Connies mouth.
"Gulp, gulp." Connie swallowed more and more.
Soon there were only a quarter left in the glass. Laurie then held up the glass as she leaned her face down next to Connies, and then poured it into both their mouths.
As the last drop of cum dropped from the glass the girls looked at each other and then gave each other a long kiss.
The guys cheered on the girls.
Then as the guys left the girls laid there for a moment.
"Oh god, I just love black guys cum." Laurie said.
"Me too." Connie said.
After this the remaining days flew by at the Resort. As both Laurie and David and Connie and Larry were leaving, they said good-bye to each other.
"Maybe we'll stop by at your place when we are in New York." Connie said to Laurie.
"That would be great." Laurie told her.
"Or we might plan the next trip to the Resort together." Connie then said.
"Ok." Laurie told her smiling.
Both couples then said good-bye as they left the Domino Resort.
From the forth floor a man looked out through the window of his office at the couples as they left.
"Another black owned couple." The man said.
"Yes." Jafar told the manager of the Resort.
"Good." The manager grinned a little as he then looked down at the white girl giving him a blowjob.
THE END
|
We assembled in the lobby, all seven of us naked, and it was the first time I really got a good look at the other women. More than anything, I was shocked at how young Melissa was. She couldn't have been more than twenty. She was gorgeous — almost six feet tall, skinny, flawless alabaster skin, with blonde curls almost to her bellybutton. I'm sure she had had loads of sexual experience — she probably had to fight the boys off. But I couldn't imagine what would lead a girl so young to a place like this.
Peggy was clearly an old pro. She had jet-black hair in a pixie cut, rings in both nipples, and a tattoo that read, "slut for black cocks" across the top of her ample right breast. I had heard most women got their tattoos in places that were easy to hide — the ass, the inner thigh, right above the pussy. But if she wore anything at all low-cut, her proclivities would be announced to the world. I asked if she had gotten it at the Resort, and she told me this was her seventh time here, but she'd only been successfully bred twice. She was hoping for number three this week. She asked me if I had been bred yet.
I was still nervous about talking about this stuff, but I figured if I was ever going to start, now was the time. "Not... I mean... I have two kids... but they're my husband's. This will be my first... my first black baby."
She smiled and squeezed my arm. "I bet it won't be your last. There's no feeling more powerful than being bred by black men. Especially the way we do it here."
A few of the other women made some noises in agreement. I looked around at them. A 30-ish white woman with a shaved head wearing a slave collar they hadn't made her remove when they took our clothes. An Indian girl, light-brown-skinned, with a ring in her clit and a tattoo of the Ace of Spades on her belly and another just above her slit that said "black owned." Another white woman, pale as a ghost, with red hair stopping just shy of her light pink nipples. I didn't see any tattoos or piercings, just a gold wedding band on her left hand. An Asian woman with a sleeve of tattoos on her right arm — they weren't even R-rated, so I assume she didn't get them here — and blonde streaks in her long hair.
I felt very unhip compared to these women. I didn't have any tattoos (yet), nothing was pierced but my ears, and my blonde hair was short, straight, and in a conservative cut that made me look like a soccer mom. Hell, I was a soccer mom! I dropped my two blond-haired boys off at practice every Sunday morning!
So, what the hell was I doing at the Resort?
* * * * *
It started ten years ago, before I was even married. Cuckolding had gone pretty mainstream since people first started talking openly about it back in the 2010s. I'm not saying it was something you'd bring up on a first date or put on a resume. But it was about where S&M was a generation before — definitely a kink, but something that at least some people weren't ashamed of being open about being into.
My husband Dave was one of those people. I knew when I married him that he wanted me fucking black men while he watched, and before long most of our friends knew too. You'd think a even a lily-white couple like us wouldn't be so hung up on race in this day and age, but those taboos die hard. There was still something thrilling about watching a black cock rubbing up against my blonde bush.
I couldn't help myself; I got into it as much as Dave did. Shit, how could I not? The sex was great! I began to wonder how "normal" married women could stand it, having sex with only one man. I had been with five men before I met Dave, and more than twenty since. I eventually settled on a stable of four or five regulars who'd I'd get together with every so often. Every one of them had a cock significantly bigger than Dave's six inches, and while that may have made him feel inadequate, he couldn't hide how erotic he found it. We talked all the time about how those cocks went to a place inside me that he just couldn't reach. In fact, I nicknamed my favorite lover Captain Kirk, because his eleven inches had boldly gone where no man had gone before!
So we were a regular couple, going to work, barbecuing with the neighbors, but once or twice a week, I'd get to fuck a well-hung stud a few times while my husband watched. It was a pretty great deal. We took a break for a few months so Dave could get me pregnant — fortunately, I conceived easily — but I fucked my black friends all through my pregnancy, and picked right up again two months after giving birth. At one point, Kirk had his cock buried deep inside me, both of his hands were on my belly, and he said something about how he wished he had been the one to plant a baby in me.
Pretty sure I had an orgasm right then and there, but I didn't take it seriously except as a fantasy. But something changed in Dave that day. He started to obsess over the idea. He kept telling me my next baby was going to be black, and asked me if I wanted Kirk to do it, or whether I wanted to fuck five or six guys and not know who the father was. I'll admit that I enjoyed the fantasy, but I told him firmly it was just that.
But we did indulge the fantasy a bit more. We started getting together with other couples into the cuckold lifestyle, and a few were talking seriously about the wives being black bred. Dave talked about it like it had already been decided. I wasn't so sure. I mean, at this point it wasn't unheard of. Back in high school, one of my friends had a little sister who was half-black, and her parents (both white) were still together. And of course, there's that blonde actress — you know who I mean — who married that English guy and then let that basketball player get her pregnant. They all talked about it so openly. It made a lot of people uncomfortable, but it made some of us feel like we weren't so strange for wanting this so badly.
So it wasn't unthinkable. But it was still a pretty big deal. I think that's why people had started to be fascinated with cuckolding — not too many things were taboo nowadays. There were gay couples celebrating their golden anniversaries; the receptionist at work wore a leather slave collar and would wear backless tops to show off the whip marks she had gotten the night before. Pretty much anything sexual was out in the open. But a married woman getting pregnant by a man who wasn't her husband? On purpose? With her husband's encouragement? That was still a big leap for most people to take.
Dave couldn't hide his disappointment when I wasn't ready to take the leap. I told him if he gave me one more baby, I'd think about it for the next one. Even some of my friends were disappointed — I hadn't realized how many of my monogamous friends had been living vicariously through me until that moment. I swear a few of them were in league with Dave, who spent the next two years wearing me down. All through my second pregnancy, he'd rub my swelling belly and talk about how the next one was going to be black, or he'd wonder out loud at who the father would be. My friend Yuki kept at me too — "So he wanted another man, one with a huge black cock, to knock you up? Shit, if my husband said that to me, I'd be pregnant by tomorrow morning!"
But is was Annie who finally convinced me. She was one of our friends from an online cuckold group. We hadn't seen her for a few months, and when we went over to their place, she surprised me with a round, swollen belly and an unmistakable glow. I was pretty far along myself at that point, but I didn't even know she was pregnant. My maternal instincts kicked in and I squealed with excitement. "Oh my God! How far along are you! Why didn't you tell me!"
"I wanted to surprise you! It's going to be a girl! Black, of course."
Of course. "Damn. So you went through with it? Was it that guy you'd been seeing?" Unlike some of the cuckolding wives I knew, she had one steady black stud she had been seeing for years. I took in the sight of her — Annie had a sweet, innocent face, with red hair and freckles, and looked five years younger than she was — and she was only 24. That made the idea of her fucking a muscular black man in front of her husband seem all the sluttier. She was wearing a tiny top that exposed her baby bump completely, and showed off her plump, pregnancy boobs nicely. She was showing off as much of her pale white skin as possible — I couldn't get the image out of my head of her black boyfriend fucking a baby into her.
"Oh, you have no idea." She paused dramatically. "I went to The Resort."
I could hear the capital letters in her voice, but I didn't know what resort she meant. Over the next hour, she enthusiastically filled Dave and I in on every detail.
* * * * *
We had some time to kill before the proceedings started — or, maybe this was part of the proceedings, sitting on the couches in the hotel lobby, getting to know your fellow black cock enthusiasts. Apart from Peggy, we were relative newcomers, and I was surprised to learn not all of us were in the cuckold lifestyle. The Asian woman — Sung — was there for the first time. She wasn't married, she just wanted a baby and didn't care too much about the black thing. I was still impressed that she wanted to get her baby this way, but she said it seemed a hell of a lot more fun than doing it in a doctor's office.
The Indian girl, Nima, was cuckolding her white husband. It was her third time here, and she was really hoping she'd catch this time. She said she got the Ace of Spades tattoo her first time. I asked if she got the "black owned" one her second time and she laughed. "I got this at midnight on my eighteenth birthday, the first minute it was legal. And I've lived by it. Only black men have been allowed to touch me, from my first kiss to my dying day. I knew from a pretty young age that I wanted lots of big, black cocks inside me."
She seemed about my age, early 30s, so I assumed she had had her fair share of cocks over the years. "But your husband...?"
"He's white. I keep his little dick locked in a cage. He fucking loves it."
"But if you don't want to fuck him, why didn't you just marry a black guy."
"Oh, believe me, I was tempted. But think about it. If I married a black man, I'd only be fucking him. With my cuckold wimp of a husband, I can fuck loads of guys."
I could see the excitement in her eyes, thinking about the week she had ahead of her.
The girl with the shaved head didn't say much. She gave her name as "slave," and only said that her Master had sent her here, "to be punished... and rewarded." I assumed there'd be some S&M shit as the punishment, and the baby was the reward, but who knows. Maybe it was the other way around.
The redhead was named Molly, she was 24, and a newlywed. She had practically come straight from the altar, in fact. "I got married yesterday! This is my honeymoon. My husband will be at home, watching the streaming video. He really wanted me black bred, so I figured, why wait? We were going to have a bunch of guys do the honors on our wedding night, but then I found out about this place. Today will be the first time I've ever had unprotected sex. I never have with my husband, and I probably never will. We always used condoms before, and we both agreed he's only going to fuck my ass now that we're married. We both love the symbolism — I'll be shitting out his weak sperm while superior black men's seed will soak into my womb as nature intended. I'm so happy we got the timing so close — I wanted to be bred on my wedding night, but it's at least within 24 hours."
The Resort scheduled visits very carefully. They were timed to your cycle so that you were ovulating while you were here, ideally early in the week. If your period came off-schedule, you'd get bumped a week forwards or backwards, and if they didn't have room, you could be rescheduled months down the line. From what I heard, Molly seemed like the typical customer — a white, married woman like myself, who shared a deep cuckolding fantasy with her husband.
But it was Melissa's story I was dying to hear, and it didn't disappoint. "It's my graduation present. From my parents."
My jaw dropped. "Your parents... send you here? For... this?" My hands automatically went to my soon-to-be-swelling belly.
"It's family tradition! My older sisters were both bred here when they finished college. I even graduated a semester early so I didn't have to wait!"
I was still trying to get my head around this. "So, your parents... are okay with you... having...?"
"A gangbang? A baby? An overpowering lust for black cocks?" She rubbed her pussy with a flourish. "Yes, yes, and yes." She gave me a devilish grin. "Even if they didn't, Mom couldn't really say shit — my three younger siblings were all conceived here. When I was six, she started coming here every three months — apart from when she was pregnant, of course. By the time I hit puberty, she had been bred for the third time, so every time I got the "birds and the bees" speech, there was a lot of stuff about how superior black men are, and how there's no better feeling than having a black cock stretching you out, and how fulfilling it was to have loads of black sperm in your womb. I guess you could say I was raised for this."
It took me a few minutes to pick my jaw up off the floor. To think I was so nervous about going through this — she was practically shaking with excitement at the thought of what was going to happen.
Eventually, a black man came out from behind the reception desk. He was wearing yoga pants and nothing to cover his dark, muscular chest. Every employee of the Resort was a well-hung black man, and no one wore very much. He spoke in a warm baritone:
"Now, as you all know, before we can begin, each of you has to make a commitment. Are you ready?"
* * * * *
Of course, there were sex clubs all over America catering to every perversity under the sun, and the Resort was set up for every kink you could imagine. But what made it unique was that, it catered to females only, and whatever else they were into, every woman who walked in the door had every intention of walking out with a black baby in her belly.
Annie told me this rapturously, and it was clear that she had wanted that baby more than anything. "It was the most intense sexual experience of my life. You fuck so many men when you're there. So many times. I had a gallon of black seed inside me by the end of every night. But knowing what it was there for — knowing I was unprotected, and fertile, and every one of those man was there to breed me..."
Her voice trailed off. She was getting flushed just describing it to me.
"You have to do it. Becky, you have to. I know you two have been talking about it. Seriously, it was the best experience of my life." She rubbed her belly. "I'm going to have such a beautiful baby." She paused for a minute, and a beatific smile crept across her face. "The first of many. I already have my next stay booked. They have a long waiting list, so if I want to have babies two years apart, I have to sign up now."
"Of course... there are some rules." She paused for a minute, as if to tell me to brace myself. "You have to be naked at all times, but that's fine because you're fucking so often that clothes would just get in the way. Most of the sex is in front of other people, but that's cool too, because the other girls are all there for the same reason you are, and the guys are all going to fuck all of you at some point. And all of it is videotaped. That's for the husbands," (I noticed Dave's face light up), "although some of us just like to preserve the memory."
She leaned over to the coffee table and pushed a button on the remote. The TV came to life on a still of Annie's lithe, sweaty body, on all fours, with a tall, athletic black man shoving a gigantic cock into her pussy. All four of us watched, mesmerized, as she moaned and cried out while her pussy got pounded. Eventually, the man stiffened up, and started grunting, and we all knew she was getting a load of African sperm shot deep inside of her. I wondered whether it was the one that did the job.
The camera angle changed, and we saw a close-up of her pussy, with globs of white seed leaking out. He must have filled her to overflowing. She rolled over, and her fingers came into the frame, scooping up as much of the sperm as she could and trying to push it inside herself. As she rolled over, I noticed something written on her ass, but in the glimpse I got, I couldn't make out what it was. And before I could ask about it, there was another cock, as big and black as the first, sliding smoothly into her cunt.
If Annie was uncomfortable with two relative strangers watching her pussy get stretched out on a big screen TV, she didn't show it. We watched in silence for about ten minutes, and I couldn't help wishing that was me on the screen. Even moreso when the Annie on the video started moaning, "come on! Give me that cum! I want a black baby! Knock me up!" He picked up the pace, and after a few minutes of energetic fucking, he was blasting another load directly at her womb.
Annie paused the video. "There are six more guys, if you want to keep watching. And I had already fucked four or five throughout the day. They take it easy on you in the morning, and then build up to a gangbang after dinner. Again, you have to do this. Not optional."
"I think you're starting to convince me."
She let out a squeal of delight, and hugged me as well as our pregnant bellies would allow. "Oh my God, if you sign up right now, we can be pregnant together next time! How awesome would it be if, two years from now, both of us had black babies grown in our bellies?" I looked at Dave, and he raised his eyebrows. Clearly, he also thought that would be awesome.
"I'm curious... was there something written on your ass? What was that about?"
"Oh yeah. Like I said, there are rules. You have to make a commitment." She stood up and lifted her skirt. She wasn't wearing any panties, and on her ass, in big capital letters, was a tattoo reading, "FILL ME WITH BLACK CUM!"
* * * * *
They interviewed us separately, so I didn't know right away what the other women chose. But they wasted no time. We were in a massage room — the hotel was small, as it was only set up for six to eight guests, but it was not shy on facilities. The interviewer had me lay on the table, on my back, my ass right up against the end of the table, my legs apart. He was naked when he came to get me, and as I spread my legs for him, his cock started to grow. And grow. By the time it was fully erect, it was at least as big as Kirk's.
He stood between my legs, and laid his massive tool against my slit. He made no move to penetrate me, but very slowly rubbed against my opening. Needless to say, I was already soaking wet.
"Why are you here?"
I had mentally prepared for this, and as nervous as I was, I knew the best thing was to be direct and not waste his time.
"I want a black baby."
"Can you elaborate?"
"I love fucking black men. And at this resort, I want to fuck lots of black men, without any birth control. I want to take as much black sperm as possible into my white womb, and conceive a baby. I want to bring a black baby home to my white husband. I want the whole world to know that I'm a slut, who loves big black cocks, and fucks lots of other men. I want the world to see my baby and know that another man besides my husband got me pregnant. That I married a white man, but I need black cocks, and I needed them to put a black baby in me, and I don't care who knows it. Everyone I know will find out that I don't know who the father is and don't care. I only care that he isn't my husband, and that he has a big black cock. I want a black baby. No. I need a black baby. And the next time I see my husband, I'm going to have a black baby growing inside me."
The interviewer smiled. I hadn't planned out what I was going to say, that all just came pouring out of me. And it wasn't until I had said it that I realized it was true. I needed this. I had been acting like this was Dave's fantasy, but in the year and a half I had been waiting for this moment, my need for this outgrew even his. The desire in me was so slutty, so taboo, so wrong. And so completely overpowering.
I swear the cock pressed up against my pussy pulsed as I finished my little speech. But he made no move to put it in me, as badly as I wanted him to. There was something I needed to do first.
"As you know, staying at the Resort is a serious business. Only women who are utterly determined to be bred by black men can do so here. You seem like you're determined, but as you know, we expect our clients to make a serious commitment. Are you ready to do so?"
I had butterflies in my stomach, and not just because his cockhead was rubbing against my clit. I swallowed hard. "I am."
"And how would you like to show your commitment?"
Every visit to the Resort included a commitment, and on subsequent visits, I'd have several choices — tattooing, branding, piercing. Sometimes if you had long enough hair, shaving it off would count. But you had to offer up part of your body, to be changed in some way, before you could offer up your womb.
First timers had to get a tattoo, and it had to be a permanent declaration of your love for black men, and black cock in particular. Subsequent ones could be words or pictures, so long as they were sexual in nature. Months ago, I had decided on a simple "I love black dick" on my ass. But something about the other women's stories made me change my mind. It was an impulsive decision, and one I hoped I wouldn't regret later. Maybe the massive black cock still rubbing against my sex was clouding my judgement. But I told him what I wanted, and once the words left me, it was too late to take them back.
"I want a tattoo right above my pussy: Black Cock Only."
I wondered how my husband would deal with that. I intended to live by it. He was the one who wanted me fucking black men in the first place, so he'd have to deal with me fucking them exclusively. He could still have my ass. There was something I liked about Molly's idea of black men's sperm soaking into my womb, remaining a part of me, while my husband's would all be shit out eventually. I knew he'd be turned on by the idea, even if he didn't want to lose access to my pussy. Well, fuck it. It was my pussy. And my pussy was hungry for black dick.
Twenty minutes later, a bandage was covering up my tattoo. The artist — a different black man than the one who interviewed me — did a nice-looking job, and I barely noticed the pain. I was consumed by lust, watching the tattoo artist's muscular chest, and the interviewer's cock across the room. He stayed with me for the duration, and even only semi-hard he was bigger than my husband. I fantasized about both of them taking me, putting their seed in me. I wondered if either of them would be the father of my baby.
I had gone off the pill three months earlier, to prepare my body for breeding. I had put my lovers on hold, and made my husband use a condom, to make sure I didn't get pregnant by accident before I came to the resort. But as my body was flooded anew with hormones, I started craving sex. I had felt those hormones with my first two children, but it was more intense this time. My body wanted another baby, badly, and my womb wanted to be filled with sperm. Now that I was on the verge of getting what I needed, I could barely stand the anticipation.
But still, I had to wait. The two men led me back to the resort's lobby, where the other women were led in one by one. The tattoo artist removed my bandage, and the other girls applauded when they saw "black cock only" written across my lower belly. One by one, the others revealed their latest commitments. Nima had shiny new rings in both nipples — she said she alternated between tattoos and piercings. Sung had "black bred" tattooed on her inner thigh — she planned on adding that day's date if her breeding was successful. Molly had "I need black cum" stenciled on her ass. Peggy showed off a freshly-pierced labia; two rings, both on the left side. Unsurprisingly, Melissa's was the most elaborate — her right hip now sported a detailed tattoo of herself, naked, on all fours, being fucked from behind by a muscular black man. She could cover it up easily enough at work, but in a swimsuit, or even low-rise jeans, she wouldn't be able to help showing off her proclivities to the world. The slave girl had the most shocking commitment, though — a brand on her ass, in some abstract symbol that presumably meant something to her master. Whatever her game was, I was glad I wasn't playing.
Once we had a few minutes to check each other out, one of the men spoke. "Now. Are we ready to do what we all came here for?" Before I got a chance to respond to that, I felt strong arms around my waist, and hands roaming across my belly. They moved up towards my breasts, as an unseen man kissed my neck. My pussy had been damp all morning, in anticipation of what was going to happen, and now that it was finally here, I was on fire. At long last, I was going to be black bred.
The furniture in the lounge was entirely made up of low couches, with no back, like oversized ottomans. I suddenly realized why, as the man behind me bent me over one of them. Each of the other women got the same treatment, and I realized they had arranged us in a circle — I could see the black men getting ready to fuck each of the other girls, but not the one behind me. More men stood behind them, waiting their turn, cocks erect — none of them small. These other women were going to watch me being bred, and I was going to watch them. I was glad this intensely personal moment, this turning point in my life, was going to be shared with women who knew exactly the tumult of emotions I was feeling right now.
The man holding me from behind grabbed my hips. I felt a fat cockhead slide in between my pussy lips. It was finally happening. After so many months of anticipation, I was being bred with a black baby. The cock inside me went deep, and even as wet as I was, he was thick enough that I felt resistance. I felt deliciously stretched out, and I savored every stroke of his cock inside me. He picked up the pace and eventually his cockhead started tapping my cervix on every downstroke. The pain just intensified the experience, and feeling my cervix made me acutely aware that at any moment, he was going to shoot a load of sperm directly into my fertile womb, in search of a waiting egg. I looked up, and my sisters in this depraved act were having equally intense experiences, from the looks on their faces, and the incoherent moans coming out of their mouths.
Molly started murmuring, "please... please...", and soon others joined the redhead in vocalizing their most forbidden desires. I heard Melissa moan, "cum deep inside me. Fill me with your seed." And without hardly realizing it, I heard myself crying out, "Breed me! Put your baby in me! Give me a black baby! Give me a black baby!" By the second time, I could barely get the words out, I was cumming so hard. That must have pushed the stud buried in my cunt over the edge, as I felt his cock spasming, as wave after wave of hot, thick, creamy sperm coated my insides. I came down from my orgasm a changed woman. There was no going back for me. I was going to have a black baby.
I wondered if I was fully ready for the consequences of that, or whether my husband fully understood where his fantasy had led us. For the rest of our lives, there would be no hiding the fact that I had cuckolded him, and willingly had another man's baby, with my husband's consent. He would spend his life raising a baby that was unmistakably the product of my coupling with another man — men, in fact — and he could never again, for a moment, pretend he had a faithful wife, or pretend that he objected to my sluttiness.
And I could never pretend to be anything other than a slut. But that's the way I wanted it. Maybe not when this all started, but by the time that first load of African sperm hit my fertile womb, I was fully committed to being a slut for black cocks. Everyone I knew — friends, parents, co-workers — would know exactly how I had gotten pregnant, how much I enjoyed it, and how my husband had encouraged it. Just like Annie had, I'd encourage my friends to take their turn being black bred. I was a slut for black cocks, and within a few days, the sperm soaking into my womb would find a waiting egg, and I'd be a pregnant slut.
To insure that happened, I'd need a lot more potent sperm in my womb, and the men at the resort were happy to oblige. No sooner did the first man slowly slide his cock from the depths of my womb, when another took its place. Not quite as long, but fatter. I savored the feeling of being stretched out by this huge black phallus, knowing that not a drop of sperm from my first fuck was going to escape, since my pussy was plugged airtight. He began thrusting into me powerfully, stretching my pussy on every downstroke. Soon I'd have millions more sperm inside of me, competing to fertilize my egg, ensuring that I'd never know who the father of my baby was.
This was my life now. This was what I wanted. I moaned aloud, letting the other women know how much I was enjoying the cock that was stretching me out. I looked up and saw Sung tense up with an orgasm, before the man fucking her filled her womb with cum. Molly repeated "cum in me, fill me with your seed, I want your baby," again and again in a whisper until her man obliged. Nima had climbed on top of her man and was rubbing her clit while riding him energetically. One by one, I watched each woman get her second load of black sperm, while the assault on my pussy continued unabated. Eventually, we were the only ones still fucking, and all eyes were on me. To my surprise, I found being watched like this, a whole room full of people watching me being taken roughly from behind, intensely erotic. I was engaging in the sluttiest, most depraved behavior of my life, and I was doing it in front of an audience, and I was loving every second of it.
Finally, he drove his cock deep inside of me, and I felt a torrent of hot, potent sperm flood my innermost recesses. I wondered how much sperm I'd have inside me by the time I fell asleep tonight, and whether I'd have a baby growing inside me when I woke up.
Another man took his turn inside me, and then another, and another, and another. Six loads of sperm in all, six potential fathers for my baby. My pussy was a sloppy mess, and my body was sweaty and sore, but satisfied. Each of the women here had taken six loads of sperm in our fertile, unprotected wombs, and each of us would drift off to sleep wondering whether we had been bred successfully. We were sent to separate bedrooms, alone, so I lay in a warm bed, sheets sticking to my sweaty, cum-covered skin, my body missing the touch of black hands, and my pussy missing being filled with black cock. But there was always tomorrow...
The rest of the week followed the same routine; wake up sticky and sore, have a nice hot shower, have a big breakfast, fuck the cook or the waiter on the breakfast table, have a nice, relaxing massage, then a slow, intense fuck with the masseuse, a dip in the pool, and then another load of sperm from the lifeguard. On this went through the day, with each of us usually fucking four or five of the men. In between turns being bred, we'd compare notes on the men, or how our pussies felt after being pounded so often and filled with so much black sperm. We'd talk dreamily about the babies we imagined must already be growing in our wombs.
Then in the late afternoon, we'd gather in the main room for what I began to think of as the ceremony — bent over those couches in a circle, watching each other as we got fucked by six different men. Usually at least one man would come back for seconds, sometimes more than one. After that we went straight to dinner, without cleaning up. There was no dinner table. We'd each sit on a chaise lounge, tilted backwards so no precious black seed would leak out of our wombs. We'd each have one of our black lovers feeding us by hand, while we lay back and relaxed, luxuriating in the feeling of our bodies absorbing six or more copious loads of potent African seed. Usually after we ate, our server would have the energy for one more go-around, and we'd go to bed, sweaty, sticky, and freshly-fucked — the way every girl should go to bed every night she can manage.
All in all, each of us got at least a dozen loads of sperm a day in our fertile, unprotected wombs, on a daily basis. I knew that even with all that cum inside me, pregnancy wasn't a guarantee — the body rejects a fertilized egg half the time, so my odds were 50/50 at best. I was torn between wanting another baby so badly, and hoping I wasn't pregnant so I'd get to go through this all again in a few months. The resort guaranteed results, so I had a standing appointment every other month until I was in the club.
I promised myself one thing, pregnant or not, this wasn't going to be my last visit to the resort. We had always talked about stopping after three kids, but there was no way I wasn't going to experience this again. Dave was just going to have to get used to the idea of a big family. Everything about this week — the marathon of sex, the likelihood of an illicit pregnancy, bonding with the other women, even being permanently marked by the tattoo — taken together, it was the most intense experience of my life, and I vowed I would repeat the experience as often as I could.
But mostly it was the sex. Sex without love, without a relationship, purely for one purpose, to breed me. To put a baby in my belly. A baby who's father would never be known to me. A baby whose appearance would bring scandal and shame, no doubt, but would also prove my husband's utmost devotion to me, and my devotion to the depraved, taboo, utterly thrilling lifestyle we had chose.
Finally, the week came to an end. Every part of my body was sore, but satisfied. By my count, I had taken about ninety loads of black seed in the span of seven days. I probably orgasmed even more times than that. I'm pretty sure I ovulated on day two, so that egg was assaulted by a tsunami of sperm, and had almost certainly been fertilized. But I didn't have to wonder any more. The moment of truth had arrived.
Seven ceramic basins were arranged on the floor in place of the low couches. We were each handed a plastic stick and instructed to squat over one. The most advanced pregnancy tests on the market could tell within a few days of conception, so if any of us had been bred successfully, we were about to find out.
Sung must have had to go, because she started pissing the moment they handed her the stick. Slave had probably been trained to do so, because she squatted down and pissed in front of everyone without flinching. As brazen as Melissa was, she was adorably shy about peeing in front of everyone. But after a minute of nervousness, I had no trouble releasing my bladder in front of the assembled crowd of potential mothers and fathers.
The wait was excruciating — the longest three minutes of my life. I could feel my heart pounding, and I could see the conflicting emotions on the faces of the other women. Finally, I heard a whoop of delight from Nima. "I did it! I'm pregnant!" A smile broke across Melissa's face. "Looks like I'm having a black baby!" Molly burst into tears, and I assumed the worst, but they were tears of joy. The newlywed was overcome with emotion at the thought of the child growing inside of her. Slave didn't make a sound, but I saw a look of quiet acceptance and even the hint of a smile on her face, and I knew she was in the club too. Peggy was the most relaxed of the bunch, having already been through this twice. "Well, boys, looks like you knocked me up again!" Sung just walked from one man to another, half in a daze, repeating, "thank you, thank you," while kissing the men, stroking their cocks, and letting them run their hands over her soon-to-be swollen belly and breasts.
All of our bellies were going to be swelling soon. I looked away from the jubilant women and into my hands. A bright pink plus stared back at me. I had a baby growing inside of me. I had been black bred.
* * * * *
Every head turned as I walked through the airport. Part of the resort's expensive service was a trip back to my home city in a small private plane. I'm sure I wouldn't have been allowed on a commercial flight dressed as I was. The clothes I'd worn originally had been shipped back to my husband, just as a reminder that his wife would be naked and available at all times. When we left the resort, each of us were only wearing three things: Every girl left the resort wearing a pair of pink panties, which had printed on the front "full of black seed." Every girl that was successfully bred wore a low-cut tank top that stopped short of her flat-for-now stomach, which read in big bold letters, "black baby on board." And because every woman in the group had caught — a rarity, even at the resort — we were each given a special gift, a diamond ankle bracelet. Ankle bracelets, of course, were what married women wore to signal to men that they were available for extramarital sex. I didn't plan on taking mine off any time soon.
That was it. Three things. No skirt, no pants, not even shoes. I was a bit worried airport security would stop me, but apart from lots of stares, no one bothered me. Dave lit up when he saw me. When he saw the shirt, and understood exactly what it meant. He kissed me passionately, grabbing my panty-clad ass in front of everyone. Anyone who had read the shirt and now saw me kissing my white husband would know exactly what the score was. That just made things even more exciting. Dave even slipped a hand under my shirt and stroked one of my breasts for a moment. I didn't care who saw. I was his black bred slut — no behavior was too shameless for me now.
Finally, we broke the kiss, and I said out loud, loud enough for people passing by to hear: "We're having a black baby!"
I thought he was going to come in his pants right then and there. "Oh, honey. I'm so proud of you. I'm so happy. I watched every minute of it online — you really are the sexiest woman in the world. And you're even sexier with a pregnant glow."
I was beaming. He told me exactly what I wanted to hear — I had been gangbanged and knocked up with a black baby, and my white husband loved me more than ever. But I had to see how far his devotion would go. Still standing in the airport terminal, I pulled down the front of my panties, just enough so he could see the tattoo: "Black Cock Only."
"Oh, sweetie, that is so fucking sexy."
"Just so you know, I plan on living by those words. From now on, I'm going to have lots of black cocks in my pussy, and you're never going to fuck me there again. My mouth and my ass are still fine, but my pussy belongs to black men, now and forever."
I braced myself for his reaction, and to be honest, I would have backed down if he had objected. But he just held me close and kissed me again. "You are so fucking sexy." I could feel his erection press into my belly as he held me.
So that was that. For the next few months, I went back to fucking my black lovers regularly — they were all disappointed I hadn't let any of them get me pregnant, but they all loved the tattoo. Dave either got a blowjob while I had a black cock inside of me, or he jerked off onto my pregnant belly while I recounted my adventures at the Resort, or while we watched the videos of my breeding — as it turns out, over seven days at the resort, I spent nearly a full 24 hours with a cock inside of me, so we had lots of video to choose from. I spent as much time as I could naked, teasing my husband with my pregnant body. He found my round belly and swollen breasts sexy every time I was pregnant, but this time things were far more intense, since there was no chance of it being his baby growing inside me.
Finally, nine months after my stay at the resort, I gave birth to a beautiful brown-skinned baby girl. No one was shocked, as I had told everyone I knew exactly how I had gotten pregnant. A few people at work expressed some disapproval, but as the Supreme Court had ruled it was illegal to fire someone for their sexual proclivities, they had to suck it up. The office even threw me a baby shower — what else could they do? My parents never really understood why I would want to cuckold my husband, but they were happy to have another grandchild, and they adjusted.
Things never quite got back to normal from Dave and I. Having fully embraced my sluttiness, there was no going back. I breastfed the baby in public at every opportunity. I started wearing more and more revealing outfits, to the point where I wore as little as possible as often as possible. I never, ever took off my ankle bracelet, and used it to attract men on plenty of occasions. I stayed true to the words written on my lower abdomen, fucking plenty of black men, and no one else. Dave didn't object to the fact that his cock never entered my pussy. He was happy enough watching me fuck, and as thanks I gave him a steady diet of blowjobs, and let him take my ass on special occasions. Sometimes I'd let him fuck my ass while one of my other lovers fucked my pussy. It's a great feeling, both being so full, and knowing my husband is engaged so completely in my fucking other men.
The funny thing about the baby was, she was my baby, just like the first two. When you're doing regular mom stuff — runny noses, bedtimes, helping with homework — you don't think about her not looking like your husband, or flash back to the gangbang she was conceived in; she's just a regular kid. A great kid, in fact. But there are still moments when it all comes back. Every time we have to explain — to a neighbor, to a stranger in the supermarket, to a teacher who had one of my older kids years before — there's that charge, that combination of guilt and lust and shame and thrilling transgression. I had cuckolded my husband, willingly had another man's baby, and the results were on display for all to see. Dave admitted that he got aroused every time he had to admit to someone else he was a willing cuckold. And, of course, I now spent a fair amount of my time fucking other men at every opportunity.
But other than the nights spent with another man's cock buried inside me, I was a regular housewife and mom. I took care of my kids, I cooked dinners for my family, I had girls' nights out with my friends. I had a typical suburban life, except that a few nights a week, my white husband would jerk off while I was impaled on a thick, black cock. And every few years, daddy would take care of the kids on his own for a while so mommy could go in for another breeding.
Yes, of course I went back to the resort. Two years after I conceived so easily, I went back to be bred again. This time my womb wasn't as receptive. It took three tries, each two months apart. I was secretly glad, as it meant I got three chances to spend a full week having my pussy stretched to its limits. Two years after that, I went back to be bred a third time. That time it took five tries, over the course of a year. I had no regrets at all. The most intense experiences of my life have been the five times I've given birth, and my nine visits to the resort. Obviously the times I was bred successfully mean the most to me, but every time was an incredible experience.
Nine visits to the Resort weren't cheap, but I loved the idea of Dave paying so much money to have a bunch of strange men give me the fucking of a lifetime and put a baby into me — two things he was no longer allowed to do. Once, by lucky coincidence, Annie and I were both there at the same time. She fell pregnant with her third baby out of four on that trip — all conceived at the Resort, unsurprisingly. I convinced my friend Yuki to give the Resort a try, and she's got a beautiful Blackanese daughter in addition to the two boys she has with her white husband. And every trip, I bonded with the five or six other women who got bred alongside me. It's a powerful experience, that someone who hasn't experienced it can't completely understand. So those of us who have feel a powerful connection.
Nine visits also meant nine commitments. After the initial tattoo, women often chose piercings, or occasionally having their head shaved, because those things were temporary. But I liked to think my commitment went deeper than that. I have nine tattoos, each expressing a variation on the same sentiment, that I was a shameless slut that needed black cocks inside of me as often as possible.
Which, naturally, I am. Most women my age are seeing their sex lives winding down. But even with five kids, I still find the time to get a dick inside of me three or four times a week — and rarely the same dick each time. And, of course, frequent blowjobs for my loving, supportive husband, at least when he isn't spent from jerking off watching me get royally fucked by one of my lovers.
Sure, some people are shocked that I've had sex with so many men, or that I have no idea who fathered my last three children. But I don't care. I wouldn't change a single thing. My only regret is, that after five babies, my breeding days are behind me, which means I'll never get to go back to The Resort again. At least I've got plenty more years as an adulterous slut ahead of me! And, of course, I have an obligation to bring as many more women into the lifestyle as I can. So if you're looking to have a baby, or your wife is, book a stay at The Resort today! You won't regret it!
|
Wendy was running late; she grabbed her keys from the hook on the wall and as she opened the door, the phone rang inside the house.
"Damn it," she swore, turning back around and laying her large purse on tile counter.
"Hello?" she said, answering with a pleasant voice she had to force.
"Hey Wendy, it's me," she heard her husband say from the other end.
"Jeff what is it, I'm late for work," she said, obviously annoyed.
"Can you pick up the girls today at 4:30 from my mom's?"
"I really don't want to see your mom right now," she said.
"Come on, she loves you. I think she still likes you more than me, even though you're divorcing me." She sighed, not playing into his desire for pity.
"Ok Jeff I'll pick them up. Bye."
"Wait-"
"What?"
"Have you really thought how hard this is going to be on the kids?"
"Jeff, it isn't about them. And besides, it's better now while their young. Now please, I have to go," she said.
"Alright, bye," he said as she hung up the phone.
Wendy sighed again as she picked up her purse and ran out the door to her car.
She arrived at work a bit late for her first meeting, but the presentation for the execs went off without a hitch. Right as she was about to leave for an early lunch, Samantha from HR came by.
"Wendy, can you come to the large conference room?"
"Uh yeah," she replied. She stood up and gave a puzzled look to her coworker Kim, before walking with Samantha towards the meeting room. Sam opened the door for Wendy with a smile.
It was unusual for her to do that, Wendy thought. She entered to see her boss, and George, the head of HR, sitting down at the long conference table.
"Please sit, Mrs. Kamatsu," George said, pushing back his horn-rimmed glasses.
Wendy sat down at the leather chair in front of them, folding her legs nervously.
"Mrs. Kamatsu, as I'm sure you're aware, our company has had many trying years, the economy being what it is, and we have looked at many options for cutting cost. I'm afraid that..."
Wendy's eyes glazed over. She couldn't believe that she was actually getting fired. The next hour was a haze as she signed a stack of documents, got her last check, and then grabbed a few things from her desk, Samantha watching her every move.
When it was over, and she was on the freeway back home, the pedal nearly to the floor on her BMW X5 she began swearing under her breath unintelligibly. She had thrown her box of personal effects from her desk into the passanger seat and pealed rubber as she had left. Now she was going as fast as she could between cars, weaving between the traffic recklessly. Suddenly she crossed a few lanes of traffic to the off ramp, a red Ferrari honking as she cut him off.
She turned into a small mall and parked in front of a liquor store. "Fucking unbelievable," she swore, slamming the door closed after she got out of the car. She walked down the aisles towards wine, and picked an expensive merlot.
When she opened her front door, she took off her heels and went to the kitchen. Placing the bottle between her legs, she squeezed tightly, her skirt rising as she struggled with the cork. It finally popped free, spilling a bit on her skirt and on the floor as well.
"Fuck." After tossing a towel on the floor and wiping up the wine with her foot, she put the towel in the sink and filled her glass with merlot. She took a big sip, and let out a deep sigh. She cried softly, her dark mascara running slowly down her cheeks. She took another drink, and then, bottle and glass in hand, she walked to the bedroom. She set the wine on the armoire and unzipped her skirt, pulled it off to reveal her white panties beneath. She opened the drawer looking for clothes. In the first drawer were some swimsuits and blouses. She opened the next, and then paused, looking at the pants there. She looked outside through the long window over the bed, seeing a clear hot day.
She closed the drawer she had opened, and opened the previous one again. After rifling through the swimsuits, she pulled out a tiny black bikini and, after taking another drink of merlot, she set it on the bed. Her small fingers quickly unbuttoned her dress-shirt and then pulled off her lacy bra. Her apple sized breasts were perky with brown nipples. After pulling off her white panties, she put on the thong bikini and some dark sunglasses. Then with suntan oil, glass, and bottle in hand, she headed towards the back door to the house.
"Damn, the pool boy."
Through the sliding door, she saw a young man outside skimming up leaves with a net. It was the white kid that her soon to be ex-husband had hired. Wendy had always thought he was cute, but she always forgot his name. He looked a little like a guy she had dated in college. He was shirtless, showing a muscular torso he had developed from the summer swim team.
Wendy set the bottle of wine on the table and opened the sliding door. The pool boy looked to the house as Wendy stepped out with her glass and the suntan oil.
"Oh hi," she said. "I forgot you came today." The young man turned to see Wendy and looked obviously impressed and nervous at her skimpy swimwear. Her small tits pressed against the triangle-shaped top, and the bottom of the suit was tied low on her hips. He was about six inches taller than she was, and his dirty blond hair had a messy look.
"Hello Wendy," Ethan said, looking quickly at her breasts and then up at her face. The top she wore left little to the imagination.
"I'm sorry I forget your name...?"
"Ethan," he said.
"Right. Ethan, you sure have grown since I last saw you," she grinned looking at his naked torso.
He blushed.
"I was just gonna go for a dip," she explained, pointing to the pool with her wine glass. "It's so hot."
"Oh..." the young man said. "Oh umm, you shouldn't go till like... tomorrow. I just added chlorine."
"Oh that's too bad," she pouted and took a sip of her wine.
"Sorry," he nodded and went back to fishing the leaves out of the pool with his net.
She turned to the small table near one of the lounge chairs, and set down her glass. Although her tits weren't big, Ethan admired them out of the corner of his eye, and couldn't help but notice her supple ass as she bent over in front of him as she set down the glass of wine next the chair. The fact that the swimsuit was a thong accentuated her well-formed butt.
"Ethan, have you been working out?" she said with a small smile as she turned back towards him.
"Oh, uh yeah," Ethan said sheepishly.
"It shows," she smiled as laid down on her back on the chair, sunning herself.
"Wh... What are you up to?"
"Nothing really. This hasn't been the best day for me," she said with a shrug and took a sip of wine.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry," she said. "I decided to come out here and live it up. There's no reason to feel sad. I'm just going to have fun until I have to go pick up the kids. I'm just going to relax." She lifted up her sunglasses and smiled.
Ethan smiled back.
"I got fired today," she said with a shrug.
"Oh...oh shit," Ethan swore. "Oh sorry," he said covering his mouth.
"Naughty boy," she said with a smile.
"I'm sorry," he said again.
"That's ok. Could you put some oil on me?" she asked rolling over and holding out a small plastic bottle.
"Uhh..."
"I'm trying to get a good tan," she said.
"Ok," he said nearly dropping the bottle after he grabbed it.
He stood over her with the bottle in his hand and squeezed gently.
"Here," she said, untying her top so he had full access to her back. He squeezed too much oil onto his hand, filling his palm and hitting the ground.
Ethan was silent as he pressed his hands onto her back. She responded with sounds of pleasure as he rubbed over her body.
"Get it all over Ethan," she ordered.
"Uh, al-alright," he stammered.
He covered her down to the small of her back. He couldn't help, but stare at her ass, the black thong disappearing between her voluptuous butt-cheeks. As he rubbed the oil on the small of her back, he could feel his dick stirring in his pants.
"Oh, that feels good," she moaned.
He put some more oil on his hands and decided to move from her back to her legs, oiling the back of her knees and down the rest of her smooth legs.
"Don't forget my butt," she said, playfully wagging it side to side. "Oh I know what will help." She reached down to her bikini and pulled the knots on her hips open. " Could you take that off for me?"
"Uh...sure," he swallowed.
With slow hands, he removed the small bikini, peeling the thin strip of fabric from her ass-cleavage. Ethan could see her plump pussy lips as he removed it.
"Now rub oil over that ass you naughty boy," she said with lust.
"Uh..." Ethan panted. His hands were trembling at first, but then he approached and grabbed her ass in his hands, pressing the oil across the creamy flesh and rubbing it into her round ass.
"Ooo, fuck that feels good Ethan," she moaned. "Oh you make me feel so good. Keep rubbing."
She took her hand and pressed it against Ethan's leg.
He moved, a bit in shock, but she rubbed him gently.
"Relax baby," she moaned. Her hand probed up his leg, against his knee and northward.
"Uhh... I," Ethan began to say as her hand continued up his shorts. Her hand wasn't too far above his knee when she touched the end of his cock.
"Woah," she said. "Is that your dick?" she asked in amazement.
"Uhh... yeah," he responded.
"Wow," she said.
Ethan continued to spread the oil, rubbing it gently into the crack of her ass.
"Mmm, yeah," she moaned. Grabbing the tip of his cock, she moved her hand over the big head which was covered in thin foreskin. "Mmmm, I gotta see it. Come here," she said rolling over. She grabbed his pants and pulled him closer.
Ethan stared at the dark patch of hair between her legs, and her small brown nipples on her tennis-ball size breasts. Unbuttoning his shorts, Ethan breathed in audibly.
She rubbed his crotch gently.
"Relax baby," she said looking at him with her dark Asian eyes.
Then she pulled his shorts and boxers down together.
"Jesus!" she said, her eyes opening wide. "Fucking God, that's big," she said, staring at the largest cock she had ever seen. Then, looking up at him she took it in her hand. "Damn, you have been growing," she exclaimed.
Grabbing his cock at the base with her left hand, and a few inches below the tip with her right, she pulled back his foreskin, revealing the large, shiny, pink head beneath.
"Fuck I don't know about this," she said in almost terror at his size. "Jeez your twice as big as Jeff," she laughed nervously. "But it's been so long," She said with anticipation, licking her lips. "Let me put my hair back," she said, pulling the hair-tie from her wrist. As she put her hair into a bun, Ethan let his eyes wander across her small breasts, which had triangle shaped tan lines.
"You can touch them," she said with a smile.
"I... uh," he said. She took his hands in hers and guided them onto her chest. Caressing her skin, the oil on his hands glided over her nipples; he squeezed them gently.
"Mmm," she said. "Let me see if I can fit this monster in my mouth." She opened her mouth as wide as she could and shoved his semi-hard cockhead into her mouth. She licked around the bottom, and then pulled it out.
"Damn that's good," she grinned.
With her thick tongue, she licked around the juicy skin below the head of his dick, and underneath his foreskin.
"Oh shit," Ethan moaned. He closed his eyes as his brow furrowed in absolute pleasure. His dick continued to engorge, growing in her hands.
"Fuck," she swore. "Damn you're so big," she said looking at the tip of his dick above her.
His cock was so hard now that it stood up. She pressed it against his torso to see how high it would go. The tip of his dick tapped the bottom of his chest.
"Wow," she said, and letting it fall under its massive weight; it smacked her cheek. "Ow!" she said.
"Oh sorry," Ethan said.
"It almost gave me a black eye," she said as she watched it bob up and down. A gooey strand of pre-cum stuck to his chest and ran down to the tip of his cock. She laughed, and holding his dick to the side, she kissed the pre-cum from his pectoral, and licked around his hard chest. Wendy could feel a drip down her leg as her warm juices flowed from her pussy in anticipation.
She held his long cock up again, this time she pressed her lips to his balls. Her tongue wrapped around his fat balls and with a slurp, her mouth enveloped one of his hairy nads.
Her tongue traced a line up his cock to the sensitive area under the head. She licked the fluid beneath his foreskin, and then took a large breath before attempting to swallow his giant dick.
She suppressed her gag reflex and concentrated on holding her breath as she tried to put his entire cock in her mouth. She tried to push it in deeper as Ethan watched from above as she struggled with his huge member in her mouth. She pulled out his dick, coughing and sputtering, saliva hitting Ethan's skin.
"Shit, too big," she said.
"Damn," Ethan said.
"Not your fault," she replied. "Come here," she said, laying back on the chair and beckoning with her finger.
Ethan approached slowly.
"Kiss me," she said. Ethan lowered his mouth to hers. She grabbed his hair and kissed him with open lips. Ethan's lips gently spread, he took a breath, and they kissed more fervently. She opened her eyes and, looking down at his massive dick pressing against her, began stroking it as she pressed her tongue into his mouth.
"Ohh!" he moaned.
"Oh yeah."
Then she pulled back. Ethan stared at her beautiful face.
She lowered her hand down between her legs and spread her snatch. "You ready?" she said, biting her lip.
Ethan put his hand on the base of his cock against his pubes and held firm as Wendy edged forward towards him as he straddled the pool chair. Pressing against his shaft, she maneuvered the tip of his cock to crush against the entrance of her slick cunt. Her pussy was dripping as Ethan slowly slid the fat head of his pink dick into her pussy.
"Oh shit," she moaned as the first few inches spread her inner lips.
"You ok?" Ethan asked with genuine concern.
"Oh... fuck stop," she said.
Ethan began to pull out, but she grabbed his dick. "No wait, just hold it there." Then after a moment she let go. " Put in more."
Ethan obeyed, beginning to push in more as Wendy moaned in pleasure. Ethan held the shaft of his huge dick, and slowly guided it into her juicy pussy. He felt his dick press against her back wall.
"Oww, wait no more," she said. "Shit that's long," she panted. "Jesus! You only fit half!"
Ethan began fucking Wendy slowly and gently.
"Oh fuck...! Oh God," she moaned in pleasure.
Her cunt coated his dick with thick white juice about halfway down.
His rock hard erection thrust back and forth in her pussy for about a minute when his face started to strain.
"I- I'm gonna—!"
Ethan pried his dick out of her pussy as fast as he could just in time for the first spurt to shoot over her head.
"Woah!" she exclaimed.
The next spurt sprayed up onto her stomach, just below her chest. "Oh God," she said. Ethan pulled back and spurt the rest of his thick load onto the cement.
"Wow..." he moaned.
"Shit you came a lot," she cried.
As Ethan continued to stroke his cock, it was apparent that his erection wasn't over. He moved back over Wendy.
"Shit again?" she exclaimed.
"I'm still hard," Ethan replied.
"Damn," she smiled. Her mouth went wide and her eyes rolled back as he entered her again, his cock sliding in slowly and steadily into her slick crevasse. He felt his dick go farther this time, a few inches more, stretching her pussy until he fit nearly ten inches inside.
"Oh my God!... Shit! I'm coming, I'm coming Ethan!" she shouted as she held onto his hips, her fingernails digging into his skin.
Ethan could feel her entire pussy trying to squeeze against his dick. The feeling was intense as she trembled like an earthquake.
"Fuuuck!" she screamed. She shuddered for nearly two minutes. When she was finished she grabbed Ethan by the back of the head and pressed her lips to his, kissing him passionately, her tongue penetrating far into his mouth. When their lips parted, Ethan gasped for breath.
"Let me ride that fucking huge white cock!" she exclaimed.
Ethan pulled his cock out slowly, until it was completely free of her wet pussy, bobbing up and down as he stood up.
"Ooo, you stretched me good," she said putting a few fingers into her cunt. "Lay down."
Ethan lay on his back, his dick falling onto his torso.
Wendy smiled as she grabbed his cock and slid it into her slippery entrance.
"Oh shit," she said, lowering herself onto it.
"Oh yes." Ethan moaned, as he felt the pressure of her spreading pussy against his long dick.
"You like that pussy naughty boy?"
"Oh yeah," he moaned.
Ethan could feel the back of her cunt as she lowered even farther. Her eyes rolled back and she moaned. Then she put her hands onto his chest and rose up and down on his cock, squeezing his dick with long strokes.
"Oh...yeah," he said.
"I'm gonna make you come again," she smiled. "This time I want to taste it," she smiled.
"Huhhuh!" Ethan grunted.
She got into a good rhythm, her pink pussy sliding back and forth over his long dick. His cock became wet with her juice.
"Ohh," she said, pressing the head of his dick against her back wall. "You want to see my ass bounce on this dick?"
"Uh, yeah," Ethan agreed.
She twisted and then sat on Ethan's belly as she rotated on his cock.
"Ugh," Ethan groaned, tightening his abs, as her weight pressed against his ribs.
Then she stood over him, bent forward at the waist, and shook her big ass up and down over his dick.
"Mmm, you like that?"
"Yeah," Ethan moaned, his brow furrowed in pleasure. Her juicy ass bounced up and down, looking as if it was smothering his dick. He wondered what it would be like to fuck her ass. His dick was slick with her cunt juice. He felt so hard, and his balls began to ache.
"Uhh," he moaned.
"You gonna cum baby?" Wendy asked.
"Ah... Yeah," he replied with a soft moan.
"Yeah let me taste that white cum," she said pulling her pussy up off his dick and then kneeling down next to the lounging chair, her tongue out in anticipation.
Ethan stood and pressed his dick to her mouth.
She stroked his cock with both hands, looking up at Ethan. He closed his eyes and she smiled, grabbed his balls with one hand, and thrust back and forth right below the head of his dick as she licked the bottom.
"Oh yeah," he moaned.
"Come big for me again, I want you to cum right down my throat baby. Fill my mouth with that thick jizz," she said seductively as she squeezed his balls again.
"Oh... oh God," Ethan moaned.
"Yeah that's it," Wendy said.
Ethan opened his eyes slightly and his mouth opened into an "O" shape.
"Ahh!" he moaned as his dick spurt right down her throat. Wendy nearly choked on the thick glob of cum, but swallowed quickly as the next batch came down her throat. It seemed like he gushed even more than last time. His cum ran down her chin onto her chest.
"Oh God," he moaned, as the last bit came out into her waiting mouth.
"Mmm, that was a lot," Wendy said after swallowing. Then she put his dick into her mouth and sucked out the last bit.
"Ooo," Ethan said. His dick started to fall, becoming less hard.
"You were amazing," she said. She sat down on the chair, between his legs and leaned her head back onto his stomach.
"Mmm," she said, wiping the cum from her chin into her mouth. "You're probably tired."
"Yeah," Ethan smiled. She sat up and turned to face him, brushing his cheek with her hand and kiss him.,Ethan made a weird face.
"Do you taste your stuff?" she asked.
"Yeah, tastes salty," he said.
She giggled and kissed him back; then smiled and looked over the chair for her bikini. "I guess I better take a shower," she said leaning over, her juicy ass stuck in the air. Ethan couldn't help but stare. He grabbed his dick and it felt thicken in his hand. Wendy looked over her shoulder at Ethan and then down at his dick. "You still staring at my butt?" she laughed. "Shit you're hard again," she said, looking at how his cock had begun to come to life from him seeing her plump ass.
"Sorry," he said.
"Don't be sorry," she said wiggling her ass with a smile. Ethan gently touched the side of her ass. "Slap it," she said.
"What?"
"Come on slap it," she ordered.
Ethan gave a weak slap.
"Harder," she commanded.
He slapped again, a bit harder.
"Like this," she said taking her own hand and smacking her ass with a loud 'whack'!
"Won't it hurt?"
"No not really," she smiled. "And even if it does, a little pain's not bad." Ethan tried it, and smacked hard, her ass jiggling.
"Nice," she said. "Now the other side."
Ethan slapped his hand a few times on the other side.
"Ooo that's good," she said.
Ethan put his hands to her ass cheeks and rubbed roughly on the red flesh of her ass. Then he spread her cheeks revealing her tight asshole.
"Mmm," Wendy moaned.
"You sure like my ass huh?" she said.
"It's so...big and.."
"So you think I have a big butt?"
"I mean—"
"It's ok," she giggled. "What do you want to do with it?" she said shaking it back and forth.
"Uhh... I don't know."
"Have you ever done it in the butt?
"No," he said softly.
"My husband always wanted to, but I always said no. Do you want to try it?" She asked, stroking her prodigious backside.
"Uhh..." Ethan started, starting at her lovely ass.
"Yeah you do," she said looking at his long hard cock. "Here, stand up," she ordered. As Ethan stood, his erection brushed against her arm as she lay down on the chair, her arms braced, and her ass facing him.
"But you better get that dick oiled up," she suggested. "No way that's going to fit without some lube," she said.
"Uh, ok," Ethan muttered, grabbing the suntan oil. "Can this get...uh... inside?" he asked.
"Hmm, yeah maybe not, come here," she said. As Ethan got closer, she grabbed his dick and began to suck it. She slobbered over his cock, licking and pressing it into her mouth. When she pulled it out of her hot mouth, saliva was dripping from his dickhead. "That should do it," she said. "Now stick it in."
As Ethan got behind her, she pried open her butt cheeks.
"Ooo come on baby," she said. "Stick that big dick in my ass," she breathed.
Just as she was saying the last few words, the sliding glass door opened.
"What the fuck?" a man at the door said.
Ethan looked up to see Mrs. Kasamatsu's husband staring at them. His face became red and his heart beat fast.
"Jeff, what the hell are you doing here?"
"I'm dropping off Jane and Jenny. Jesus Wendy, we're not even divorced yet. The instant you kick me out, you turn into a slut?" he said looking at Ethan, while the naked stud looked away.
"Get out of here Jeff, this is none of your business."
"I don't want my daughters exposed to this," he said pointing at Ethan's huge cock.
Ethan stood up and looked towards the ground; his dick was beginning to get soft.
"Jeff get out of here, I told you not to come inside anymore!" Wendy said as she sat up, her hand covering her chest. "This is my house now."
"Yeah, which I paid for, what, so you can fuck some donkey-dick whiteboy?!? And a pool boy no less."
"Who I have sex with is none of your business now!" she said loudly.
"Isn't he still in high school? And in my house!"
"It's not your house."
"That's not... I mean... It's like pedophilia."
"He's eighteen," she said. "Right?" she asked looking at the silent guy behind her. He nodded.
"That's not the point and you know it. This is where our daughters live."
"Did you bring them in?" she asked with a bit of concern.
"They're still in the car seats, thank God."
"Oh. Ok," she sighed. "Jeff just wait outside for me."
Jeff looked at her angrily.
"Please."
"You want me to leave so you can finish with your fucking boy-toy?" Jeff asked.
"No we're done," she said.
"Good," and with that he slid the door shut.
"Sorry about him," she said grabbing her swimsuit.
Ethan was silent. She lifted his chin slowly and they exchanged wan smiles.
"If you can believe it, we didn't argue that much about separating. Better than the marriage I thought," she gave a little laugh. "Umm, I still owe you for the pool right? Let me get my purse."
|
Quess loved her new job at the flower shop on Main Street, and she was proving to be quite good at tending to and selling flowers. Since the shop was normally closed for the winter, the shop's owner, Mrs Kawahara, was thrilled with the extra business, but it only took three days for the first person to complain. Unexpectedly, the complaint was from Agent Will.
He stomped up to the little shop and peered around, trying to find Quess amongst all the colorful flowers. "Quess!" he yelled. "Get out here and explain yourself." He was wearing his standard black suit and dark sunglasses, but he was uncharacteristically flustered.
Quess slid out from behind a display of mixed flower bouquets and leaned on the wooden counter, brandishing her semi-transparent pink cleavage. She smiled and fluttered her magenta eyes as she said, "How nice to see you, Agent Will. Is there a problem?"
He frowned from under his dark sunglasses. "Yes, there's a problem. A woman came to me saying her husband went all weird and perverted after he shopped here," he said with a scowl. "What are you doing to your customers?"
Quess blinked demurely. "I'm just using the tools at my disposal. With a little motivation, people become very eager to buy gifts for their significant other."
"Motivation… You're getting 'em all horny with your pheromones, aren't you?" Agent Will said with a sigh.
"Perhaps. And perhaps I'm adding some pheromones to the flowers too, for the lady," Quess admitted. "I tell people that my flowers are sure to get them some action, and I wouldn't want to be a liar, now would I?"
Agent Will took off his sunglasses and rubbed his brow with his other hand. "Quess… How could you possibly think that this is okay? You can't go around enchanting the populace!"
Quess stepped back and dramatically held a hand over her translucent breast. "Oh! You wound me, Agent Will. I counter that I am in fact doing good for the country. Japan has a serious low birth rate problem, and I'm doing my part to help." She raised the corner of her mouth in a mischievous grin. "I don't see you adding any babies to the next generation."
While Agent Will was struggling to find a response, Quess continued on, "In any case, I'm not doing anything illegal. Just adding an optional service with my sales." Quess thought back to the harsh lecture she'd received after trying to tempt Yuisu, then added, "I'd never dream of doing it without permission."
With that, Quess grabbed a piece of paper from a pile on the counter and offered it to Agent Will. "See? They all signed a consent form, as well as a waiver of liability for any pheromones contained within the bouquet."
"What? Let me see that!" barked Agent Will, grabbing the paper.
While he scanned it, Quess said, "Our new succubus friend Lethe helped me out with the legal stuff. Meeting a lawyer with her specialities was so very fortunate."
After a moment, Agent Will slowly set the paper back on the counter and peered at Quess suspiciously. "Alright, Quess," he finally conceded. "Please just try to be careful. I don't want to hear about someone using your flowers to prank someone, or worse…"
Quess set a cool, smooth hand on Agent Will's arm. "You needn't worry about that, darling. The type of pheromones I'm using will only amplify attraction that is already there, so the older the relationship, the better. They'll do wonders for struggling marriages, and they won't lead to any unpleasant date-rape situations. I promise." The look on her face made it clear that she took that matter very seriously.
Agent Will nodded slowly. He was satisfied with Quess's caution, but still a bit unsure about the whole situation. "Thanks, Quess. Well, I'll see you around. Say 'hi' to Iormu and the other girls for me, and little Pwess too."
As he turned to leave, Quess called out, "Wait! Would you like some complimentary flowers? With or without pheromones."
Agent Will turned back and pushed his sunglasses up, fully hiding his eyes. "No thanks. I've got no one to give them to," he said, then he strode away quickly.
As he left, Quess frowned in thought. So, he's single… and he doesn't seem happy about it.
That evening, a different loveless soul was out alone. Chione flew high above the Nakahara house, gliding and enjoying the peaceful and still winter night. The air was so crisp and clear that Chione could see for miles, all the way down to the small town at the base of the mountain.
Her thick, stony skin had no problem with the chilly air, but she had no defense against loneliness. As the only woman in the bustling household without a romantic partner, Chione felt more alone than ever before. Going flying on a nice clear night could certainly calm her mind, but it did nothing to ease her heartache.
As she was considering turning back and heading home, something caught her eye. Far in the distance, over the town below, a white speck was flitting about in the light of the full moon. It sparkled beautifully in the pure white moonlight as it danced and dove through the air.
Is that Haru? What's she doing out in town so late? Chione wondered. At first, she wanted to fly over and ask Haru directly, but then she recalled the rules about leaving the property without a host. Haru is allowed to travel alone for work, so maybe she has an excuse to be out there, but I definitely do not. Maybe I'll just ask her tomorrow.
In the end, Chione just returned to the house and wasted the night rewatching the Gargoyles cartoon, then fell asleep at dawn. By the time she awoke next evening, she had entirely forgotten her plan to question Haru. She spent some time with Mara and Mimi, but eventually they retreated to their bedrooms. Even Haru went to sleep, leaving Chione alone for the rest of the night.
After eating a very lonely 'lunch' at midnight, Chione took to the air again, trying to distract herself from her loneliness. Almost immediately, she saw it: the white object over the town. But this time, she knew it couldn't be Haru.
Then who is it? she wondered, her curiosity tugging at her furiously. A very uncharacteristic rebellious urge took hold and she thought, Well, a while back, Haru did say that no one would really care if I leave the property. I'll just fly over there and back, never touching down. No one will even know I left. No harm, no foul.
Chione swallowed heavily, flapped her large, colorful wings and crossed the property line. Her pulse quickened and she broke into a smile. I broke a rule! Is this what Mimi feels all the time? Riding that rush of exhilaration, Chione soared down the slope toward town and toward the mysterious white object.
Before long, she was close enough to see what, or who, it was. While Chione was still a hundred yards away, she got her first good look.
A white-winged woman darted through the air, flitting and changing direction with extreme agility. The way she moved was totally unlike the way Chione or Haru flew, and after a moment, Chione realized why. She's got four wings, like a butterfly… or a moth!
The small mothgirl darted and danced, reveling in the moonlight with the innocent glee of a child at play. Chione flew closer to get a better look and when she did, she became transfixed.
Moonlight reflected off the girl's white, grey, and pink wings, creating hypnotizing patterns of light and motion. Her adorable leaf-shaped antennae angled around, and they must have sensed something because she turned and looked right at Chione.
The girl had big red multifaceted eyes and she was wearing a thin t-shirt and shorts despite the crisp winter chill. She didn't seem to be cold, however, thanks to the natural fluffy covers on her arms and legs.
She's absolutely beautiful, Chione thought. But in her moment of revelation, Chione lost momentum and forgot to flap her wings. The stony gargoyle immediately dropped like a rock.
As she plummeted through the sky, Chione fought to right herself, but it was too little, too late. The last thing Chione remembered was the crunch of tree branches and the sudden enveloping cold of a snowbank.
Chione awoke in an unfamiliar place, lying on her side and looking at an unfamiliar wall that was decorated with glow-in-the-dark stickers of stars and planets. Chione turned her head and realized she was in a tiny one-room apartment, tucked snugly into a bed. The ceiling and the other walls were all covered in glowing stickers, as well as posters about astronomy and the universe. By the sliding glass door, its curtain pulled closed against the bright sunrise outside, there was a massive telescope with numerous lenses and attachments.
"Your name's Chione, right?" a soft, raspy voice said.
Chione sat upright and looked around for the source of the voice. She found it at the foot of the bed where a petite mothgirl was kneeling, facing away and apparently typing on a laptop. She wore a plain white t-shirt with cutouts for her wings to fit through, and she was either unaware or unconcerned that her pink and white striped underwear was in plain view, showcasing the perky tush underneath.
Chione quickly averted her eyes, focusing instead on the girl's white bob-cut hair and the fuzzy leaf-shaped antennae sticking out. After a moment to collect herself, Chione managed a response, cheerfully saying, "Yeah, that's me."
The mothgirl turned around and looked at Chione with an unreadable expression. "Mara's told me a little about you. Your ComicMon plan sounds amazing, by the way."
"Oh, thanks," Chione said, blushing at the praise. But then she remembered more pressing matters and she asked, "Who are you? And, uh, how'd I get here?"
"My name's Actia. I'm a friend of Mara's," she said flatly, "And you just dropped out of the sky and fell into the park. You must be really sturdy, because you didn't get hurt. Other than passing out, that is." A faint smile appeared on Actia's face and she added, "No offense, but you're really heavy. It took hours to carry you here by myself."
Chione squinted as she started to remember the night before. I left the property, and saw this girl flying around, and then I forgot to keep flapping… Then Chione said, "Oh, wow, I just don't know what came over me and—" She stopped and her eyes went wide with disbelief. "You carried me, all by yourself?!"
Actia had been watching Chione closely and she laughed out loud at that, "Hahaha, I'm just kidding you. I'm way too tiny to do that." She crawled closer on the bed and patted Chione's knee through the blanket. "I called my friend Flare and she picked us up in her car. She's a total motorhead, so she was happy for the excuse to drive around, now that the roads are clear again."
"Oh! Okay. Please tell her 'thanks' for me," Chione said in her standard chipper tone. "But why didn't you take me to an Exchange Program coordinator, or a hospital?"
"I could tell you weren't hurt, and I didn't want you to get in trouble for being out on your own. I remember what it was like to have to go everywhere with a host, so I understand your desire to wander around alone."
"I don't normally do that!" Chione blurted out, louder than she intended. She lowered her voice and continued, "I don't normally break rules, but I saw you in the moonlight and I just got so curious…" Chione looked up directly into Actia's eyes and asked, "Do you always fly at night like that?"
The slight smile returned to Actia's lips. An intense passion was hidden in her quiet, calm voice as she said, "Only when the moon is full. I love the moon even more than I love the stars, so when that storm cleared out, I just had to take advantage of the calm, clear night."
Chione loved the night, but she didn't know much about the moon or stars. Actia, on the other hand, was a living encyclopedia about all things astronomy and once she got started, she could talk about the subject for hours. That's exactly what she did as she and Chione sat on her bed and exchanged facts, then stories, and eventually phone numbers.
As Chione entered Actia's number into her cellphone, she had a sudden realization. "Oh, no! I bet Yuisu and the other girls are worried sick about me! I need to call home, even if it does get me in trouble." She jumped up from the bed and frantically paged to the 'Nakahara House' contact in her phone. As the phone started to ring, she whispered to Actia, "Sorry, I'll just be a sec."
"Hello? Watchu want?" said a familiar, young-sounding voice.
"Mara? It's Chione. Is Yuisu home?"
"Chione?" Mara said in a puzzled tone. "Where are you?"
Chione blushed and paced around the tiny apartment with the phone to her ear. "It's a long story, but I'm at Actia's place. So, is Yuisu around?"
"Actia, huh?" Mara said excitedly. "Nah, Yuisu has been at work since before I woke up. You want to know if anyone realized you were gone, dontcha?" Mara teased.
"… Yes," Chione admitted softly.
"Nah, I don't think anyone noticed. We always assume you're asleep in your room all day." A mischievous tone came into her voice and she said, "Have you been sneaking out like this every day? I always thought your twelve hours of sleep was more than necessary…"
"No! This was my first time!" Chione insisted, which made Mara giggle.
"I know, I know. Just giving you a hard time. You're so easy to tease, Chione. Anyways, I'll let you get back to hanging out with Actia, and I'll cover for you too." Chione got the feeling that Mara was winking three of her eyes as she added, "Have fun!" and hung up.
Since Chione's eyes were far too light-sensitive to fly during the day, she stayed with Actia until sunset. She said goodbye to her new friend feeling happier than she'd been in weeks. She felt a little guilty for sneaking out and breaking the rules, but that was also kind of liberating.
Chione landed on the back porch a bit after nightfall. She quietly opened the glass door and slipped inside, hoping to reach her room without running into anyone.
She was almost to her bedroom door when Quess sauntered up from the kitchen. She looked very tired, and a little out of it as she said, "Hi, Chione. How are you today, er, tonight?"
Chione fidgeted and said, "Uh, good. You?"
"Eh, just tired. I just got back from work, and Pwess kept me up all last night, refusing to settle down."
Chione stepped aside, inching closer to her door, and said, "Well, I'll let you get to bed then."
Chione thought she was home free, until Quess smiled knowingly and said, "So… while Pwess was keeping me up, I was watching out my window all night. I saw you fly off, but you never returned. What's up with that?"
Chione froze. She hadn't prepared any cover story, and she knew she was an awful liar. Maybe I'll just stick to the truth. Parts of it at least… "Uh, I visited a new friend, down in town. Once the sun came up, I was kind of stranded, so I waited 'til sunset to fly home."
Quess nodded, still wearing that knowing smile. "Ah, alright. Well, how was your visit?" she gently pried.
"It was great!" Chione responded, her mood skyrocketing just by thinking about the fun day she'd had. "Actia's really fun, and we share a lot of interests. She taught me all about the moon and stars, and she's a really good friend."
Just then, Chione grabbed the hem of her skirt with both hands. "Oh, no! I never properly thanked her for helping me! Should I call her? But that feels too impersonal…"
Given her line of work, Quess's thoughts immediately went to flowers. "How about you give her some flowers to say thanks? Maybe something that blooms at night, like 'moon flowers'. I can even buy them for you with my employee discount," she said with a grin.
Chione blushed. "Wouldn't that be, uh, um… romantic?" she stammered.
"Do you want it to be?" Quess responded.
The way Chione continued to fret and fidget with her skirt was all the answer Quess needed. She stepped closer and put a hand on Chione's shoulder, then said, "I'll get those flowers for you tomorrow, and you can give them to her in person tomorrow night, okay?"
When Chione nodded enthusiastically, Quess added, "You should probably tell Yuisu first though. Wouldn't want to damage your good-girl image too much, Chione."
Chione stood up straight and said, "Of course. Thanks, Quess. I'll let you get some sleep now. I'm really tired too."
'Really tired' was an understatement. The last 24 hours had been a rollercoaster of excitement, rule-breaking, danger, and friendship. As soon as she approached her bed, Chione flopped onto it face-first and fell asleep. She dreamed of white flowers blooming under the moonlight, of dancing in that cool moonlit night, and of Actia smiling her subtle, beautiful smile. |
Anne thought Sundays were beginning to lose their charm lately. Previously she enjoyed them very much as it was a real joy to read the school newspaper and see how passionate the kids were about the matters they had written about in their own articles, and Anne also loved to meet every Avonlean and say her greetings to them and perhaps ask some of them how their week had been.
However, it was the second Sunday in a row she’d have preferred to pass like such day didn’t exist in the calendar. Before she got off the cart, she was already being bombarded with questions about her and Gilbert, and someone had the nerve to ask when the wedding was going to be. Then another woman had reminded them that Anne wasn’t turning18 until after two more weeks, and when Anne said marrying was not on the top of her list of things she wanted to do right after turning 18, nobody seemed to believe their ears and another flood of questions took place.
When some of the women were in the middle of their ‘why marriage is the greatest accomplishment in women’s lives’ speech, Anne couldn’t have been more grateful to find Gilbert and his father standing in front of the church, conversing with Matthew. She quickly excused herself and left the crowd, but once she approached Gilbert, she suddenly remembered the reason she was dreading this Sunday with all her heart, and the company of the women seemed tempting again.
When Gilbert spotted her and their eyes met, there was no doubt that they both were thinking about the same thing; that utterly and unspeakably embarrassing night that probably reassured Gilbert that Anne didn’t have a single ounce of sanity in her brain. And, to be fair, Anne wasn’t sure she had that, either.
He had looked all serious when he hadn’t yet seen her, so why did he have to smile like that the moment he noticed her? Didn’t this man know any other way to approach her? His overly-smiley being was making Anne nervous.
She wasn’t going to look at Gilbert in the church. She was going to sit next to him like there was an empty seat because there was no way she’d give him a chance to make fun of her.
When Gilbert asked her permission to let him walk her home, Anne shook her head.
“I suggest I walk you home,” she said, intently looking at Gilbert to see how he’d react to this. “I believe there needs to be an equal balance between the man and the woman in a relationship, and I do not believe it is very fair if you are always the one to walk an extra mile for me.”
“I don’t mind walking, though,” Gilbert responded, eyebrows drawn together in thought.
“Neither do I,” Anne said determinedly.
Gilbert looked at her for a moment, trying to decide whether she was being serious or she was only testing him to see if he was a gentleman at all. Anne was both – serious and testing him. This was part of her ‘I want to see who I am going to spend the rest of my life with’ examination, and seeing how he’d react to being the one being escorted home would tell her a lot about him.
“Alright, then,” he finally said and his smile was back.
A strange rush of relief washed over Anne and she couldn’t stop herself from smiling back at him.
They had walked for about ten minutes, and Anne was trying her hardest to keep Gilbert busy with her questions so that he didn’t have time to tease her about the broken window. Even though she knew she deserved all the humiliation, she preferred to live without it if she had a chance. She would be fine with scolding and Gilbert telling her how she was a disgrace to the Cuthbert family, but that man didn’t seem to know how to be properly angry at a person. He turned everything into something to laugh about and laughing was the last thing in Anne’s mind when she thought about that unfortunate night.
Anne asked Gilbert many questions. She found out that he was studying to be a doctor at a university about a 20-minute train ride from Avonlea. It had been his biggest dream since he was 15, but he wasn’t yet sure about his plans after finishing medical school. He had brothers and sisters but he was the only child alive, and it was just him and his father now. And when Anne had asked him what he thought about women’s role in marriage and when Gilbert said he saw them as equals, Anne had made an inhumane noise out of relief and excitement. She just couldn’t believe her luck that her intended had the same view on this matter as she had; she was sure she could count men that thought that way on one hand and still have a few fingers clenched into a fist, ready to punch someone with irrelevant opinions.
Anne let her eyes linger around their surroundings and they got fixed upon a large field. She had an idea.
“Isn’t the way shorter if we walk through that field?”
Gilbert looked at the field. “It is a shortcut, yes.”
“Great. Let’s go.”
“What? Seriously?”
“Yep,” Anne replied with a popping P, already at the edge of the field. “Don’t you love taking different routes where not every step you take is familiar? I think it’s thrilling to discover new paths!”
Gilbert really had no choice but to follow her. Anne closed her eyes as she took a few running steps and enjoyed that chill Spring breeze against her cheeks. She let out a giggle out of joy and spun around twice.
“Oh, I do love Spring! It’s the time to start new adventures, to discover something new and to make some great decisions! I am so glad we have a proper spring in Avonlea, it would be such a shame to live in a place where Winter and Spring sort of blend in together, so you can’t really tell when they end and begin.”
Gilbert didn’t reply instantly, and his silence made Anne curious. She turned around and the wind caught in her hair, making it float in the air. She saw Gilbert looking at her with a smile and soft eyes.
“Beautiful,” he said, not losing a single bit of that fondness in his features.
“I know, Spring is ever so lovely, though I must say I prefer Autumns.”
“What? Oh, right, yea, Spring is beautiful, too.”
Anne tore her eyes off Gilbert and looked forward so he couldn’t see the bright shade of red that was now her cheeks.
They walked across the field that was beginning to be the perfect definition of why some people despised Spring with all their hearts. Since the field wasn’t owned by anyone, nobody was there to take care of it, which was why it was in such a terrible condition. Large ponds of water and mud filled the middle part, and there was no other way across them than to walk over them. Anne was giving it her upmost best to walk on the mud without ruining her Sunday dress, but that turned out to be impossible; its hem was already stained with grey substance. Her shoes and white socks didn’t look like something Marilla was going to be happy to see.
“That talk about discovering new roads?” Anne panted as she accidentally landed on a massive pile of mud and she could feel how it entered the inside of her shoe. “I take it back, I absolutely hate this!”
Gilbert burst out laughing, then there were running steps behind her and he soon appeared by her side.
“Here, allow me,” he said and reached out his hand for Anne to take.
She grabbed it without hesitation and he helped her pull out her foot out of the mud. She lost her balance and she took a couple unintended steps towards Gilbert, causing their bodies to clash. Thankfully he was somehow prepared for it, so he didn’t trip over and fall back first into the mud.
Anne quickly removed her hand from Gilbert’s and took a couple of exaggerated steps away from him, looking anywhere but at him.
“Thank you,” she mumbled awkwardly as she looked down at her feet. She heaved a sigh at the sight. “Marilla’s going to kill me.”
“Most likely,” Gilbert agreed amusedly and continued walking.
Anne followed him right at his heels, trying not to lose her balance when the mud moved underneath her feet every time she stepped on a new spot. Didn’t the mud ever end?
“You must think I am a lunatic,” she said in a bitter tone that she directed at herself. “First I break your window, then I want us to take a shortcut and now we’re both covered in mud. I don’t like it how the many Anne’s in me are fighting against each other every step I take.”
“I don’t think you’re a lunatic,” Gilbert replied very seriously. “All of this is very…you.”
“Very me?”
“You always had these…unexpected ideas back when we went to Avonlea school, and even though many of them were absurd, you always managed to get many of us involved because your passion for what you did and believed in had an impact on all of us. I’m just glad you haven’t lost your enthusiasm.”
“Breaking windows hardly tells anything about my enthusiasm,” Anne said sadly, but she couldn’t help feeling grateful for what Gilbert had just said.
After what felt like forever, they finally arrived at the end of the field and they could already see Gilbert’s house standing on top of the hill.
“Why do you stick paper onto your window?” Anne asked suddenly as the thought just came into her head and left her mouth just as fast.
Gilbert smiled. “They’re my human anatomy papers. It’s easier to study them when they’re at your eye level when doing school work.”
“You have drawings of naked people on your window?”
He choked on air. “You...you just made it sound unnecessarily weird.”
“Oh, sorry.”
“But technically yes, though they’re not detailed.”
“Fascinating,” she replied, not exactly knowing how she was expected to react to this piece of information.
“If you say so,” he chuckled, turning to look at his house and then he grinned at Anne. “So, I’ll be seeing you next Sunday unless you–“
“I’m not repeating my nocturnal adventure. Contrary to popular belief, but I don’t willingly embarrass myself, and if there’s one good thing about me making mistakes it is the fact that I learn from them and therefore never repeat them,” she cut him off.
Gilbert couldn’t suppress a grin. He shook his head like he didn’t believe Anne’s words for a second. She didn’t have any desire to be reckless again, and she needed to be as good as possible after ruining a pair of her better shoes on that field. She could already hear Marilla’s voice telling her she would have to wear them as a reminder of why one shouldn’t walk on fields in Spring. And because Anne learned from her mistakes, the next time she was going to walk on one would be in Summer when there were six sunny days to one rainy.
The thought of summer made her a bit sick. Would she already be married to Gilbert by the time the fields were dry enough to walk on again? |
Dany leaned against the wall next to the window overlooking the shores of Dragonstone, watching the waves crash down onto the rocks below as her fingers brushed the material of her dress above her heart. While the scar tissue couldn't be felt through her clothing, she still knew it was there. She had cried the first time she looked at the scar on her chest, and avoided looking at it ever since.
It had been almost a moon since was resurrected. She didn't like that word - resurrected - and she avoided using it if she could. Being resurrected meant she had died, and it was far too painful to think about that so soon after what Jon had done.
When she first woke up in her chambers at Dragonstone, she was confused, and felt strange and cold. The first face she saw was Grey Worm's, and he explained that Drogon had flown here after her death, where a red priestess named Kinvara was waiting. Apparently the red priestess had seen a vision of some kind, and knew she had to be at Dragonstone after the Last War. It sounded a bit strange to Dany, but after all she had seen, she wasn't going to question it.
Kinvara had contacted Grey Worm in King's Landing and told him where Dany was and that she should be waking soon, and so he, along with some of the Unsullied, made their way to the island. The rest of the Unsullied stayed back to guard King's Landing, which was still under their command, for now.
Grey Worm had arrived at Dragonstone a day before Dany woke up properly, and stayed by her bedside until she opened her eyes. The first thing that Dany mumbled when she woke up was about her daughter. Grey Worm assured her that he had been informed that the child was safe, but Dany didn't really believe him. Only time would tell her the truth.
It took less than a day for Dany to feel physically recovered from what had happened, though she was doubtful she would ever recover mentally. It felt odd as she walked around the castle of Dragonstone after waking up. It was like she was unwelcome in her own home; a ghost creating moments in time that should never exist. She had wanted to speak with Kinvara, but Grey Worm told her that the red priestess departed as soon as he and the Unsullied arrived, despite his attempts to get her to stay.
Eventually, Dany asked Grey Worm about Tyrion and Jon, and he told her they were prisoners of the Unsullied in King's Landing, awaiting a trial. There was to be a meeting in the city soon, with all the high lords and ladies of the realm in attendance, and Tyrion and Jon's fates would be decided, among other things. Dany felt quite numb towards the whole thing. Every time she thought about Jon, her heart ached, but not in a good way. She felt torn between wanting him dead immediately, and wanting to speak with him first, to ask him if it was worth it.
When she learnt Yara Greyjoy would be at the meeting, she asked Grey Worm to go and speak with her once she arrived. If he suspected Yara would still be loyal to Dany, he was to bring her back to Dragonstone before the meeting. While the thought of trusting someone again made her feel sick, she tried to remind herself that she needed some allies, and that being completely alone would do her no good. After all, not everyone would stab her in the heart, or so she hoped.
***
It turned out that Yara was still loyal to Daenerys. After Grey Worm had gone to speak with her in King's Landing, he returned with her several days later, and Dany found a little bit of hope that she thought was lost forever.
Despite Dany showing no desire to take King's Landing again any time soon, Yara still swore allegiance to her, and said that the Ironborn would always follow her, no matter what she decided to do in the future.
During one of their conversations in Dany's chambers, Yara asked what she wanted to happen to the traitors in King's Landing.
"I don't care what happens to Tyrion," Dany replied quietly. "But Jon..." She placed her hands over the small bump on her stomach. "He deserves to know what he did. To know what he truly did."
"Do you mean?" Yara nodded towards Dany's stomach.
"Yes," Dany replied.
It was obvious that Dany was with child now, so she hadn't needed to tell Yara before she noticed for herself. Dany could have hidden it under floaty dresses, but she didn't see the point
"So you're going to tell him you're still alive?" Yara questioned.
Dany held her bump tighter. "No," she said, meeting Yara's eyes with her own. "I want him to know of our child, but I don't want him to know either of us are alive."
Yara slowly nodded, understanding what she was suggesting. "Telling him before he is executed would certainly be something."
A shiver ran up Dany's spine at the thought of Jon being executed. She hated that she felt any kind of dread over his death. He deserves it. She told herself. He killed you, and your child.
Dany couldn't really blame him for killing their child - he didn't know - but things might have been different if he didn't push her away so much. She could have told him, and they could have been a family, like they always wanted.
"He might not be executed," Dany said.
Yara shrugged. "I think he should get what he deserves for killing you."
"Surely it would be worse him having to live with what he's done?" Dany suggested.
Yara considered her answer, but didn't agree. "Who do you want to tell him about the child?" she asked.
"I won't need anyone to tell him," Dany replied, feeling conflicted at what she was thinking about doing. He needed to suffer though, and understand a fraction of the pain he had put her through.
She glanced over to her desk, where a small brown package could be seen. After her death, Grey Worm hadn't had the time to send her diary to Jon before she was resurrected. She had read through it a couple of times since coming back, and then she carefully wrapped it in brown paper, waiting to send it when the time was right.
"I've got something that will tell him for me," Dany said. |
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